Review: ‘The Sticky’ enjoyable Canadian syrup caper

In 2011 and 2012, over a period of several months, some 3,000 tons of maple syrup, then worth $18.7 million (Canadian) were stolen from a Quebec warehouse, in what became known as the Great Canadian Maple Syrup Heist. That was serious business in Canada, whose flag is the maple leaf and which supplies most of the world’s maple syrup, but it is also undeniably amusing.

And so the theft, and the battle between the Federation of Quebec Maple Syrup Producers (Fédération des producteurs acéricoles du Québec), which controls the flow of syrup — and independent producers who find the federation autocratic, heavy-handed and unfair, have become the basis of “The Sticky.” Now streaming on Prime Video, its every episode opens with the disclaimer that this is “absolutely not the true story” of this true story.

Creators Brian Donovan and Ed Herro (“American Housewife”) have taken the elements of this story and compacted them into a generally entertaining small town comedy, if an unusually angry one, which sits firmly on the side of the individual against the organization. That the series opens with the discovery of a body in a barrel of syrup, accompanied by a mariachi rendition of “La Cucaracha,” should give you an idea of the tone “The Sticky” is going to take.

Out front is Margo Martindale’s Ruth, who one day finds an official-looking person pulling the taps from her maple trees, claiming that Ruth is an “unlicensed operator.” The registered operator, her husband, Martin (Joseph Bellerose), is in a coma; much to the displeasure of her doctor sister, Florence (Vickie Papavs), Ruth is keeping him at home, fearful that he will die in a hospital. Behind this all is tinpot tyrant Leonard (Guy Nadon), head of the Quebec Maple Association, which he regards as his personal fiefdom and who is scheming to take over the farms that neighbor his own, Ruth’s included. He is the Mr. Potter in this Canadian Bedford Falls.

The caper originates with Remy (Guillaume Cyr), the underappreciated lone security guard at the syrup warehouse, where thousands of barrels are kept as a “strategic reserve;” even as his bosses reject his proposal to hire more security, he has been quietly making off with a barrel a month with the help of a friend, Orval Steeks (Jason Cavalier), who sells it on the maple syrup black market. (That is a real thing.)

Turning 40 and going nowhere, he is encouraged by his sweet mink-farmer father (Michel Perron) to aim high, and so he begins to think bigger. This brings him within the orbit of Mike (Chris Diamantopoulos), the ineffectual local representative of a Boston mob, who in turn will reach out to Ruth, seemingly an old friend; their history — more specifically his history with Martin — is unexplored, but I assume we will learn something in a second season. And so a gang is formed.

The elements of the theft are similar to its real-world model — taking barrels, siphoning the syrup, replacing it with water and putting the barrels back — though where the actual crime took place over months, here an artificial ticking clock requires that it be accomplished within days.

Crime as a form of self-actualization has an honorable comedy history, and by making their thieves underdogs, the creators ensure we will root for them, however foolish their plans. Unfortunately, that body at the top of the show throws a wrench in the works, making it harder to care whether the trio succeeds, or to understand, once it is made plain, why they even go on together. Syrup is just syrup and money is just money, but murder is … murder. It’s a black comedy, sure, but meant in some way to be heartwarming.

In a rare starring role, Martindale owns the series, which happily lets her rip. Her Ruth is angry, frustrated, sad, tough, tender, bullish and reckless, yet hamstrung by circumstance; she is desperate to keep her farm in order to care for her husband. In a memorable scene, she careens through town, shouting and cackling, dragging a tree behind her truck, which she sends flying through the glass front of the association headquarters.

“Fargo” viewers will surely be reminded of “Fargo,” with which “The Sticky” shares snow, fur hats, outsized characters and crime. (There is a lot less murder, though.)

Each episode ends with a pop song in French, covering an old American pop song, and it’s worth sticking around for those, if you love French covers of old American pop songs./Tribune News Service

“THE STICKY”

Rated 16+. On Prime Video

Grade: B