Steven Sukkau
Local Journalism Initiative Reporter
Winnipeg Sun
By the time you finish reading this, Aaron Leveque will probably have picked up another few thousand views on Facebook, though he’ll be the first to tell you he’s not a TikTok star, despite what strangers keep insisting. “I’m just a guy from Little Grand Rapids,” he says.
Aaron is, to his mild bewilderment, one of Manitoba’s most quietly beloved social-media comedians. His reels, warm, silly dispatches from daily life, regularly travel farther than he has. Some rack up hundreds of thousands of views; some, well over a million. In his videos, he appears as husbands, brothers, uncles, and occasionally “NativeMan,” a character who seems to embody both the earnestness and the deep mischief of every cousin who ever convinced you to try something that would later require an apology.
This whole thing began with a bear.
A few years ago, Aaron was crafting walking sticks, something his uncle had taught him. One day, while he was dealing with a misbehaving bear that had broken into a garbage bin, “it made a mess before and I didn’t want it to make a bigger mess,” his sister quietly filmed him. She later sent the clip with the casual suggestion that he “make something of it, like a commercial.”
Forty shares later, a career, or at least a viral hobby, was born.
The first reel that truly exploded was a scene he and his wife reenacted, based loosely on their early dating days and the movie Urban Cowboy. In it, she storms off, he calls after her, “Get in the truck, Sissy!” and romance prevails. It earned more than 350,000 views, 1,500 shares, and a new understanding: people enjoy watching other people argue, as long as the couple is clearly still in love.
What’s striking about Aaron’s work is how familiar it all feels. The awkwardness, the goofy timing, the little smiles they almost manage to hide, these are the universal tells of real life trying to masquerade as acting, and failing in the most endearing ways. Commenters say things like “Bad acting, but that’s what makes it so good!” Meanwhile, others insist he deserves an Oscar. If the Academy ever introduces a category for “Most Charming Scene Shot in a Living Room With Zero Budget and a Relative Off-Camera Trying Not to Laugh,” Aaron will be first in line.
He didn’t always feel comfortable in front of a camera. In junior high in Fairford, Pinaymootang, as it’s known today, he was shy. But even then, he was part of a drug-awareness skit that made the local paper, a foreshadowing of the way community theatre sometimes slips unsuspecting children into future comedic careers. He grew up playful, wrestling with siblings, mimicking characters, learning the rhythm of humour from family. “The people I grew up with were humorous,” he says. “Friends, family. First Nations people can relate to the comedy, but I’ve also seen a lot of non-First Nations people laugh and share it.”
His process for creating a video is as casual and communal as any kitchen-table storytelling tradition: an idea shows up, someone texts a joke, his wife suggests a scenario. Real life, absurd life, family life, they all get fed into the same creative blender. He keeps the curse words out because he wants everyone to feel welcome watching. “Be mindful of your audience,” he says, sounding like a man who has a gentle but firmly held belief in decency.
The biggest hit so far, a skit about the perils of not wearing your glasses, earned 1.5 million views and 4,800 shares. It featured his brother, sister-in-law, wife, and himself stumbling through a plot so loosely structured it might as well have been held together with duct tape and laughter. In a sense, it was. And people loved it.
He doesn’t get paid for any of it. He isn’t angling for stardom or a show, although people have asked. His treaty-day skit team once won first place, but that, too, seems to be filed under “fun with family” rather than “career aspirations.” If Hollywood came calling, he says he’s not sure what he’d do. For now, Facebook feels infinitely more grounded, a strange village square where everyone watches, everyone comments, and everyone laughs with you if you let them.
That’s the heart of it, really. Aaron’s videos are not about polishing a brand or chasing an algorithm. They’re simply little windows into a life lived with humour, surrounded by people who know exactly how to make him laugh.
And if he has advice for anyone nervous about posting their first video, it’s as simple and generous as the man himself:
“There’s a lot you can do. Cooking, comedy, motivational stuff. Anything you enjoy. Just go for it.”
Sometimes, the best advice comes from a guy from Little Grand Rapids who once accidentally went viral while trying to keep a bear from making a mess.
