We've got it all right here, folks! Everything that's ever been written up, photographed, and discussed on the Sad Mag website. Enjoy browsing our archives!
It all begins with a rainy car ride: a hauntingly beautiful scene framed from the backseat of a van; and after laughs, tears, and a standing ovation, it all ends with that same foggy drive. However, nothing else remains the same.
A Girl at My Door is South Korean filmmaker/screenwriter July Jung’s portrayal of a young female police officer and her new job in rural Korea. The film was borrowed for this year’s Queer Film Fest, but has the energy, talent, and aesthetic to reach any audience spanning from VIFF to the NY box office. To prove this, it’s already premiered at Cannes, and has been nominated for multiple screen awards. It is also worth mentioning that the film is complemented by the music of Jang Young-Gyu, a regular contributor to the musical landscape or Korean film.
During the film, a relationship is formed between a police officer (Bae Doona: Cloud Atlas, Jupiter Ascending), and an abused girl (Kim Sae-Ron: Blue Dragon Film Award for Best New Actress). Jung creates characters, and lays out situations that are both profound like a drama, and elastic like any classic foreign animation film. Kim Sae-Ron’s performance is what really hits home in this film, as her character deals with some very raw, honest, and almost cringe-inducing scenes that offer a window into a broken world. Bae Doona’s character has her own struggles, dealing with a budding alcohol addiction, heart break, and homophobia – making her an easy protagonist to root for.
Although this is a two hour run-time film, it feels as if it’s a four hour movie. Some easy trimming would have made this film a little more captivating than it already is. Also, more time could’ve been spent on secondary characters to further enhance the storyline of the lead ones. As human as July makes these characters, they still seem a little stiff at times in the film. Nonetheless, July Jung’s feature film effort is nothing short of beautiful. Thought provoking, unhesitant, and human–A Girl at My Door is a masterpiece that will stir up your soul with both visuals and content.
Join us in celebrating the release of our 19th issue, MOVEMENT, on Saturday August 29th at the Remington Gallery (108 East Hastings). Hailed as our most vibrant (and flexible) issue yet, MOVEMENT explores movements—local literary, artistic, and animal—from a uniquely Vancouver perspective.
This free event includes an art exhibition showcasing art from the issue, including “moving’ images created through the Point of Inflection Project and Alex Waber‘s gorgeous Ballet BC photographs. Watch the magazine come to life with performances by contortionist, Vixen Von Flex, and professional dancers Christoph von Riedemann and Livona Ellis (Ballet BC). Listen to sweet beats and sway into the wee hours with a Brassneck beer in your hand.
Doors open at 7:30 PM. Issues of the magazine and subscriptions (just $30/year) will be available for purchase, as well as beer and snacks. Remington Gallery and Studio is located at 108 East Hastings St, Vancouver, B.C.
For all media inquiries, contact: Michelle Cyca, Co-Publisher / hello@sadmag.ca
Available for interview: Sara Harowitz, Editor in Chief (editor@sadmag.ca); Katie Stewart, Co-Publisher and Creative Director (creative@sadmag.ca); and/or Michelle Cyca, Co-Publisher (hello@sadmag.ca)
Liz in September (Liz en Septiembre) is the story of life, illness, the fluidity of sexuality and the complexity of female relationships.
Eva and her husband are still trying to cope with the loss of their young son when they go on a trip. Eva leaves a day earlier but her car soon breaks down and she is sent to the one hotel in town that has room: Margot’s, a seaside paradise where the women who live there drink lots of wine, go swimming, and have the most Bechdel-worthy conversations of all time (where do I sign up, amirite?). Eva soon discovers that what she at first thought was a hotel is actually a haven of lesbians. Liz (Patricia Velasquez of The L Word), the commitment-phobic player of the group, gets a bet going that she can sleep with the new, straight girl within three days. But Liz, a stoic and tough gal, is also hiding a secret from the group: she has cancer and she is deteriorating.
The plot of Liz in September is predictable, with few original twists or surprising character arcs. Most of the characters don’t get explored very deeply, and few of the women’s relationships are really portrayed in depth. In fact, the one sex scene of the film is between Eva and her husband, which is an interesting choice for a movie about lesbians, especially considering there are only two male characters (both supporting).
Despite this, the movie does deal with a number of themes that aren’t usually seen in mainstream Hollywood films–or at least in a way in which they are not normally portrayed– which is always refreshing. It explores life and death, relationships, friendships, love– all with a full female cast.
All in all, Liz in September has a lot of topics it touched upon that could have been explored further. However, it has its moments, and manages to successfully maneuver the sensitivity of humour in dark places, which is not an easy feat. This, along with the breath-taking scenery, make the film worth checking out.
This is Gay Propaganda: LGBT Rights & the War in the Ukraine follows several Ukrainian LGBT activists in the aftermaths of Ukraine’s Euromaidan revolution, as they fight to survive in the face of gay propaganda laws in some parts of Ukraine. The laws, like those in Russia, label any sort of positive communication about LGBT rights and issues as “gay propaganda.” Spreading or engaging in “gay propaganda” is punishable by jail time.
The film ties together multiple themes. There is Toronto-based director Marusya Bociurkiw’s personal story, of her Ukrainian background and her identity as a lesbian. “Sometimes I felt like the only Ukrainian lesbian in the world,” she says in the film. She looks at how so many of us have our identities fragmented by circumstance.
The film focuses on the fight for LGBT rights but also heavily focuses on the intersection with the feminist movement in the Ukraine and on the violence that more masculine-presenting women experience at higher rates. After the movie, the director Skyped in from Poland for a Q&A. An audience member asked her why she focused on so many female LGBT activists, to which she chuckled and responded: “that’s sort of a hallmark of my work.”
There is the backdrop of a country at war. Ukraine in particular is a country very recently torn apart by revolution and the tug-of-war between the Western influences and the Russian ones and, as such, there are stark differences from place to place in the country, something that the film explains with such clarity.
There are the stories of the LGBT activists she interviewed: some are running away from families trying to kill them, some had to hide their whole lives and continue to do so, some got death threats from strangers, many were beaten and abused.
And then there are the scenes of hope: of a country that has organized and revolted, a people that are clearly capable of powerful change, of activist organizing of feminist film festivals and LGBT safe houses.
To watch this mere weeks after Vancouver’s city wide pride week, our richly sponsored parade with politicians, police, banks and thousands of people in attendance, is startling. Canada is not perfect. Not by a long shot. Discrimination based on gender identity is not protected by the Charter; queer POC and trans* communities are often left behind; and LGBT youth are still experiencing higher rates of bullying, substance abuse and homelessness, to name just a few issues. But watching This is Gay Propaganda is a chilling reminder of the kinds of state-sanctioned violence that activists around the world are up against. To watch it is humbling.
On August 22 the CBC Studio 700 will be taken over by the second annual Movin’ On Up-Staged Readings. Movin’ On Up presents the new works of two local, emerging playwrights and puts them on stage using top-notch, well known actors. This years works include Strip by Christopher Cook and Rogue Horizon by CJ McGillivray, directed by Brian Cochrane and starring Allan Morgan, Deb Williams, Emmelia Gordon, Yoshie Bancroft and Georgia Beaty. The event will be hosted by local comedian Adam Pateman!
Sad Mag recently had the chance to interview playwrights Christopher Cook and CJ McGillivray over email to get some insight on their writing process and the upcoming presentation of their works.
Playwrights Christopher Cook and CJ McGillivray
Sad Mag: Can you tell me a little bit about yourselves and your experiences with theatre?
Christopher Cook: I grew up here in Vancouver, and I swore I would never live here as an adult. (I’ve lived here for the majority of my adulthood so far–I really do love this city.) I studied theatre in Montreal, at Concordia University, and in London, at LAMDA.
My focus was always performing, and I came to writing later–I’ve been writing plays for about five years now. At the moment, I am working on an MA in Counselling Psychology by day, and playwriting by night.
CJ McGillivray: I am a young interdisciplinary artist who was born and raised in Vancouver. I went to theatre school at Capilano University because it allowed me to keep writing, acting, directing and making music. I was able to combine all of my creative passions with an interest in behaviour, psychology, interpersonal relationships, and human nature. Theatre has always been a platform for me to explore fearless expression, compassion, and absurd thoughts.
SM: What got you both into theatre in particular? Did you have your own local theatre moments to inspire you when you were younger?
CC: I was desperately shy in high school, and closeted–it was the 90s, and I knew I was gay, but I didn’t feel comfortable letting anyone else know. I felt incredibly isolated. I got involved with the students that were rehearsing plays after school so I wouldn’t feel so alone. It really helped. I made some of my strongest teenage friendships through theatre.
CM: I enjoyed expressing myself through music and saw theatre as a way to explore my creativity further. I found that studying drama in high school could be a positive method for developing confidence and empathy. Theatre is the one place where anyone can feel at home in a strange environment.
SM: How have your writing styles changed since first starting writing? Did you have any ‘aha’ moments that changed your perspective? CJ specifically: can you speak to the influence the LEAP program has had on you?
CM: I have so much gratitude for the playwriting mentors who have supported me so thoroughly in the past number of years. Through guidance and experience, I now focus less on being clever and put more emphasis on the value of honest writing. So much of that insight and self-awareness was developed under the mentorship of Shawn Macdonald through the LEAP playwriting mentorship in association with the Arts Club Theatre.
When I was younger, I pushed away from the absurdity of my writing but then it occurred to me that I could cultivate the quirkiness instead. I stopped apologizing for being eloquent.
CC: My “aha” moment as a writer is still happening–I feel like my “aha” moment is lasting for years. With each play I write, I become more and more comfortable with myself as a writer, and get a little more courageous. I am beginning to question assumptions I always had about my writing, particularly about structure and form. I am asking myself questions like: “What shape is the story I am telling?” “What sounds does it make?” “If I took it out on a first date, what would it wear, what would it be like, and where would it want to go?”
I find these are the questions that now interest me, compared to questions like: “What’s the rising action?” There’s nothing wrong with asking about a play’s rising action, but I am beginning to think of it a bit like asking about someone’s favorite color–ask a bland question, get a bland answer. And I suspect that bland questions are death in the play development process.
SM: Describe your ideal writing set-up. Do you have a favorite writing location or music playlist?
CC: A room in the woods with skylights and huge windows. No music, but the sounds of running water and nature. I usually settle for my East Van apartment–an old chair by a window and a good cup of tea.
CM: I create a playlist for each script that I am working on. The playlist for Rogue Horizon features contemporary blues and alternative folk music from Pokey Lafarge, Mumford and Sons and Jasper Sloan Yip.
SM: Where do you grab inspiration from for your plays and their subject matter?
CC: A lot of my inspiration comes from personal experiences–my plays aren’t autobiographical, but at the heart of their stories is always a personal experience. My way into my plays is through the characters–they are what I start with. I hear their voices in my head, see them together in various environments, and start writing. A version of this play, Strip, and these characters, first came up for me three years ago, after I took a trip to Vegas with my partner.
CM: I am often inspired by imagery, song lyrics, old photographs and moments of observation from people all around me. In regards to Rogue Horizon, having an older brother gave me support and laughter throughout my childhood. But the concept of sisters is so foreign to me. I wanted to explore the tensions and beauty of a relationship that I have never personally had but have embraced through close friendships.
SM: Both of your plays seem to centre around complicated and dysfunctional women. Is there something particularly appealing to either of you in writing about flawed characters?
CC: I don’t see my characters as dysfunctional–I think they’re all functioning pretty well, given their circumstances. As for flawed characters, I don’t think I would ever want perfect characters in my plays. I wouldn’t know what to do with them. I wonder if perfect characters might be reserved for commercials, and selling products.
Flawed characters are the ones I want to meet, cry and laugh with, and maybe carry with me. When I am writing a play, it’s like a romance–I fall in love with the characters, each of them, all at the same time. Really, I do. I look forward to spending time with them, and getting to know them better–and if I could meet them at a bar for a drink, I would in a heart beat.
CM: Our character flaws and personal struggles are what make people individually beautiful and compelling. Of course people are complicated and dysfunctional by nature. People run away from vulnerability and connection. People kick and scream. Theatre reflects our universal flaws in order to strengthen our compassion and understanding of the human condition.
SM: What’s it like to be able to showcase your work locally in a space like the CBC?
CC: I really believe that opportunities like Movin’ On Up are essential for emerging writers, and for the play development process. To be able to work with actors and a director, and share my work with an audience before ever thinking about the logistics of a full production allows me to really focus on the script, and gives me the chance to take risks and experiment. I never really know how an audience is going to respond to my work, and getting the feed-back of a live audience is so hopefully in the development process. To be able to do so in the CBC space, with a company like Staircase Theatre is thrilling–I count myself very lucky!
CM: There is nothing more valuable than hearing how an audience reacts to something.
SM: What do you hope people will get out of your plays?
CC: If someone has never asked questions about gender and the many assumptions around gender we have in North American society, I hope this play offers them a way to start asking some questions, if they want to. I also hope that this play reaches out to people and says, “Yes, loving your family can be one of the most challenging things. And loving your family may often require a leap of faith–faith in them, faith in you, faith that you’ll all still be there in the morning. But still, why not leap? Go on, I dare you. Try some faith.”
CM: Curiosity? I want people to embrace the sensations of escapism, aimless confusion, nostalgia, compassion and the universal longing for home in an unfamiliar place. I want people to feel compassion for my characters even when they are brutal to one another.
SM: In 5 words or less, what can people expect from your play?
CM: Heat, sarcasm, nostalgia, escapism, and tension.CC: How to love strangers (i.e. family).
Reserve tickets for Movin’ On Up (Aug 22) here. More information about Staircase Theatre can be found here.
The idea for Kiss & Tell (2015) hit filmmaker Jackie Hoffart like a whack over the head–an emotional, repeated, and unavoidable whack.
Hoffart had been going through a tough breakup at the time of the film’s inception. “There was a place where me and that person had a beautiful moment, directly at the exit of my garage,” she told SAD Mag over coffee last week.“Every time I left my house I would be whacked over the head with this memory. The memory was actually beautiful, but was in such contrast to how I was feeling–I’d have to close my eyes sometimes when I was pulling into my alley.”
What might have led to a dented bumper instead inspired Hoffart to create what she calls her first “somewhat professional” film, landing her a slot in the Vancouver Queer Film Festival’s short film showcase The Coast is Queer. Though VQFF is Hoffart’s official premiere as a filmmaker, she is a practiced storyteller. In the past, she worked as SAD Mag’s editor-in-chief and now produces, edits and co-hosts its official podcast, SADCAST. “Storytelling,” she explains, “is a kind of impulse–one that can be manifested in several modes.”
At just five minutes in length, Kiss & Tell is a compact but powerful expression of that impulse. Pairing striking shots of Vancouver street corners with poetic voice over, Hoffart crafts her own ode to the feeling she discovered in her parking garage, that feeling of “walk[ing] past a memory”. She revisits the locations of eight intimate moments, each of which she shared with a different someone. The result is a kind of cinematographic map of the city that feels both highly personal and surprisingly universal; it places viewers as witnesses–and by definition, outsiders–to Hoffart’s memories, but simultaneously invites them to revisit their own.
Jackie Hoffart
“What I tried to do was really whittle down what was important for me about memories that I’d had in certain, specific spaces and accept them as they were,” she says. But rather than reenacting the eight moments exactly as they occurred, Hoffart wanted to capture each intersection as it was at the time of the filming. “Those places aren’t anything like they were at the time, but those memories remain intact. You encounter them whether it’s sunny or rainy or the middle of the night–you just hit them.”
To capture the timeless nature of those places, Hoffart filmed most locations on at least two different occasions, in two different lights. Through the collaboration of her director of photography, Jon Thomas, she incorporated different frame rates at different times. “[We wanted to create] an effect of things slowing down and speeding up,” she explains. Like memories themsel, each scene is “out of place and out of time, but then also anchored to that specific place and that specific time.” Kiss & Tell stays as true to those locations as possible.
The true power of Kiss & Tell lies not in what Hoffart captures on screen, but in what it evokes off screen. Each moment she shares suggests a backstory that the audience will never hear; each memory hints at future ones that the viewer will never see. Like a first kiss, Kiss & Tell leaves you moved, curious, and hungry for more.
Kiss & Tell is not yet available for public viewing, but you can follow Jackie Hoffart on Twitter or tune in to SADCAST, now (at least) monthly at sadcast.ca, for updates on when and where it’s playing next.
The Vancouver Queer Film Fest runs until August 23. Visit the festival website for tickets and showtimes.
A theme of breaking, splitting, and rebuilding ran through Wednesday’s QSONG (Queer Songwriters of a New Generation) showcase at the Roundhouse Performance Centre in Yaletown. It was a gloomy and drizzly summer night, but the young songwriters performing that evening created a warm, intimate atmosphere. Constructing just this type of space is the goal of the QSONG workshop, now in its second year. Musicians and mentors Sarah Wheeler and Ellen Marple met with Queer and allied Vancouver youth every Friday for a nine week period, helping them to expand their musical skill set and gain confidence in the nerve-wracking art of sharing deeply personal compositions on stage. The result was Wednesday’s showcase of original work, comprised of collaborative pieces and solo songs. It was the collaborative numbers that really shone; the energy and camaraderie of the group was palatable. In contrast, breakups and destructive love were at the core of much of the solo music, experiences which so often drive people to make music. QSONG alumni Gaby Lamoureaux provided one of the best performances: singing and playing the ukulele, the 25-year-old performed a song about moving on from a past relationship, but peppered the sadness with enough upbeat moments to keep the audience feeling hopeful.
When the lights came up at end of the evening the audience wasn’t quite ready to leave. Most people milled around the foyer, taking in the art on display, before bursting the bubble and venturing back into the world. The Roundhouse Performance Centre provided an attractive and supportive space for the musicians to showcase their work. Judging by the poise of all the young performers, it won’t be the last time they enjoy such an opportunity.
Follow the Queer Arts Festival on Twitter or visit the festival website for updates about future events.
Faced with the pile of submissions for this year’s Vancouver Queer Film Festival, Director of Festival ProgrammingShana Myara had her work cut out for her. “The struggle of curating the festival is really when to stop,” she told SAD Mag in a recent phone interview, “We only have ten days!”
Myara’s work has paid off, however; with over 70 films from 21 countries included in the final bill, and themes ranging from transgender athletes to gay camboys to bearded ladies, the 27th VQFF promises to wow audiences with a seriously stacked international lineup. Throw in a handful of Q&A’s with visiting filmmakers, a series of free workshops, and three special galas, and you have the creative smorgasborg that is this year’s festival. Film fans, mark your calendars: August 13 to 23 is going to be a busy–and eclectic–ten days.
It’s this eclecticism, Myara believes, that sets the festival apart. “We see so much of the samey-same out there that individuality is really quite a strength,” she explains. “That’s what Queer film festivals are all about.” Instead of selecting films by theme, Myara selects them by quality, and only later organizes them into categories.
The categories or “spotlights” that emerged this year are Canadian queer films, DIY Gender, queer youth culture and queer films from Latin America. Among the festival highlights are: a showing of Cannes-award-winning Korean filmmaker July Jung’sA Girl at My Door(and accompanying Q&A with the artist, Aug 19); a tailor-made archival program, Still Not Over It: 70 Years of Queer Canadian Film(Aug 18);and an 87 minute collection of shorts–made entirely by youth, for youth–called Bright Eyes, Queer Hearts(Aug 18).
The transformative power of film is one reason Myara likes to keep the bill so diverse. “Film really has the power to help us change our worldviews–to experience a life in another way,” she says. “At VQFF, we’re really mindful of those intersectional stories that speak to life told from the margins–stories that have the potential to make you feel more accepting, rather than close-minded–stories that don’t necessarily have all the right answers, but ask the right questions.”
VQFF takes their mission out of the cinema and into the classroom with the Out in Schools program, run through Out on Screen. The program brings age-appropriate queer films to schools, using film as a “springboard for a discussion around acceptance and understanding.” By helping to create an accepting learning environment through film, Out in Schools hopes to prevent bullying, exclusion, and violence.
In a city that’s been called the gay-bashing capital of Canada, it’s easy to see why these discussions are so important. “Unfortunately violence against the community is a very real part of our history and our present,” Myara sighs. “But I often look at violence as having a rebound effect; violence against a few creates a feeling of solidarity in a community.” And community, she continues, is what VQFF is all about. “From the beginning it’s been very open-armed; everyone who wants to come is welcome.”
“It’s a really exceptional feeling to feel welcomed when you arrive somewhere,” Myara observes, and her smile is almost audible over the phone. “The festival, first and foremost, brings people together.”
The Vancouver Queer Film Festival runs from August 13 – 23. For showtimes and locations, visit the festival website.
In the moments before the event began, a digital image of a living space, like a cartoon combination of IKEA and the Sims, was projected on to the floor-to-ceiling screen at the back of the stage, a representation of the normativeness that would be shattered throughout the night.
The event was a pairing of emerging and professional artists. First, PROX:IMITY RE:MIX, a performance by a group of queer youth, aged 15-24, fresh off a two-week mentorship with MACHiNENOiSY, and second, Kinesis Dance performing Night, by Para Terezakis.
Image from MACHiNENOiSY.com
PROX:IMITY RE:MIX was an array of individual and ensemble pieces, ranging from free movement to choreographed dance, spoken word, performance art and monologue. The performers interacted with their images, which were recorded live and projected onto the screen behind them. The imagery was often colourful and created both concrete and abstract depictions of them. It was all underpinned by a rich and diverse soundscape.
PROX:IMITY RE:MIX was a synergy between imagery, physicality, sound and story. Namely, the personal stories of the youth: “My name is ______, I am ______ years old and my pronoun is ______”, was an echoing refrain throughout the performance.
It touched upon the rigidity of binaries, the process of coming out, victim blaming, the beauty of home and love, and the triumph of being your true self. It was the authenticity, the vulnerability and the strength of the youth that carried the show. Young people, telling their stories, sharing their truth, being brave.
Some youth were at the beginning of their artistic journeys, while others already had their wings and were flying. Together though, they had continuity, both working within their respective abilities and pushing their edges.
Night was a journey through the darkness, a ride through the peaks and valleys of the nocturne: excitement, chaos, lust and love, connection, shame, voyeurism and the collecting of one’s self and their things afterwards, at sunrise, to begin anew.
At its best the performance was compelling, moving and provocative, but at times also frenetic and flat. That said, it was mostly pop and fizz. The piece grappled with the sexual fluidity of roles, partners and gender, feelings of shame in desire, and disconnection from normative values of sex, beauty and attraction.
The narrative of the performance was driven by an eclectic mix of music switched, often abruptly, by different performers from a laptop sitting on a desk on stage. Stark changes in lighting and the use of each of the character’s possessions: clothing and other personal effects carried in a bag, punched through the movements and feeling of a night in many vignettes.
Its seams were left intentionally unfinished and showing, the fourth wall was broken, and the viewer, and the other dancers for that matter, was given free reign to gawk and stare at the creatures of the night, their movements communicating their intent and emotion with clarity. With red lips they embarked on a metamorphosis from dusk till dawn, the only remnants of which were a pair of red heels and a row of lipstick cases, standing on end.
Flerida Peña’s Sister Mary’s a Dyke?!, which featured at this year’s Queer Arts Festival, is a fun and energetic show with potential. Set in an all-girls Catholic school, the one-woman play follows 14 year old Abby as she adjusts to life at the Crown of Thorns Academy. We watch as she discovers her sexuality, falls in and out of love and joins a guerrilla organization founded by one the nuns (“Communal Living In Tents,” or to keep it brief: “C.L.I.T.”).
The first act is introspective and focuses on Abby’s coming out and her disillusionment with the Catholic Church. She prays to her “BFF” (Jesus) and tries to understand what two of her classmates were doing together naked in bed. It’s honest yet self-censored, like reading someone’s diary who worries their mother may find it.
The second act takes a dramatically different turn. Abby joins C.L.I.T. and parachutes into the Vatican to help Sister Mary become Pope. The action was exciting but felt at odds with the first act, almost as if the two acts were part of two different productions.
The plot is forwarded by Abby posing rhetorical questions to herself, to Jesus, and to the audience. While these concerns are valid, they becoming tiring and predictable as the show progresses. Abby wrestles with common knowledge, most of which is hard to believe she hasn’t encountered previously. For example, at age 14, she has never questioned why women can’t be ordained.
Aside from Abby, we only see other characters briefly. The play could have been strengthened by their presence, because, as is often the case, the protagonist was not the most interesting character. I craved more of El (an endearing jock and Abby’s first love) and Sister Mary (a radical, unapologetic nun). If nothing else, including more of them would have diversified the monologue format of the show.
For all its brilliant moments, Sister Mary’s A Dyke!? lagged behind in dialogue. Though the situation, characters and ideas are intriguing and unique, I would love to see them expanded on.
The idea for Kiss & Tell (2015) hit filmmaker Jackie Hoffart like a whack over the head–an emotional, repeated, and unavoidable whack.
