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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.
When I first met international Queer performance artist Coral Short at the Queer Arts Festival’s opening art party, she was wearing boxing shorts and a determined expression. Donning her gloves, she walked onto stage and began to perform her opening piece, Stop Beating Yourself Up, a literal boxing match fought entirely–and mercilessly–against herself. When I met Short a few days later for our interview, she was a radically different person. Relaxed, smiling, and as I discovered later, a little concussed, Short was nothing like the fierce fighter I remembered from a few nights ago.
As we talked performance, meditation, and travel over afternoon coffee, I realized that Short is actually both of these people: open and friendly, but also strong and, honestly, intimidating. Despite her gentle nature, Short clearly has no problem being ruthless when it comes to what really matters: creating powerful, boundary-pushing art.
Coral Short performs Stop Beating Yourself Up, photo by Katie Stewart
SAD Mag: You first performed Stop Beating Yourself Up in 2013 at Edgy Women in Montreal. In a recent interview with Daily Xtra, you said that you chose to add some modifications to the piece for this year’s performance: decreasing the length from the original three hours to one and keeping a paramedic on hand. Why did you choose to perform the piece again, if it was so damaging the first time?
Coral Short: I actually never wanted to do this piece again, but Artistic Director SD Holman, through the General Manager, Elliott Hearte, really wanted me to do the piece and offered to fly me out here. And my little sister Amber just had a baby–the first baby in the Short family, so I said, “Okay, I’m going to do this for this nephew.”
SM: You mean, beat yourself up for her child?
CS: Basically! After [the performance] I sent my sister a text that said, “This will make a good story one day, but my head really hurts.”
SM: Did you get anything new out of repeating your performance? Has your original intention or relationship to the piece changed since 2013?
CS: I think it did. The first time I did it, I didn’t do it with full body awareness. Since that time I’ve been to three vipassanas–ten day silent retreats–and I have a daily meditation practice. Being more inside my body than I used to, [the performance] was more impactual on the cellular structure than it did originally. Each time has been a ritual, but I think this [time] was more like a closure: “I will stop doing this now–stop doing this very literal performance–stop beating myself up.” We all need to move forward from this internal struggle, myself included!
It’s also really, really hard on the audience. This performance, people are more with me than any other performance I’ve ever done. They’re horrified, but they’re with me. There’s blood spurting out of me, but people try to stay the course with me. Psychologically, it’s really hard on people. I can’t make eye contact with them, so I have to look at the wall or the cameras or the floor. I’m a channel for the audience–a visceral symbol for the struggle inside themselves.
They want to protect me–they want to stop me. But no one does. When I first did the piece in 2013, I was asked by my curator, “What if someone stops you?” And I said, “It will just become part of the piece.” But no one stopped me then, and no one stopped me now. I think the audience becomes transfixed with a hypnotic morbid fascination.
Photo by Katie Stewart
SM: Do you think that’s because it’s art, or do you think that’s just human nature?
CS: I think there’s a “This is art” thing going on. But, I think if someone would have tried to stop me, I would have stopped. I think all it would take is just one person.
I think people almost want to see it play out. If you look back across humanity, or to Game of Thrones, there’s always been a love of fighting and blood. The fighting pits, the colosseum, the beheadings –I think there’s an element of humanity that wants to see that. Blood is powerful.
SM: In addition to performing at the festival’s opening party, you also curated a film night this year called TRIGGER WARNING. How did you find the “fearless Queer video art” for that event?
CS: I travel a lot. I have about ten home bases. I move with a lot of ease in the world due to the privilege of being a triple passport holder. I have all these different communities that I have lived and worked in, so I meet so many more creators than the average person. While I’m moving, I talk to other curators, interact with other festivals, other artists, everywhere I go. I come across incredible filmmakers some of whom I have been working with for almost a decade. I’m part of a huge Queer network of cultural producers in Asia, North America and Europe who I can reach out to at any time on the internet. We are all there for each other.
Photo by Katie Stewart
SM: And how did you choose which ones to include? What qualified the videos as too triggering–or not triggering enough–for the event?
CS: It’s actually really hard to find triggering work. I cut out pieces that I found problematic in terms of race and trans issues. I didn’t want anyone to feel unwelcome in the space. In the end, I created a bill that I felt comfortable with and I felt other people would be comfortable with, but there were definitely pieces that push the limit in terms of sexuality.
SM: Were there a lot of strong reactions?
CS: Well, actually it’s funny, I feel like my bill was not triggering enough. Perhaps I have to try harder! There was blood and piss and someone kissing their parents and performance art on the verge of self harm. But it was a fine line, because I didn’t want to make anyone feel so uncomfortable that they would walk off in a bad state alone into the world.
SM: What’s been your experience as someone who works both with film and performance? Do you think people react very differently to the two art forms?
CS: I think people are wary of performance art, because they feel that it’s an unpredictable medium–which it is – that is the joy of it! A lot of my video curations make performance art more palatable in a way. And video makes it possible to get all these artists with dynamic personalities from different locations on one bill. That’s why I love video: all that talent within three minutes. It’s amazing. For example: Morgan M Page, Eduardo Resrepo, and local artist Jade Yumang.
Photo by Katie Stewart
SM: In that same Daily Xtra interview, you refer to Vancouver culture as “very PC compared to the east coast,” and in another interview with Edgy Women, you describe Montreal as “one of the few remaining metropolises that is affordable to live cheaply and create art.” Vancouver culture receives a lot of this sort of criticism–among the well known, of course, is the Economist‘srecent inclusion of Vancouver in the list of “mind-numbingly boring” cities. Do you think our attitude will ever change, or are we forever doomed to be small-minded, unaffordable and ultimately, boring?
CS: I feel like the Vancouver art community is thriving these days! There’s been a much needed show of city support: a bunch of money given to VIVO and the art organizations in that area. There seems to be some new stuff happening; there’s always some great work. I always like to find out what’s happening here–who the new upcoming artists are, like Emilio Rojas, Helen Reed and Hannah Jickling.
Photo by Katie Stewart
SM: Obviously you’re familiar with the theme of this year’s festival: drawing the line. As a performer and artist, you’ve crossed many lines: from hole-puppet protests to physical self-abuse, you don’t seem afraid to “go too far” when it comes to your craft. This might be cliche, but where (if ever) do you draw the line? And why?
CS: When I was a young artist, I used to repeat some kind of mantra that went something like this: to keep pushing through my limits to go to the other side. I really wanted that to be my work: to not be afraid of anything. Push it as far as you can go and then push it farther. That’s where it begins and where my practice has grown – when I take risks and walk my own path.
But my artistic practice has changed since I did vipassana. I’ve started to make places for people to sit down, because people want to relax; it’s a really fast-paced life. So I made a giant, portable nest. I give people rides with these brown, velvet cushions while they hold this egg, and they become very birdlike. People love to sit in it. I’ve also started making this incredible earth furniture that is opulently growing with plants on radical faerie sanctuary land in Vermont and at IDA. I’m building places for people to repose, relax and be comfortable.
Photos courtesy of Nikol Mikus
SM: Is this experience of comfort something you’re trying to communicate in your art? Is that your intention?
CS: I think it just kind of happened. I have almost 15 years of sobriety, and each year I grow into my body and cellular structure a little more. That’s coming through in my work. It’s all tied into meditation and slowing down. The Queer scene is soaked in substances and lack of self-awareness, so living inside our bodies as queers is revolutionary. Self-love is radical.
The Vancouver Queer Arts Festival runs from July 23 – August 7. Event listings are available on the festival website. For more information about Coral Short, follow her on Twitter and Facebook, or visit her website.
33,900,000 videos of cats eating watermelon, falling off chairs, and having adorably miserable kitten nightmares.
Only after I’d peeled my eyes away from my third musical “sushi cat” video did I recognize the magnitude of what I’d just discovered: 33.9 million cat videos? To put this number into perspective, searching “Canada news” barely hits 4,760,000. Even searching for “Canada” can’t compete with the cat craze; at only 13,500,000 videos, our home and native land produces less than half the YouTube frenzy that our feline friends do.
How—how?—did sushi cats gain a larger media presence than our entire nation? Not sure whether to be awestruck, shocked, or disgusted, I turned to three experts—a media studies professor, a renowned cat researcher and a short-film director—for the scoop on society’s cat video obsession.
Sad Mag: In your book, The Public Sociology Debate, you reference this interesting quote by Burroway: the “privatization of everything.” You suggest that the opposite might be happening: everything is becoming public. YouTube is just one platform we use to “publicize” life. Where do you think this obsession comes from? Why are we so obsessed with publishing our own lives? And why are we so interested in the (often banal) things others publish about theirs?
Chris Schneider: We all want to feel important; we all want our individual selves to be recognized. Publishing, posting, and circulating the relatively mundane details of our lives accomplishes that task.
On the other hand, when other people are doing similar things, it really shows a relatability between ourselves and other people; it contributes to our feeling of normalcy. Watching cat videos, or other mundane details of our daily lives, is kind of boring. So it normalizes the boredom, and in some ways makes people feel less guilty about wasting their time watching cat videos.
SM: Many researchers believe this reliance on short-form media could shrink the viewer’s attention span. That we are so constantly bombarded with information, but have so little time to reflect on what’s going on that we don’t actually consume any of it. Do you think this is true?
CS: I think so, sure. It’s in some ways kind of like drinking from a fire hose: its not easy to do. That’s the metaphor for the information coming into our eyeballs and trying to process it; it becomes increasingly difficult for people to make sense of all of it—which of it’s good, which of it isn’t—to critically process all of these materials. One of the outlets, I think, is distraction: ‘I’m gonna look at this cat video’, or ‘I’m gonna tweet about eating this hamburger’ Rather that trying to really focus and concentrate and pay attention to what people are saying, and where this information is coming from. It’s a basic form of escapism. Daily life—sure its mundane, sure its boring—but it’s also difficult for a lot of people….We can unplug from the difficulties of our daily lives and plug into the relatively mundane details of cat videos or other people’s lives to forget, to relax.
SM: And how about you? Do you have a favorite cat video?
Dr. Dennis C. Turner with a therapy cat in Japan, photo by Junko Akiyama
DR. DENNIS C. TURNER
Director, Institute for applied Ethology and Animal Psychology (I.E.A.P/I.E.T.)
SM: You’ve been conducting research on the cat-human relationship for over 30 years; your book, The Domestic Cat, is now recognized in the field as the “Bible for cat researchers.” Why do you think cat videos have become so popular?
DT: One of the reasons I think cats are on the increase is because of what I like to call the emancipation of men; nowadays, men can express their feelings. 20, 40, or 50 years ago it wasn’t very manly to express your feelings. Cats are very emotional animals. I think men today are allowed to say they love cats.
SM: Do you agree with Dr. Schneider that cats might be one way in which we “unplug” from stress or challenges? How do cats affect our emotions?
DT: We have many studies showing that cats are relaxing; they make people more calm, generally in a better mood; [they create] a more natural environment [in which people] lose their fears. We’ve found that cats are capable of reducing negative moods—making negative moods better—especially depression, fear, introvertedness.
SM: When you want to feel better, what do you watch? What’s your favorite cat video?
DT: Definitely the Simon the Cat series: the one where the cat tries to wake up its owner.
SM: You’ve done very well with some of your short films—winning prizes at the Screamfest, the NSI Film Exchange and British Horror Film Festivals, to name a few. What, in your opinion, do viewers like best about short films?
Nick Humphries: Short content is extremely consumable. You can experience a story in a compressed amount of time. Those viral videos you’re talking about, like 6 seconds of a dramatic hamster, get play because they are short and on a very accessible platform and are therefore consumable, re-playable and shareable through social media.
SM: So why do you think YouTubers have become so interested in short, brainless cat videos? Is there something special about cats? Or is it the “consumable” nature of the medium itself?
NH: It’s because cats are awesome.
SM: Most important question: What’s your favorite cat video?
NH: There’s one of a kitten having a nightmare and then the mamma cat gives it a big hug. All while sleeping. It’s pretty much the best thing on the Internet.
For the full article (and many more fabulous, feline-focused reads), pick up a copy of The Cat Issue (Issue 18), in stores now at participating locations. Sad Mag subscriptions and back issues are also available through our website.
Swedish director Ruben Östlund isn’t letting us get away with anything. Watching his work, viewers are pushed to examine their weakest moments, to relive their failures and regrets, and to acknowledge themselves as they are—for better or for worse. Best-known for his acclaimed breakthrough feature, Force Majeure (2014), Östlund has directed a variety of films, each challenging, poignant, and darkly funny. This month at The Cinemateque, audiences can experience some of his finest at “In Case of No Emergency,” a retrospective dedicated entirely to the award-winning director.
On the program are four features and two shorts. Highlights include Play (2011), which won a Swedish Oscar for its controversial account of black teenagers harassing white and Asian youths, and Ostlund’s award-winning debut, The Guitar Mongoloid (2004), a story of nonconformity enacted by a non-professional cast.
The grand finale, of course, is Force Majeure, the winner of last year’s Grand Jury Prize at Cannes. Set against the impressive backdrop of the French Alps, Force Majeure is the story of a family torn apart by one man’s irreparable mistake. In this powerful and surprising production, Östlund demonstrates how the consequences of an isolated incident can touch and threaten to destroy the lives of many. Like the very avalanche around which the film is centred, the events of a single moment quickly grow into an awe-striking and all-consuming force of destruction.
In Case of No Emergency: The Films of Ruben Östlund takes place March 12-14, 19-21 at The Cinematheque. Click for details and show times.
Brace yourselves for all the bikes, Birkenstocks and brews you could ever wish for—The Cinematheque’s annual European Union Film Festival is back. From November 21 to December 4, 27 countries will each showcase a film of their choice. The selection crosses languages as well as genres, promising to please documentary-buffs, thriller fans and rom-com lovers alike.
To save you some time and a lot of Google-translating, SAD Mag did some research to come up with a fool-proof list of this year’s festival must-sees:
Two-Seater Rocket (Austria). A classic love story with an astronomical twist: Photographer Manuel has the hots for his gorgeous best friend Mia, but can’t muster enough courage to tell her. But hen Mia falls for a dashing Italian pilot instead, Manuel decides win her back as any love-struck person would—by stealing a rocket ship and making Mia’s childhood space dreams come true.
F*ck you, Gohte aka Suck me Shakespeer (Germany). Sex, crime and…spelling tests? Zeki returns from a 13 month prison sentence only to discover that a high school has been built on top of where his stolen stash lies buried. In order to recover his money, he accepts a job as a substitute teacher at the school, with some hilarious consequences. Zeki isn’t just under-qualified for the job…he doesn’t even know how to spell Germany’s most famous poet’s name!
The Guilded Cage (Portugal/France). Maria and José are a poor Portuguese immigrant couple working menial jobs in a snooty Parisian neighbourhood. When José inherits unexpected riches, he and his family plan to move back to Portugal as they have always dreamed. But it turns out that the rich bitches they work for have grown fond of their underpaid labourers, and decide to do everything in their power to keep them from moving home and finally achieving happiness.
Vis-A-Vis (Croatia). A young director struggles to make his first feature film and a name for himself. Unfortunately, the script is hopeless, the lead actor is in the midst of an emotional crisis and the budget is nonexistent. Funny, clever and thought-provoking, Vis-A-Vis features Woody Allen-like characters, a soundtrack by Andrew Bird and absolutely breathtaking Croatian scenery.
Flowers from the Mount of Olives (Estonia). Ever wondered what it feels like to be an 82-year-old Russian Orthodox nun living in a cloister in the middle of the Arab Quarter? This is your chance to find out. In this award-winning documentary, Sister Ksenya reveals all—talking ex-boyfriends, Nazis and drug addictions—when she decides to tell her life story one last time.
17th Annual European Union Film Festival The Cinematheque (1131 Howe) November 21st to December 4th Tickets & festival information
Film aficionados will fall in love with Ron Mann’s newest documentary, Altman, playing November 7 to 10 at The Cinemateque. The film celebrates one of America’s most daring filmmakers, Robert Altman (MASH, Gosford Park), for everything he was—an artist, a visionary, a legend.
Mann pieces together a vibrant image of Hollywood in the 1940s from scavenged archival footage—clips of Altman’s first films, extra shots taken on set during their production, and snippets of home videos. The world Mann recreates is rough, colourful and nostalgic; the viewer is thrust into a sunny California fuelled by American idealism—a place where life is easy, and everything is possible.
In the midst of this naive optimism appears Altman, the documentary’s strange and enigmatic hero. In the war against the superficiality of a growing film industry, Altman is a warrior for cinematographic realism. He challenges the age-old film-making conventions, producing a kind of media never seen before, and redefining American cinema forever. As actor Keith Carradine describes in an interview about the notorious director, Altman’s work “show[s] Americans who [they] are.”
Though heroic, Mann’s portrait of the famous filmmaker is also surprisingly human. Altman is not just a story about film; it is also a story about compassion, love and integrity. Mann unveils the family and friendships, failures and successes, wild parties and wise words that shaped the man into the artist he would one day become. Altman, we learn, made his films much like he lived life: with authenticity, conviction and ultimately, great pleasure.
— SCREENINGS —
Altman Friday, November 7 – 6:30pm Saturday, November 8 – 6:30pm Sunday, November 9 – 2:00pm Monday, November 10 – 8:40pm
McCabe and Mrs. Miller Friday, November 7 – 8:35pm Sunday, November 9 – 4:00pm Tuesday, November 11 – 6:30pm
Nashville Saturday, November 8 – 3:30pm Sunday, November 9 – 6:30pm Tuesday, November 11 – 3:30pm Thursday, November 13 – 6:30pm
The Long Goodbye Saturday, November 8 – 8:35pm Monday, November 10 – 6:30pm Tuesday, November 11 – 8:45pm
$11 Adult
$9 Senior / Student
Restricted to 18+ unless otherwise noted
$3 annual membership required for those 18+
The Cinematheque 1131 Howe Street, Vancouver 24hr Film Infoline: 604.688.FILM
I left the cinema feeling like I’d just woken from a very beautiful dream after watching Stéphane Lafleur’s Tu Dors Nicole (You’re Sleeping Nicole) at this year’s Vancouver International Film Festival. Cute, quirky, and just a little absurd, the film has all the qualities of surreality—strange characters, unexplainable happenings, and an overriding sense that nothing is really as important as it seems.
22-year-old Nicole’s (Julianne Côté) vacationing parents have put her in charge of their suburban home for the summer, leaving her to spend those hot months mowing grass and working a dead-end job in the small Quebec town’s thrift-store. Along with her best friend, Véronique (Catherine St-Laurent), she spends the rest of the daylight hours biking around, impulse-buying with her new credit card, and drinking beers while her brother’s band records an offensively loud album in her parents’ living room. At night, Nicole discovers what her eclectic neighbours do while they think no one is looking. She hasn’t been sleeping well lately, and spends many insomniac hours ambling through the dark streets.
Night and day are almost indistinguishable in this grey scale world, thanks to Sara Mishara’s breath-taking cinematography. LaFleur employs very few background extras, enhancing the film’s dreamlike quality. The streets are almost as deserted during the day as they are at midnight, and so Nicole appears as a lone figure drifting through an unending series of empty frames. Time likewise is unending, and each day feels just as hot, stagnant and aimless as the last. Events don’t follow a classic cause-and-effect sequence; just as in a dream, they occur almost inexplicably.
The surreal treatment of time and space recreates a moment many of us experience growing up: the moment we realized that mini-golf isn’t as fun at 22 as it was when we were 7 and that buying ice cream with a Visa card doesn’t make it free. It recalls that painful moment when we learned that best friends don’t always tell us the truth, and that ex-boyfriends move on with their lives, even when we don’t. Finally, Tu Dors Nicole reminds us of that moment we noticed that summer holidays can be just as dull as school—that waking life can be just as strange as dreams.
In the stifling heat of yet another inconsequential day, the girls ask, “Is this going to be our summer?” In this seemingly simple question lie a million more, pushing the audience to reflect on their own lives. Do we, like Nicole, bump through our days buying ice cream after ice cream to fill the time? Are we, too, passing through life in a half-awake stupor? Watching one slow moment slip into the next, it’s hard not to ask: “Is this going to be my summer? Is this going to be my life?”
Imagine that every day of your life is a bad hair day. You’re a nine-year-old dreamer, living in the hostile city of Caracas with your recently widowed mother and baby brother. You’re poor, rejected, and decidedly “different” from the other kids. Add a possible identity crisis into the mix, and you’re beginning to understand what it means to be Junior, the star of Mariana Rondón’s award-winning Pelo Malo (“Bad Hair”), now playing at Vancouver’s Queer Film Festival.
The plot is simple: a new school year is around the corner and Junior must decide how he wants to take his class head shot. Will he don the socially respectable button-down and trousers, or the flashy, straight-haired singers’ getup he dearly longs for? Making things harder, Junior’s singer fantasy is complicated by his impossibly curly mop of “pelo malo” that won’t lie flat no matter what he does, his family’s inability to pay for the photo shoot, and most importantly, his mother’s insistence that Junior start acting more like one of the other boys.
Torn between winning his mother’s love and honouring his own sense of self, our young hero’s choice becomes the audience’s own. Forced to examine our own lives under the lens, we wonder what our head shots say about us. What costumes have we put on? What roles are we playing? And what have we given up to become who we are? Prompting questions of identity and gender, love and suffering, survival and responsibility, one little boy’s snapshot thus becomes a tool for seeing the bigger picture.
Director Tamara Voudrach debuts her film Suzanna at Capilano University on April 27
In anticipation of Capilano University’s Indigenous Independent Digital Filmmaking Program year-end screening on Sunday, April 27, Sad Mag‘s April Johnson sat down with Tamara Voudrach—writer, producer and director of short film Suzanna—and her cinematographer, Damien Eaglebear, to discuss the film as well as the indigenous independent filmmaking scene in Vancouver.
SAD MAG: What sparked your interest in filmmaking and what led to your decision to leave NWT for Vancouver?
TAMARA VOUDRACH: I’m from Inuvik, NWT—I’ve spent my whole life in the north. In high school I took a video production course. It was only about four months long. During that time I made a short film with a friend—a comedy that won a youth award at the Dawson City International Film Festival. We won a solid $150. It was good times (laughs).
After that, I started off in Journalism at Grant McEwan University in Edmonton. I realized there that I was more interested in people and telling people’s stories, but journalism felt too critical for me and didn’t allow me to tell the kind of stories I wanted to. I thought about Toronto Film School, but more research led to me the Indigenous Independent Digital Filmmaking Program (IIDF) here in Vancouver. I’m pretty comfortable now and don’t see myself relocating for a while.
“When I feel more situated, I would like to tell stories about home, because no one else is.”
SM: What kinds of stories are you interested in telling?
TV: At the moment I’d like to explore horror more. The film we just finished shooting, Suzanna, is a horror film about a girl with a phobia of the dark. In the film, a series of events take place in the span of one night (triggering her phobia). There are always explanations for the events, but she never sticks around long enough to find out, which is where the element of comedy comes in.
When I feel more situated, I would like to tell stories about home, because no one else is. There are a lot of documentaries coming out, but they are mainly Inuit and Eastern Arctic stories—from the Nunavut and Greenland area. I’m Inuvialuit, so I’m from the Western Arctic. I don’t feel comfortable with having other filmmakers go up there that aren’t Inuvialuit and distribute (the stories)—I just don’t think that’s right.
SM: Are you finding yourself interested in certain aspects of filmmaking that you weren’t originally looking to pursue?
TV: Directing kind of surprised me. I liked it. It’s something I want to get better at as time goes on.
SM: Film mentors?
TV: Before the IIDF program, I didn’t have a lot of connections. I just jumped into it and worked with whomever I could. I gained a lot of connections from Damien who knew a lot of Indigenous filmmakers at Simon Fraser University. Through these film experiences I feel like I found something that I want to keep working at.
“I may be asked why I’m not telling an Indigenous story right off the bat.”
SM: Damien, How was your experience working with Tamara on Suzanna?
DAMIEN EAGLEBEAR: She put a lot of trust in me and our visual ideas kind of matched.
SM: Was Damien a good teacher?
TV: Yeah. I got a lot of support from him throughout the whole process. I felt that between him and my lead actress I was able to connect with them and I was really fortunate.
SM: Nervous about the screening?
TV: I’m not nervous or scared, maybe just a little annoyed that I may be asked why I’m not telling an Indigenous story right off the bat. Because I feel that it is. Because I am, and we made it together (Damien and the IIDF class). I wanted an Indigenous lead actress, and that’s what I got. It’s a pretty solid story and we made a pretty solid film together, and that feels pretty Indigenous to me.
SM: In terms of cinematography, are you two happy with how Suzanna was shot?
DE: I pretty much did what she wanted. I’m happy with how it turned out and if she’s happy, that’s even better (laughs).
TV: It turned out a lot better than what I had envisioned (laughs). If I had done it myself, I don’t even want to think about how it would look.
AJ: Final words to future filmmakers?
DE: The most important thing to do on any film set is to always drink water. That goes for the after party, too.
The Indigenous Independent Digital Filmmaking screening is a free community event. Suzanna, will be screened Sunday, April 27 at 7pm in the Nat and Flora Bosa Centre for Film and Animation Theatre at Capilano University.
Canadian filmmakers are competing for a one million dollar budget and distribution at Cineplex Theatres. It’s a competition. Votes have been cast and teams have been ousted, and only the Top 10 remain. That’s the CineCoup Film Accelerator production model. Incroyable, non?
Out of the Top 10 remaining teams, six are from Vancouver, eclipsing everyone else in the country. The shocking thing, however, is that even though Vancouver is representing in terms of talented filmmaking, the fan support appears limited. And the stakes are high: the top fan– that is, the fan who uses social media to promote their favourite Top 10 contenders– gets to go to the Top 5 event at the Banff World Media Festival. They get an advisory seat on the final selection jury. They, in other words, get the power to help award one team a cool million.
Where do you think the most active CineCoup fans hail from? The answer is not Vancouver. On the leader board at this time, Monday night, the top three fans are from Toronto, Edmonton and Regina. Which is not to say that they aren’t helping to support the awesomeness of the Vancouver contenders– Grade Nine, The Mill and the Mountain, Scam, Alien Abduction, The Fall and Bad–but seriously: where are the Vancouver fans? The Top Ten Leader Board is a wasteland.
It’s not too late! Voting for the Top 5 begins May 30th and ends June 2nd. Together, Vancouver fans can make a difference in this competition. All you have to do is sign up and watch the trailers (there are only ten left! Easy peasy! Plus, they are super entertaining) and you can earn enough votes to help keep Vancouver films in the Top 5.
These teams have worked extremely hard. Last month, prior to the Top 10 reveal, Sad Mag interviewed the incredible Sean Horlor, who is one third of the trio behind The Mill and the Mountain. “We’ve still got a long way to go!” says Horlor, “So far, CineCoup has given us a space to be shiny and showcase our knowledge as filmmakers and entrepreneurs. Now it’s time for us to find the financing and connections to get our films made.”
Jay Rathore
Jay Rathore, of Grade Nine, recalls “Honestly…I don’t think I really grasped the weight of what I was getting myself into when I first signed up. I knew I was in for a lot of work, but the reality of grinding out the weekly mission video’s, with very little money, and while juggling my regular life, is brutal. Especially considering I’m the kind of person who only really operates at full throttle when it comes to creating content.”
Nevertheless, Rathore says, “as tough as this process was, and continues to be, it has been such an empowering experience. The pressure of the extremely small production time for the weekly missions has forced our team to be resourceful and decisive. Relying on our wits, creativity and production savvy we continue to produce content we are proud of. We have tested our selves on so many levels, in a way that we would have never done if it wasn’t for this accelerator. As Cinecoup winds down I find myself feeling physically exhausted, but mentally and creatively, more charged than I have ever been in my life. What ever happens with Cinecoup, I know now, more than ever, that I will make movies.”
