SAD Mag is pleased to announce our first call for poetry and fiction submissions. We are soliciting pieces of up to 1,000 words related to the theme of high school (we encourage you to interpret our theme creatively and broadly). Successful submissions will be published online alongside an illustration by one of our featured artists.
SAD is particularly interested in publishing the work of queer or emerging writers, especially those based in Vancouver or the Lower Mainland. We are committed to supporting and fostering Vancouver’s creative community and giving voices and opportunities to people who aren’t heard in the mainstream. We tell stories and publish art pieces that are thought-provoking, insightful, sincere, and wonderfully weird.
Work that perpetuates racism, ageism, homophobia, biphobia, acephobia, transphobia, sexism, body-shaming, slut-shaming, ableism, or other forms of oppression will be rejected. We welcome writing that examines and challenges these issues.
Guidelines:
We only accept submissions via e-mail
With your submission, include your name, address, phone number, and e-mail address
Note the genre of your submission(s) and an accurate word count
Please use a standard font and margins and submit your work as a doc or docx file
In your e-mail, we ask that you include a short bio and links to any social media handles you use so that you can be credited and accessible to readers who love your work
We cannot accept work that has been previously published elsewhere
Simultaneous submissions are fine, but please let us know if you are submitting a piece elsewhere or if it becomes no longer available
All submissions will be responded to within one week of the deadline
Make sure you designate us as an approved sender to prevent our response from going to your spam folder
If we select your work it may undergo an editing process in collaboration with a SAD editor
SAD is volunteer run and we are not currently able to compensate our contributors
Deadline: 11:59 PM, September 15th. Please send submissions to: kyla@sadmag.ca.
Non-fiction writers, we would also like to hear from you! Our print issue contains exclusively non-fiction writing alongside film photography and original art and illustrations. You can read about pitching us for the web or print here: http://www.sadmag.ca/contribute/.
I walked into Stephen Cone’s Henry Gamble’s Birthday Party at last week’s Vancouver Queer Film Fest jaded by a history of over-indulging in cheesy, vaguely LGBT films. At best, I hoped the coming-of-age film about a 17-year-old white boy and his Christian family might be cute, maybe even entertaining. But instead I found Henry Gamble’s Birthday Party to be sweetly orchestrated, intricate and smart–a meaningful commentary on what it’s like to go up against an entire community.
The film centres around young, fresh-faced Henry Gamble on his 17th birthday. Our protagonist is a blossoming gay individual and is emotionally wrought over his equally fresh-faced, straight best friend. Over the course of one day and one big pool party, Henry ushers in a new year of living and, ultimately, learns how to be himself. The film alternates between adorably funny moments and disturbing ones. Audiences will remain engaged by what makes each character tick through each scene.
Cone takes the audience to some pretty dark places, examining the heavier sides to growing up gay (or even just different). This is especially true for one of Henry’s guests, Logan, whose troubles are concentrated by a lack of real understanding from his church community. Everyone tiptoes around him because of an incident that happened at church camp and now, when he is most in need of true connection and support, he is left to fend for himself.
Another strength of Henry Gamble lies in its ability to poke fun at the fact that it’s so clearly situated within the upper class, white, Christian perspective. When wine is smuggled into the party by a longstanding church member and referred to as ‘medicine,’ I couldn’t help but smile. In another scene, the pastor (Henry’s dad) and a fellow church member fumble frantically for the remote control when a movie suddenly gets “inappropriate.” They heave a sigh of relief after finally switching the channel to good old football, and I laughed out loud with the rest of the audience.
Both focussed and honest, Henry Gamble is the kind of movie about young people growing up I wish I’d had as a young person growing up. Even watching now, in my mid-twenties, I felt I could take a lesson from the struggles of some of Henry’s guests, slightly older but equally well-portrayed as the younger ones.
I leave the preview screening of I Am Chris Farley feeling strangely affected. I realize that I hadn’t considered how much of my adolescent psyche was shaped by the characters Chris Farley played on SNL and in the SNL franchise films of the mid-90’s. I didn’t realize that I am now just a year older than Farley was in 1997, when he died of an overdose of cocaine and morphine. Or that some of his most iconic characters seeped into my sense of what it means to be fat and funny (terms I occasionally self-identify by).
I was about 9 or 10 years old when I started staying up late at night to watch Saturday Night Live. I immediately understood the magic of the show and started to emulate the performances. I was too young to realize how much of a master Farley was, but I very much remember that Christina Applegate sketch where Farley’s famous Matt Foley, Motivational Speaker, was unleashed into the world.
There’s an uncanny overlap between this documentary and the character Matt Foley, whose motivating shtick was to caution teenagers against making the choices he’s made, as evidenced by the fact that he now lives “in a van down by the river.” In a way I’m not sure was intended, this documentary acts as a cautionary tale against the toxic nexus of fast fame, low self esteem, substance use and abuse, and, well, being fat. Except instead of ending up in a van by the river, Farley ended up in a cemetery in Wisconsin at the age of 33.
The doc flirts a little more than I had anticipated, but not enough to really satisfy me, with the connection between Farley’s weight-related self esteem issues and his comedy. A set piece in the film focuses on Farley’s breakout SNL sketch, a Chippendales audition, in which he takes his shirt off and dances next to the chiseled Patrick Swayze. His reluctance privately to play the “fat fool”, but ultimately unbridled commitment to the choice on stage, are both acknowledged by the film, but I’m left wishing someone would have spoken to the ways in which Farley was pigeon-holed on SNL. The film acknowledges how boundary-breaking that performance was in some ways, but I wonder if the magic lies more in the audacity and totality of his commitment rather than the cultural norm which underwrites that joke, that fat can never equals erotic.
I am Chris Farley, a project executive produced and heavily featuring Farley’s brother Kevin, does a coherent and at times quite cinematic job celebrating the singular comedic force of nature that Farley was, while also paying more than lip service to his more private struggles. Don’t expect anything too gritty or unflattering here—this is a loving tribute made to celebrate his life.
Those unfamiliar with Farley would do well to see it and discover his singularity. Those familiar will likely enjoy the reminder of how brightly he shone. I leave the film feeling vaguely implicated, somehow, in a culture that can’t quite decide how to embrace folks who are funny and fat.
I Am Chris Farley plays at the Rio Theatre from August 25, 28, and 29. Tickets and showtimes available here.
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.
Piss smacked the asphalt in his wake as we skated into a stretch of the bike path moonlight and streetlights couldn’t reach. A thud and “fuck!” came from the darkness ahead; someone had made an abrupt introduction with the ground. His pee-trail jumped and drew wet jagged peaks as he belly laughed at our friend, the source of the thud, writhing and cursing in front of us. He continued to laugh until his wheels hit the same watering hose snaking across the path our friends had, pitching him into air, dick in hand, urine scrawling jumbled cursive cries into the night.
For more, visit the Portraits of Brief Encounters website, or follow Cole Nowicki on Instagram or Twitter.
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.
An Argentinian/Chilean production by director Mauricio López Fernández, La Visita centres around a young trans woman, Elena, who returns home to attend her father’s wake. The entire film takes place on the property of a doctor, home to his wife, their kids, an eccentric mother-in-law condemned to the upstairs, and a full staff, one of whom is Elena’s mother Coya.
Elena, played by incredible trans actress Daniela Vega, understands that talking matter-of-factly with the rest of the household will not be enough to resolve the ‘uncomfortable situation’ caused by her reappearance as a woman. Interestingly, while Elena’s struggle to find acceptance as a trans woman is the centre of the action, each character appeals the audience with their own ordeal.
Coya, for instance, is a deliciously blended character; it’s near impossible to shun her for shunning her trans daughter. As a servant to the doctor and his family, Coya struggles with class throughout the film while also coping with the loss of Elena’s father. More than missing her late husband, though, she is stricken by the loss of a strong male presence in her life. It’s endlessly entertaining to watch her as she attempts to satisfy her lust for young meat–a feat that, at her age, requires a lot of creativity.
Teresa, the doctor’s wife, is also struggling. She is left emotionally vulnerable by a husband who doesn’t come home nights. Though she is on the verge of erupting, Teresa continues to pretend that she is running the show. No one in La Visita is able to talk about what is going on with them, personally. Instead, Fernández uses facial tics to powerfully communicate characters’ true feelings.
The film wraps up with a sensuality expressed by Vega’s character in a few isolated moments, at night, or alone in front of her bedroom mirror. Viewers will fall for her almost immediately and stay on her side throughout, even while sympathizing with almost every character in the film. Because there is little dialogue and the action is confined to the house and surroundings, La Visita has a slow, dreamlike quality. Viewers will find themselves wondering about each character as the story unfolds, in this intense and intimite venture.
La Visita played at this year’s Vancouver Queer Film Festival, which runs until Aug 23. For festival showtimes and information, visit the VQFF website.
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.
