One of the best films to premiere at TIFF15, 88:88 is an emphatic statement on poverty and debuts an exciting, radical new voice in cinema: Winnipeg-based Isiah Medina.
Creative Non-Fiction
Creative Non-Fiction is often a more appropriate word for describing innovative forms in documentary filmmaking, which go beyond mere information dump. Here you'll find reviews of films that are pushing the form and interviews with non-fiction filmmakers about making non-fiction works of art.
TIFF15: Leanne Pooley discusses her animated war doc 25 April

Leanne Pooley’s boundary-pushing animated documentary 25 April follows six New Zealanders’ experiences during the World War I Battle of Gallipoli in 1915. The battle was an important part of New Zealand history because of how poorly the British treated their colonial forces: underquipped, under-supported troops were deployed in Turkey for what ended up being a pointless bloodbath. Each character tells his or her story in an animated talking head interview — created using motion capture with live actors — set around 1920. The stories are then brought to life with recreated footage of the events.
When Pooley was brought onto the project, her producer had already decided to make the film using animation. After ten months of research, poring over hundreds of journals and letters from the time with her team of researchers, Pooley identified six characters with distinctive voices who could help tell the story of the events — one of whom had been at Gallipoli at the very beginning and the end of the campaign.
In their initial promotional trailer for the film to seek funding, the interviews were set in present day, because that’s how we think of war documentaries: old people recounting stories from decades past. But because this film would be animated, Pooley had a radical idea: why not set it just after the war, when the characters were still young and close to the story? It’s something that wouldn’t be possible in conventional documentary filmmaking, and it dovetailed nicely with Pooley’s goal to connect with young people in New Zealand who have been moved to commemorate this battle in recent years.
25 April had its world premiere at the Toronto International Film Festival earlier this month. I sat down with Leanne Pooley to discuss the challenges of making the film, how she decided to use actual actors with motion capture for the talking head interviews, and why making an animated documentary was a good match for the material.
Seventh Row (7R): The animation in the film is very stylized. How did that particular style come about, and what the process was to find it?
Leanne Pooley (LP): It’s a multi stage process. At the beginning, I said I wanted it to have a graphic novel feel, not like a game, which I told the animation team. Then the team comes to the table with their ideas. There’s also budgetary issues to talk about — the backgrounds are hand drawn, but the characters were computer generated. When we made the decision to go with a graphic novel aesthetic, we had Colin Wilson, who’s a really well known graphic novelist. He did all the character’s faces. He gave them a really “drawn” feel. I wanted to make them look animated, not real.
7R: What do you think a documentary film, and also animation, can do for this story that a narrative film couldn’t do?
LP: Animation is great because it can put you inside the heads of the characters in ways that would look kind of naff in live action. You can create visual metaphors you’d never be able to get away with in live action. You get the freedom to play with imagery and metaphor, and being inside the experience of the characters.
In terms of documentary versus fiction, there’s something about documentary that makes an audience feel comfortable knowing that there’s some truth in what’s happening. You look at “Braveheart,” which I think is a genius piece of filmmaking, but then there’s people talking about how it’s not historically accurate, which some people find it gets in the way of their viewing experience.
If you use the documentary word, you hope your audience has relaxed into the sense that this happened. That’s why we put the key up at the front of the film saying it’s true. We did a test audience, and one member of it said, “It’s a bit cliché that you had the Maori unit doing a haka,” but that’s what happened. Maybe it’s cliché that they did a haka, but they did a haka.. I think there’s a comfort in knowing that if you’re using the documentary word, knowing there’s fact.
7R: How did you think about structure when writing the script?
LP: I do set down a breakdown of the “beats” I want to hit. I look at them and think, “There’s an awful lot of darkness, we need some lightness.” We have a scene where there’s the armistice, and it’s pretty horrible and sad, and I go to the swimming to give the audience a breath before we go back to death and despair. I think that’s the same. I sit down and write what my scenes are and their order. I look for “This character’s disappeared for half an hour, we can’t have that,” like traditional film. I sit down and mark it out.
This is an excerpt. Read the full interview in our ebook on creative nonfiction…
Gillian Armstrong talks Women He’s Undressed
Director Gillian Armstrong discusses Australian costume designer Orry-Kelly and her gorgeous documentary about his life and craft — with a side of Cary Grant and Betty Davis.
[Read more…] about Gillian Armstrong talks Women He’s UndressedTIFF15: Sherpa is an inside look at the Nepalese people who make climbing Everest possible
With Sherpa, Australian filmmaker Jennifer Peedom revisits the story of Everest, but in present day and from the Sherpas’ perspective instead of that of the Westerners who hope to conquer it. The film is now streaming on Netflix in the UK, Australia, and New Zealand.
[Read more…] about TIFF15: Sherpa is an inside look at the Nepalese people who make climbing Everest possibleTIFF15 review: NFB history doc Ninth Floor sheds light on our racial biases

Mina Shum’s taut and accomplished documentary The Ninth Floor is an extremely important film about racial discrimination in Canada. Not only does it retell a crucial part of Canadian history that never made it into the history books I studied in school, but the incident it depicts has continued relevance today.
The title refers to the 1969 George Williams Affair, a peaceful protest against institutionalized racism at the university in Montreal that fundamentally changed how Canada dealt with multiculturalism. The Canadian Multiculturalism Act was enacted the following year, and by the 1970s, universities like McGill had removed their quotas on Jewish and black students, which had existed since the 1920s. In 1971, George Williams University established the first Ombudsman Office.
In Canada, we like to think that racism isn’t nearly as much of an issue as it is in the U.S. To some degree, that’s true: the George Williams Affair protests involved people of all races from the start who could easily empathize with the black students for the injustice they faced. But the brand of racism we have in Canada is in some ways more pernicious, even today. It’s implicit rather than explicit, making it difficult to talk about and address.
The students at George Williams University were clearly getting unfair treatment, but the rules had been designed to keep them quiet and suppress their rights. And when arrests were made at the protests, it was black students who were beaten, who were the last to be released from prison, and who were deported for their actions — a particularly concerning fact given Canada’s recently adopted policy to effectively create second-class citizenship for immigrants.
Told through a mix of historical footage and interviews with surviving protesters, Shum recounts how it all began and what the implications were for the students involved. In May 1968, six West Indian students at George Williams University in Montreal accused biology professor Perry Anderson of racism. He was giving out lower grades to black students for equivalent if not superior work to his white students. Believing the school to be a place where justice could be served, the students issued a formal complaint and waited patiently for ten months. But the university didn’t take the charges seriously. The university administration formed a faculty panel to rule on the charge, but without formal measures for dealing with such complaints, doing nothing was easy.
Frustrated with the university’s lack of action, a group of black and white students from the university, joined by both black and white students from McGill, began a peaceful protest by occupying the ninth floor of the Henry F. Hall building where the computer lab was housed. The peacefulness of the protest was not itself intended as a bold political statement; it was merely the Canadian way: they expected justice. By this point, it was no longer really about or just about Anderson’s behaviour but about the widespread systemic racism that existed throughout the university. The 1960s were rife with student protests, a time where young people were passionate about social change, and this cultural moment helped fuel the support for the protest among other students.
The media didn’t help either. Throughout the film, Shum shows us headlines and articles from both the student paper and the local newspapers, which covered the protests thoroughly. From the start, there was an expectation that violence would break out, merely because it was a protest led by black students. Racism fueled the police’s fears and, Shum’s subjects suggest, contributed to the brutal treatment experienced by the protesters. It was only after black students were treated cruelly by the police — and differently from the white students — that the protesters truly understood just how deep-rooted and dangerous the fear of black people was in Canada.
Shum sets her interviews in a run-down high rise in Montreal. They sit in a simple chair, alone, in a vast room. Shum often shows us how the subjects are being recorded through surveillance footage — with audio and video — throughout. It’s an interrogation setting and a call back to the extreme surveillance the leaders of the protest were under at the time. The setting creates an important meta-narrative, making us constantly aware of the fact that we’re watching the protesters and scrutinizing them; to be watched and judged by the white majority is their everyday reality.
In this haunted space, Shum’s gaze is a humanizing one, filling the screen with colour and vibrancy. The film is punctuated by bold interludes in which she frames each protester head on, looking into the camera, with a black background surrounding them. These are gorgeous portraits, but there’s deep sadness in their eyes, which we sense is rooted in the events surrounding the protest. More importantly, it’s Shum’s way of turning the tables. We’ve spent the film watching its subjects. Finally, we’re subject to their gaze, and it’s unsettling.
That’s not to say there is no hope. Roosevelt Douglas, one of the leaders of the protest who served an eighteen-month jail sentence before being deported, became Prime Minister of Dominica, and Anne Cools, who was also arrested, became the first black Canadian senator, an office she continues to hold. One of the initial complainants went on to get his Ph.D. and another a law degree.
All of the protesters continue to bear deep scars — many of them find themselves on the verge of tears while trying to recount the events — but they’ve also witnessed some, though not enough, social change, which they helped to create at great personal sacrifice. There are still miles to go, though, before we sleep. In her interview, the daughter of one of the protesters worries about the casual racism her young son experiences in Montreal today, and whether Canada is a place she can really call home. Here’s hoping The Ninth Floor will galvanize much needed discussion while commemorating this crucial, oft-forgotten chapter in our history.
Read our interview with Director Mina Shum here.
Read more about Ninth Floor in our ebook about creative nonfiction…
TIFF15 interview: Ninth Floor director Mina Shum discusses Canadian racism
Ninth Floor director Mina Shum: In Canada, “We’re racist but we like to apologize about our racism.” Shum discusses Canadian racism and her new documentary.
[Read more…] about TIFF15 interview: Ninth Floor director Mina Shum discusses Canadian racism