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 possibleFestival Favourites
TIFF15: Our Loved Ones depicts cycles of family grief
In Our Loved Ones, Québécois director Anne Émond makes the physical closeness of loved ones tangible. There’s intimacy in every moment shared between family members here, often expressed through the sound design that highlights barely perceptible noises. Whether it’s the breath of a partner lying in bed next to you or the thump of a tight hug, Émond has a gift for making you feel like you’re there in that moment, where being near someone is a form of comfort.
This is essential for a film that is about a family caught in cycles of grief. It begins when the patriarch commits suicide, twenty years in the past. From here, we follow his son David (Maxim Gaudette). He visits his sister while grieving, which leads him to his wife. We skip to years later as he’s becoming the patriarch of a new family, as scared and confused as we imagine his father must have been.
Decades pass, but emotional scars left behind from the event remain visible — especially for David’s younger brother (Mikael Gouin), who was the one to find his father dead and spends years in a tailspin because of it. Grief unites the family, who only really feel solid, whole, and connected when physically close to one another. Even the way they stand together in a room, preparing a meal, speaks of years of shared space and intimacy.
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Émond plays with time, jumping ahead several years at a time without notice, as David grows into a father of two. As his daughter Laurence (Karelle Tremblay) ages, the film shifts focus to her life, starting around age 16, while her father fades into the background, both literally — Émond blurs his figure in the frame — and figuratively. He feels his increasing irrelevance even as they share a close relationship, but he also marvels at her with pride. It eventually becomes clear that Émond’s real interest is in Laurence, how she copes with growing up and her changing relationship with her father. But having followed David’s trajectory allows us to see him as a flawed, young person, like Laurence is. It draws attention to the cycle of life.
The teenaged Laurence falls head-over-heels in love. She’s forced to deal with unexpected left turns and find her way in the world. Although every scene between David and his wife, Laurence’s mother, seems tender and sweet, the central relationship of the film is between father and daughter. We wait to see how Laurence grows out of him and replaces him, while also watching for the ways he’ll always be essential and present.
Because the film spans decades, any small detail introduced early in the film accumulates greater resonance by the end. The song David plays on his guitar to woo his wife soon becomes a part of family history, an inside joke to be pulled out and smiled at from time to time, remembering what it has meant even as each performance gives it new meaning. The red notebook that Laurence had used as a diary and David read without permission becomes a reminder of the boundaries he broke and the ease with which she would forgive him when she needed him.
Watch our directing masterclass with Anne Émond and Madeleine Olnek
Set largely in the beautiful small town in Bas-Saint-Laurent, Québec, the specificity of the locations is crucial. Each place is tangled up with events we witness on screen and recall when the characters return to the sites in later years. The long shots of the landscape full of colour add a romanticism to the setting, making the place feel so idyllic that the memory and nostalgia that Laurence acquires feel earned.
Although the deaths in the film are a useful device to bring the family together and show the passage of time, the suicide is under-motivated. Just because it may seem baffling to family members when a suicide happens doesn’t mean it’s entirely unexplained. We’d expect to see signs of depression or other mental health issues. The end result may be a surprise, but there are usually signs. For a family that seems mostly harmonious, the fact that suicide looms large even as Émond suggests this is not the result of a genetic chemical instability (why isn’t anyone in therapy anyway?), becomes increasingly implausible and shoehorned in as a plot device.
Yet it hardly matters. Even as her mother and father recede into the distance, Laurence becomes more and more intriguing and complicated. She’s wrestling with adulthood, memory, family obligation, and confusion. We experience things viscerally with Laurence, as alive to sound and touch as she is. When she goes for a swim, we hear the light movement of water around her and we watch her face in tight closeup. When she goes in for a hug with her brother from her mother, Émond hones in on how her mother brushes away the hair on Laurence’s face, providing comfort with her touch. For its interest in memory and family dynamics, Our Loved Ones would make for a great pairing with Joachim Trier’s Louder Than Bombs. It’s instinctive where Bombs is intellectual. Together, they almost complete each other.
Read about other films in Canada’s Top Ten.
Read our interview with Director Anne Émond.
[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M-0eZz4g9oA]
TIFF15 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.
Watch our directing masterclass with Mina Shum and Philippe Falardeau
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…
Fire Song presents an authentic, First Nations queer narrative
Adam Garnet Jones’ “Fire Song” is a frank portrait of indigenous LGBT people and how depression and isolation intersect within a First Nation community.
[Read more…] about Fire Song presents an authentic, First Nations queer narrative
TIFF15 Interview: Canadian director Kire Paputts talks The Rainbow Kid and disability in film
With his first feature, The Rainbow Kid, Canadian filmmaker Kire Paputts has made a landmark film. The film stars a character with Down Syndrome, Eugene (Dylan Harman), a naive boy whose mother can’t pay the rent. In an effort to prevent their eviction, he sets out on a journey to find the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow and solve their problems. Along the way, he meets an eccentric cast of characters, most of whom take advantage of him in some way, even as they may be offering him hospitality.
Eugene is never defined by his disability; it’s merely a limitation to cope with. His quest would be a challenge full of setbacks for any character, regardless of disability. But Eugene faces additional, different challenges because he has Down Syndrome. Paputts doesn’t shy away from subtly addressing the difficulties and limitations of living with Down Syndrome. It’s accurate and specific without making those limitations the focus of the film. The result is a touching, thoughtful film, and proof that actors with special needs can and should be carrying more films.
In anticipation of the film’s world premiere at the Toronto International Film Festival this weekend, I sat down with writer-director Kire Paputts to discuss the genesis of the film, working with his lead actor, and how he approached the aesthetic of the film.
Seventh Row (7R): What got you interested in making a film that has at the centre of it a character with Down Syndrome?
Kire Paputts: It was just a weird idea I got. “Oh, it would be kind of interesting to have this guy with a disability wandering off to find a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.” The more I thought about it, I couldn’t shake it. It kept coming back to me. So I started to do more research and just expand upon it.
As I was doing research, trying to see other films that had people with special needs in them, it was really hard to come by anything. I had to really dig. There’s probably about a handful of films tops that I was able to get my hands on that actually had an actor with special needs in a starring role. At that point, it got a little more political for me. Well, why is that? Why can I only find about 4 films? So that kind of fueled things further for me, really wanting to get it done, and do something different. Also, giving a voice to a bunch of actors who don’t really get the opportunity.
7R: What kind of research did you do for the film?
Kire Paputts: When I was writing the script, I started volunteering with a group in Toronto called DramaWay. They offer creative classes to people with special needs — singing, acting, that kind of thing — just to get in that world a bit. I really wanted to make sure that when I told the story, I brought some authenticity to it and wasn’t just relying on stereotypes that are out there. I fell in love with that, and I’m still volunteering with them today. It’s been five years. When the film winds down, I’m still going to go back and keep working. A lot of things that happen in the film have been inspired by things I’ve witnessed or taken part of in the class.
7R: How did you find the actors for the film?
Kire Paputts: Dylan is actually the only member of ACTRA, which is kind of like our union for actors in Canada, with Down Syndrome in at least Toronto, if not all of Canada, at least in his age range. When I was doing the short, I went to ACTRA like, “Look, you guys don’t have anybody on your roster. I want to go union but you don’t have anybody for me.” So they allowed me to have an open casting call for basically anyone in Ontario who wanted to come out and try out for the film.
The actress Krystal Nausbaum who plays his love interest Anna, because of our film she’s in the union now. Basically, they’re the only two around. Whenever shows come to Toronto, and they’re looking for someone with Down Syndrome, they usually get pulled in for the same part. They audition for the same role. Then whoever they like more, they’ll change the role for a female or male, depending on who they like better.
In some ways, it’s good for them, because there’s very little competition. But in other ways, there still isn’t really that much work. He’s been acting since he’s five, but only in the last few years has he gotten some bigger roles. I’m hoping this film will at least get him something else, that people will see it and be inspired to write a script for him, even if it’s a supporting role.
7R: The film deals with a lot of different angles about what it is to live with Down Syndrome. Eugene has a rich inner life and a lot of agency. You also deal with a lot of the darker sides of living with Down Syndrome. He can’t just go off on an adventure like anybody else without having difficulties, and both he and Anna have parents who are really problematic.
Kire Paputts: I think what’s out there in the mainstream, when you’re looking at actors with special needs, the content is usually handled more with kid gloves. It’s told with a sympathetic eye. My goal was you really can’t escape the disability — he has a disability and it is what it is — but I didn’t want it to be the focus of the film. I wanted to created a story that anybody would struggle with, even if he didn’t have Down Syndrome.
This is an interesting character who has a lot of adversity but who happens to have a disability on top of that. Looking at that with Dylan and the character of Eugene, I wanted to push some boundaries and break down some barriers in regards to what people expect when they hear there’s a movie out there with a guy with Down Syndrome. They probably have this preconceived notion of what that is, and I wanted to take that expectation and flip it on its head. I haven’t shied away from the darker content, and I think it has a lot of heart, as well.
7R: What was it like working with Dylan, who also starred in your short film Rainbow Connection, which you made first?
Kire Paputts: I’ve worked with Dylan for five years on-and-off. We’ve really grown a special bond. We’re almost like a married
couple in some ways, in the good and bad ways. We would fight every day on set for the feature. But that was because I really wanted to push Dylan. I really wanted to get the best out of him. I didn’t want to treat him any differently than any other actor. That was really important to me, to treat him how I’d treat any actor.
I don’t think he was used to that. I think when he does other shows or films, people are a little more delicate around him, and they kind of buy into the disability. Sometimes, I’d forget that he even has a disability. Now, when I watch the film, it’s like, “Oh yeah, he has Downs.” Even on set, a lot of the crew, they’d never worked with anyone with special needs before. They were pretty surprised about how me and him were interacting. After a while, they just saw him as any other actor, as well, which was kind of special.
7R: How did you develop the aesthetic for the film? The colours are beautiful and so are the landscapes.
Kire Paputts: A lot of that was my DoP [Director of Photography], Maya [Bankovic]. She’s amazing. I always wanted it to be a really colourful, bright film, especially after the first act, after he leaves his house. I wanted that to be a bit drab. But kind of like Wizard of Oz, all of a sudden you’re in Oz and everything is more interesting and vibrant and crazy.
I got some inspiration for the look from Paris, Texas. I just loved the look of it. I loved the landscapes. It’s set in a desert, a lot of it. I just really liked a lot of the compositions and the looks. I knew I always wanted to film again in the fall, because I wanted to have as much interesting colours as possible. So with that brought a lot of issues because we didn’t have crazy amounts of money, and a lot of it was exteriors. We had to pray that the weather wasn’t crazy. We couldn’t afford to have heated tents or anything like that.
7R: What was your approach as far as the perspective of the film? Were you thinking of trying to follow Dylan’s perspective?
Kire Paputts: The opening shot of the film is just [Dylan’s] eyes. I wanted to cue the audience right away that this was going to be a different perspective. Because with Down Syndrome, a lot of it is in the eyes. You can tell right away, “Oh, that guy has Downs,” because of the eyes. I wanted to cue the audience that this would be a different perspective that maybe they haven’t seen before, or haven’t seen much of.
A lot of stuff within the film, a lot of mistakes that Dylan made or improv that he would do, we left in, because I wanted to give the film more authenticity. Obviously, we had plot beats and certain things that had to happen. But sometimes, we’d be just like, “OK, this is the tone we’re going with for this scene. Let’s just have fun with it and see what happens.”
That really long take with him and Julian Richings, that punk rock character, again, there was kind of a script, but it was kind of like, let’s dive into this and see what you get. I wanted to do a long take in the film to have an opportunity to just let Dylan shine without having to work around him with editing techniques or anything, just this is what it is. This is Dylan.
7R: What were your criteria for thinking about how you wanted to shoot the film?
Kire Paputts: In the beginning, especially, there’s a lot of framing we did where the characters would be cut off or obstructed for a lot of the scene. I think that created a lot of the tone. The first act is pretty dark and bleak before he goes off.
I also wanted that framing to isolate the character of Eugene. Although he’s with someone else, with his mom or with the social worker, we’re still mostly focused on him. He’s still alone in the world we’re creating.
7R: Are you working on anything else now?
Kire Paputts: I’m working on a few things now. I optioned this book I’m trying to get made called The N-Body Problem. It’s by a Canadian author named Tony Burgess. He writes a lot of weird shit. He also did Pontypool. I guess that’s his big thing. But he also does a bunch of horror/sci-fi scripts for a bunch of kids in Collingwood, like horror/sci-fi genre films. The film is actually more sci-fi, which is a total departure from The Rainbow Kid. But it’s also going to cost me probably a few million to make so it’ll be a lot different, if I can get it made.
[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZRRWXMy_yEM]
“The Rainbow Kid” screens Sat., Sept. 12 at 7:15 p.m. in Scotiabank 14, Mon. Sept 14 at 9:30 p.m. in Scotiabank 8, and Sat. Sept. 19 at 10:30 a.m. in Scotiabank 14. For tickets and more information, visit the TIFF website here.
TIFF15: How Heavy This Hammer explores masculinity in crisis ****
Mary Angela Rowe reviews one of the best films of the 2015 Toronto International Film Festival from Canadian director Kazik Radwanski. To discover more great Canadian Cinema, take the Canadian Cinema Challenge and get a copy of our ebook on Canadian film, The 2019 Canadian Cinema Yearbook here.
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