We arrived at A Space Gallery on Richmond Street to attend the RE/Translation: Land & Language exhibition. Jude Norris, a woman I befriended in New York, was participating in the show. She is an internationally acclaimed multi-disciplinary Cree-Métis artist. Jude immediately greeted Laura and myself upon our entry into the gallery. She was as striking as the last time I saw her. The cadence of her speech was harmonious as was the symmetry of her demeanor. We chatted for a bit then I excused myself to view the works on display. Norris’ Strong Woman Dress was one of the more compelling pieces in the show-images of women were projected onto the surface of a Plains-style buckskin while an audio loop with the following statement played repetitively, “We are only defeated when the hearts of our women are on the ground” through headphones. The meaning of this work was not lost on me. Traditionally indigenous cultures were matrilineal however with European contact our ways were replaced with patriarchal paradigms. Moreover other oppressive constructs have threatened Indigenous ways of life: forced assimilation and acculturation. Language—the backbone of any culture—was also suppressed instigating a new integrated parlance. In her curatorial statement, Michelle LaVallee notes, “Aboriginal communities have extensively integrated and appropriated several languages both written and spoken…to communicate their own ideas, perspectives and stories.” This integration undoubtedly affects the language thus changing the meaning of words to a certain degree. Yet in spite of the resurgence of Aboriginal language initiatives you cannot help but note that something is still missing. Or rather something is not the same. It’s better than nothing I suppose. Or perhaps I just don’t get it?

Anyway, Jude was surrounded by a gaggle of well-wishers so I couldn’t ask. But I would catch up with her later. The line at the exhibition refreshments (wine!) table was long so Laura Ortman and I went to suck on cancerous canes. On my way out I ran into Gwendolen Cates. She joined us for a smoke outside. Cates briefly discussed Water Flowing Together her documentary film about Jock Soto, the Puerto Rican/ Navajo ballet dancer. She stated that the production was undoubtedly marred by dissent yet by following her vision the film able to be completed. However, some would argue that Cates’ version of events is not entirely true, but I digress. The point is Water Flowing Together is a portrait of a compelling artist and man or so I have heard as I have not seen it yet. When we returned to the reception Jude was still busy…I mouthed “Cawl Me!” to which she nodded and continued with her interview. Later Gwendolyn, Laura and I ended up on a VIP tour of CIRCA, a new club in downtown Toronto. Words cannot fully articulate the audacity of this place. Therefore I leave it to you my Toronto friends to experience and perhaps we can share notes in the future…Wow that place was RAD! The following day I woke up with every intention of making the True Romance: Shorts Program on time. Yet in predictable fashion I did not. Instead I meandered anbout the hotel room then gorged myself on an all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet at place called “Don’t Eat Here Because Our Food Will Give You The Runs!” Thank God for the Mediatheque (where you can view and listen to all works in the festival). Here are my notes maybe you can make sense of them and help me out:

Amalgamation: beyond gender (Dir. Marcella Ernest, 2007) Bodies–Corporeal, Traditional dancing, juxtaposed with details of lips/teeth/hair, Stylized, traditional views of woman versus taboo of same sex, jarring muddling voices. First Stories: Volume 111- Two Spirited (Dir. Sharon A. Desjarlais, 2007) “ the tribes have forgotten …” harboring female spirit in him, “ Since contact we learned to judge and condemn,” Shelly Niro ala Honey Moccasin, beautifully shot, vivid landscapes, Two Spirit people were once considered holy people, blessing, “if you dance to this you are going to be healing yourself,” His niece says Geeyo is his role model/idol, male jingle dancer, “I dance so that people can understand where I am coming from.” Destiny in Alice (Dir. Sonja Dare, 2007) Alice Springs, Lesbian capital of the outback, Priscilla Queen of the Desert, Dissections of house, Books etc., Idealized, Rose colored, Desert Rose, Archival Footage of protest, merging of cultures, Nature program, green and purple, out of hetero construct, transfer of knowledge, “ Culture Vultures”, tourists, ethnography, A- Team never far from glass of red wine, rarified lesbians, F- Troop good at playing pool, beer drinkers.

Make any sense to you?

On Saturday October 20 I had the profound pleasure to view Elijah and meet lead actor playing the role of Elijah Harper, Billy Merasty. He is a very humble and brilliant actor.

From the film festival guide this:

“Elijah (Dir. Paul Unwin, 2007) is a unique bio-pic. Elijah Harper goes from being a shy politician in Manitoba to the voice of a people when he stands against the Meech Lake Accord in 1990.”

For my take on this film please listen to our podcast. However, Billy did respond to an email I sent him.

Billy,

It was a pleasure to meet you and thank you for the pin…I wear it proudly! I also wanted to take this opportunity to ask a couple of questions?
-How did you prepare for your part?
-Are you statisfied with the finished picture?
-What are your future projects?
Thanks again…I am composing a blog on the Elijah screening for NAICA online and wanted to include some of your words. Hopefully I’ll see you soon.

Sincerely,

Sonny Grant aka the Apache Mohawk

His response:

Sonny, Dahling, it was a pleasure meeting you too. Always good to meet others of our ilk. And hope you’re well.

Alright then, to answer your question about how I prepared for the lead role of “Elijah Harper”- it helped that I knew him very well over the years, and that we both come from similar places up north-isolated fly- in reserves, where life can be dismal- as well as incredible. Elijah has a beautiful heart, and soul, and he truly cares about native people and is concerned about their integrity and welfare. (something that concerns me too.) He is also a very shy person but does not stand up to address what he knows is wrong and he does it with great wit and charm. I love the man. And yes, I’m very pleased with the result of the movie, it is very well made and it has great charm and people fall in love with it instantly and profoundly. I have been recieving great praise from my role in it, and yes, I am very proud of my work in the movie. And as far as my future projects are concerned, I will continue to go out to auditions as they come alonmg and win as many gigs as I am able to. I love the whole competitive process and I only hope that there are many other projects to come with roles perfect for me. Thank you.

Yours,
Billy Merasty

The Burden Carriers, 2007
dir. Pierre Barrera

For some reason this film was slated in the “Shorts from the Underground” section of ImagineNative. Albeit, this film can definitely be read as a short, realistically though it doesn’t fall within the classical narrative genre but exists somewhere in between narrative and experimental film, what I like to call experimental narrative. Shame on Maria for finding this tedious—just kidding—she has the right to feel this way as I can definitely see how she might, but I on the other hand felt the somewhat post-apocalyptic atmosphere, ala Terry Gilliam, and environmentally wasteful commentary on American consumer society refreshing in this tongue-in-cheek piece. After being introduced to Pierre by our mutual friend, Sterlin Harjo, I had the opportunity to sit down with Pierre and his wife prior to the screening. Both Pierre and his wife are extremely charming and warm people. I have never felt more relaxed in front of people after having only met them seconds before.

Our conversation moved to Pierre’s film, as I prodded to know more. Thus, Pierre informed me how he had an orchestra score the film in a very “experimental” style (see this is why we’d tend to categorize his film as experimental). The orchestra was given great liberty to experiment on the score as they watched the edited version over and over to provide the accompaniment for it. I had mentioned to Pierre it sounded as though it was a “foley orchestra”, which I was pleasantly surprised to hear him use this phrasing when discussing his film afterwards.

The Burden Carriers starts off with about five individuals carrying immense burdens of waste, if not possessions on their backs. They are somewhere in the desert, in this case high mountain desert, as Pierre filmed The Burden Carriers in Santa Fe. These five individuals roam the ostensible wasteland collecting post-consumer waste as they forge ahead adding it to their already cumbersome loads. One individual is stuck hauling a refrigerator on her back. Eventually they come to a highway and a pickup truck stops beside them as a man gets out and hands the lead carrier a steering wheel that he is getting rid of and the carrier affixes it to his burden. As the carriers continue their directionless march they move through the downtown center of Santa Fe (anyone who has visited Santa Fe will be able to identify this location with ease). Finally, the carriers come to rest within a suburban locale outside some poor, unexpecting family’s house. The burden carriers make themselves at home on the family’s front lawn and slowly, but literally, unload their burdens upon this family. Now and again, a carrier will go missing, which is eventually revealed as some unknown governmental force whisking these “burden carriers” off in a white van. It appears that since these original “burden carriers” no longer take part in our consumer culture, they are deemed no longer useful for our economy and wheeled off to some unknown wasteland of environmentally friendly, anti-consumer population away from the consumer-controlled populace. The poor unexpecting family has now become the next generation of burden carriers.

As I’ve recently, once again, begun to pare down my possessions (in an attempt to lessen my large carbon footprint), this was the way I read Pierre’s construction. He told me this was his first attempt at directing someone else’s screenplay, and I think he did a wonderful job commenting on our consumer culture with satire, wit and composition.

Negotiating any identity in world that is evermore globalized and homogenized can be a tricky business at best. Compound that with an identity that is in direct (or even remotely adjacent) contrast to the globalized majority and you run the risk of negotiating yourself into a tight spot. Context is everything when it comes to fully (or partially) realizing another’s culture, and most audiences’ attention spans haven’t the time for things like context. Therein lays the proverbial rub.

It is with this in mind, that NAICA attended the 8^th annual imagineNATIVE Film + Media Festival in the hopes that we would get a good dose of context in which to begin another year of curatorial internet madness. And really, for the most part, I would say we were not to be disappointed. imagineNATIVE has always (as far as I know) included a Fine Art component in their programming that not only lends itself to compliment the larger media festival, but adds a precious dose of cultural context that so many of us need to have a decent world view. Plus, as we all know, those seats in the Al Green Theatre are less than comfy, so it is nice to get off one’s ass and go look at some art.

So let’s talk about the art this year. In a co-curated exhibition at the Royal Ontario Museum (ROM) entitled Shapeshifters, Time Travellers and Storytellers, curators Candice Hopkins and Kerry Swanson created a beautifully esoteric exhibition combining works of contemporary indigenous artists and filmmakers with a few samplings of traditional native objects, such as an Iroquois wampum bag and an engraved prehistoric mammoth tusk from Alaska. “Beautifully esoteric” are deliberate word choices on my part (not to insinuate that most of my words choices aren’t deliberate…) because the exhibition was truly beautiful and well crafted as far as choice of contemporary artists and their work, but esoteric even more so, mainly for the decision to include these few traditional objects from the ROM’s “cultural” collection with an almost arbitrary flair. I don’t want to equate it to that “primitive” art exhibition scandal in New York many years back (at which museum now escapes me) in which the curators exhibited artists like Picasso alongside categorically de-contextualized African and South Pacific carvings. But… then again, I must compare in that way simply because that is what came to mind when viewing these traditional objects in the larger context of contemporary indigenous based art. As an objective viewer, I simply had no idea what they were doing there.

I know that historically, the ROM has had a somewhat spotty reputation (on par with the Smithsonian here in the States) for exhibiting indigenous-made objects in an anthropologically patronizing way, and that the curators of this exhibition, in part, desired to display these objects, contemporary and traditional, side-by-side in order to weave a dialogue of past and present indigenous identities. The problem was that instead of a time-traveling, shape shifting dialogue, you simply had a wonderfully curated contemporary indigenous art exhibit with a random sampling of anthropological tidbits. There was no talking between the contemporary and the traditional. They were like silent strangers, awkwardly crowded together on a subway car.

The curation of contemporary work was pretty much spot on though (aside from the exhibition space being a little weird), and I wish that these pieces (from artists such as Kent Monkman, Cheryl L’Hirondelle, Brian Jungen, Isuma Productions and the wonderful Alan Michelson) had been left to stand alone, on their own merits and on their own strengths as pieces of powerful storytelling. It wasn’t that the traditional objects took away from the exhibition necessarily; it was more that they didn’t add anything to it. And certainly these objects did not give the viewer the dose of context that I believe the curators were going for.

I digress though, because what I really wanted to talk about were the contemporary pieces, as that is what I believe imagineNATIVE does best; contextualize contemporary indigenous artists for a broader audience. There are plenty of great pieces to mention, but I will stick with my favorites, the ones I spent the most time with, and refer the reader to the podcast (below) between myself and Maria Colon, for further information and opinions on the exhibit in full.

First I have to mention the piece by Brian Jungen, Cetology, a 40 foot sculpture of a whale skeleton made out of plastic lawn chair parts. It was suspended from the ceiling by wires, like a dinosaur in a natural history museum. I mention this piece first simply because it visually dominated the exhibit, and also because I feel it did more to set the stage for dialogue between past and present than say, the wampum wallet or the mammoth tusk. It also challenged the viewer to look past the obvious contexts of contemporary objects (read: plastic lawn chairs) and anthropological references (read: natural history lookin’ skeleton) and determine the fragile space between the two. That fragile space is exactly the space contemporary indigenous artists must negotiate.

Another great example this carefully negotiated space: a piece by Faye HeavyShield, entitled hours, which was small, white book, whose pages were completely constructed out of seed beads. I don’t need to mention the correlation between traditionally exhibited Indian beaded objects and HeavyShield’s piece, but I will mention it simply for the fact, that yet again, this contemporary work did not need no wampum wallet to contextualize it for the audience. It spoke for itself.

Other great pieces were an installation by Nadia Myre, The Dreamers, which was a sprawling sculpture with spears and traditional Innu fishing nets, a 13-part video installation Nunavut (Our Land) by the beloved Kunuk and Cohn of Isuma Productions, and three mixed media objets d’art by the imitable Kent Monkman, who despite his tendencies to be extravagant for the sake of being extravagant, does a damn good job of negotiating the fragile space mentioned above. Not to mention he’s openly gay, which adds a whole other ingredient to the identity pot. But my favorite work by far was Light After Darkness, a video triptych by US artist, Alan Michelson. With titles (and an artist’s statement) taken from a melodramatic 1907 quote by Edward Curtis, Michelson paints a digital portrait of an ever-changing contemporary indigenous landscape. These three real time videos of urban skylines, displayed in gold frames like Remington landscapes, moved slowly from daylight to dusk, deluminating the industrialized cities of Ontario. All they needed to contextualize them was an incongruously gleaned quote from the Great Father of Indian Portraiture:

Alone with my campfire, I gaze about on the completely circling hill-top, crested with countless campfires, around which are gathered the people of a dying race. The gloom of the approaching night wraps itself about me. I feel that the life of these children of nature is like the dying day drawing to its end; only off in the West is the glorious light of the setting sun, telling us, perhaps, of light after darkness.

Edward S. Curtis, 1907.

 ROM Exhibit: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download (75)

Observations from the Fringes. by Sonny Grant

The NAICA crew—Maria, Renee, Torry and myself—arrived in Toronto to attend the 8th annual imagine Native Film + Media Arts Festival. We arrived Thursday evening. Thus after checking in at our hotel we descended upon the streets of Toronto. However, after wandering about the euphoria of being in Toronto wore off. Shortly thereafter Torry and I capitulated to exhaustion and went back to the hotel. Maria and Renee—the troopers that they are—attended a performance at the Gladstone Hotel. I received some grief for not attending because one of the performers was my friend Laura Ortman. All I can say is that a throbbing bunion, gin and exhaustion do not make Sonny a happy boy! I could see the Toronto skyline from our eighteenth floor hotel room. The CN tower was the last thing I saw before falling sound asleep.
The following afternoon I made my way to the Al Green Theatre. I ran into my friends,We chatted for a bit and had lunch with former greasy Indian Blackhorse Lowe. Thereafter I raced to A Sister’s Love screening block. We should’ve arrived earlier because we missed The Valley and the beginning part of A Sister’s Love.
A Sister’s Love (Dir. Ivan Sen 2007) is the true story of the murder of actor/journalist Rhoda Roberts’ twin sister Lois. The film not only addresses Lois’s murder, but the discrimination Rhoda and Lois experienced because of their mixed heritage. Roberts’ deceased father—a prominent activist—fought a long battle to preserve land scared to aboriginal culture. Therefore the film is tempered by stunning shots of the Australian wilderness. The landscape setting is an active participant in the film as opposed to just being a backdrop. Tragically it is in the Australian wilderness where Lois’ body will be discovered.
Although Rhoda is undoubtedly the central subject in this film, one could not help but wonder why her twin sister–the catalyst for the story–was not fully articulated. Lois is instead delegated to the recesses of the narrative. Her murder is still unsolved. Hence Rhoda continues to look for clues that may help discover the identity of the person who murdered her sister. Inevitably this leads Rhoda to the spot where Lois was discovered-deep in the Australian wilderness. Certainly most people would be overwhelmed with grief. However there was something in Roberts’ demeanor that made me question her sincerity. She shuddered at every sound and uttered that she was spooked in spite of the presence of the film crew. Every move was exaggerated. I was expecting her to climb up a tree to wait for a helicopter to pluck her out of the wilderness. This was undoubtedly the climax of the film yet it left me flaccid. I preferred the quiet and eloquent exchange Rhoda had with her brother in an earlier scene. You couldn’t help but note the stunned countenance of her brother. That scene, in all its temperance, fully expounded the devastation of losing a loved one as opposed to Rhoda’s melodramatic performance in the woods. Alas this scene was incongruent to the overall mood of the film. Such a shame A Sister’s Love could’ve been an excellent film. Hey Rhoda stop acting and just be!
At the end of the credits I skedaddled down Bloor Street to sip on some wine and chomp on free food. I forgot the name of the place. But I do recall the décor, which was part Cosi/Ikea/Starbucks under the guise of sophisticated watering hole. The festival sponsored this event. Giving me the opportunity to rub shoulders with delegates, board members and beautiful free loaders like myself. At one point an imagineNative board member cornered me. I hate being put on the spot, “Yes…No…ah….um…what?” As soon as I saw Nanobah Becker I extracted myself from this situation and moved toward her. “Nanobah!” She turned and we had one of those, “I’m so busy but I still want to talk to you” type of exchanges.
“Blah…Blah…Kiss…Kiss…see you later!”

After the Navajo Spotlight the NAICA crew went to watch Miss Chief Eagle Testickle perform Séance at the Royal Ontario Museum. For those of you who don’t know Miss Chief Eagle Testickle is the alter ego of artist Kent Monkman. Picture a better-looking male version of Cher. Half Breed that’s all I’ve ever been! The bitch is late! Come on darling I don’t have all night. Poof…Miss Chief emerges from smoke…. shrouded in funerary black regalia. She is fabulous in all her splendor…this is the woman I want to be when I grow up! The audience goes ape-shit. Miss Chief soaks up the applause…Bitch! Séance is part performance/art survey course that brings to life ethnographic/genre painters such as Kane and Catlin known for their “vanishing race” prototypical Indian paintings. In his previous and current work Monkman recreates 18th and 19th century paintings depicting assumed notions of history. However the catch is that he subverts these scenes by planting Miss Chief Eagle Testickle within the composition. Thus revising the myth surrounding frontier life. Miss Chief stood before the crowd channeling the spirit of Delacroix. On an opposite wall an image of the artist appears along with a voice recording describing his work. Miss Chief offered stinging rebuttals to Delacroix’s racist remarks.

I appreciated Monkman’s attempt to debase the stereotypical paradigms of aboriginal representation. Moreover it has been noted, “these images were fabricated to conform to their own expectations and values.” Before my departure Miss Chief emerged once more, this time in labia pink regalia that required the assistance of two well sculpted white men. Alas I could not stay for I had another event to attend. I met Laura outside and together we zoomed away in a cab….to be continued!

film still courtesy: Gwendolyn Cates

As a Puerto Rican I was excited to see this film which follows the career of New York City Ballet principal dancer, Jock Soto.
Jock is of mixed heritage-Navajo and Puerto Rican. The film was directed by his good friend Gwendolyn Cates-an estblished fashion and celebrity photographer. She also has a book of portraits titled “Indian Country” that features famous American Indian artists and activists. I like the images in her photo book. Although it is not altogether conhesive and the inclusion of Val (Chero)Kilmer is dicey at best. I heard from friends who saw her film at a special screening during this year’s Indian Market that it was a poignent piece, well worth seeing. I like to support female artists and directors since they are hard to come by especially ones with actual talent. So I was highly interested to see what Ms. Cates brought to the screen and her choices in representing certain aspects of Soto’s ethnic identity-most notably how he navigated being Navajo and Nuyorican.
But of course, I missed my opportunity to see the film and meet Jock and Gwendolyn in Toronto. See my “Adventures and Reviews” post for deatils as to why I missed it. (Evidently I can’t read directions)
Needless to say, I was bummed but I did see Jock meandering through a late night party at the Gladstone Hotel. When I mentioned to noone in particular that I wanted to at least meet him I was told he was “tired” which was ironic because I had just driven 12 straight hours just to make his screening and was pretty tired myself, but I didn’t bother him. A few nights later I did meet the director after the awards ceremony, which we also missed. She was in a daze having just won for Best Documentary. She told Sonny Grant she “felt honored” by the indigenous film community. Honestly, there wasn’t much compettion in the documentary department except for Bennie Klain’s Weaving Worlds which is about the best damn documentary you will ever see on the subject of Navajo rug weaving and the buzzard/traders who circle the rez looking for a steal. Though I loved Bennie’s film, and it is certainly deserving of an award or two, I can’t comment on the validity of Ms. Cate’s win. Perhaps her documentary truly is a masterpiece? I will have to see for myself. I will have that opportunity in November here in New York City at the Lincoln Center.

Then I will weigh in as to whether or not it merited and award or not. Of course, it will only be my opinion. HA!
Stay tuned for an in-depth review of the film and a possible podcast interview with photographer/director Gwendolyn Cates.

Our return from Toronto wasn’t as epic as our attempt to get there, but the saga continues . . . It started with a 4AM wake-up call that startled the four of us from our dreamy-headed sleep attempting to figure out where and what the hell that early morning noise was. Then my cell phone went off and I reset it for 4:30AM. That came too soon and I was up and in the bathroom washing the sleep from my eyes. Rene, Maria and Sonny were soon to follow suit and then Maria and I headed to the lobby so she could check out. While she dealt with the counter clerk, Zacharias Kunuk queued in line (actually he was the only other person in the lobby aside from staff) and I briefly questioned him about the award ceremonies the evening prior. I didn’t attend since I was planning on driving the crew out of Toronto. Filmmaker Bruce Haulli followed Zacharias shortly thereafter, Sonny and Renee soon accompanied us at the front desk, and we exchanged farewells with Bruce since Zacharias had taken his leave.

The under-rested, sleepy-headed NAICA crew made their way to parking level One to their Zip rental car named, MOTHER and packed our belongings into the trunk space and I proceeded to back us out of our parking spot (which took longer than I had intended) and hit the early morning Toronto streets. 5:00AM in Toronto is hauntingly eerie and empty. We headed out hoping we’d find some coffee place to fuel up, or more appropriately, wake up.

We got on the Gardiner Expressway and headed west out of Toronto. That early in the morning it was difficult converting the metric system to the English system to determine what speed I was cruising at, but I just gauged it by the other drivers. The drive to the QEW was long and filled with nothing more than suburban sprawl, the plight of North America. We were all itching to get out of Canada for some unexplained reason. It took a while to get out of the congested area surrounding Toronto before we found an exit to get off at so we could get coffee (by the way, I pulled off at what I thought was an exit earlier but turned out to be a truck weigh station–Canada does not denote these things well), the only business catering that early was Tim Horton’s and the coffee is nothing close to palatable. At one point, the east bound lane of the QEW had a small back up of traffic, some skeleton of a tractor trailer was still smoldering and partly ablaze and the river of headlights heading toward the emergency vehicles would be a tale to tell I’m sure.

Long story short, we finally made our way to the US Custom’s checkpoint. Needless to say, the custom’s agent was a bit too old to be manning the area since he couldn’t hear well enough with all the background noise and his short attitude didn’t make for a welcomed return back to New York. With a communal sigh of relief we were all happy to be back in the states, NY to be specific. Getting through Buffalo proved long since we joined the morning commuters rush hour and we needed to get to the Thruway so I could punch it and make it to Syracuse as fast as I could. The Thruway shoulders and medians were littered with the carrion of deer and my only thought was of the possible short supply of game for hunters this season. We only stopped once on the Thruway to coffee up and eat, and that was quickly. We had 45 minutes to Syracuse and I was getting anxious to get out of the car since I have a problematic knee, proving only problematic when fixed on a gas pedal for long periods of time. Finally, I pulled in front of my apartment and got out to stretch the legs and unload my share of the luggage burden. The crew came in helping me carry my miscellany into the apartment; refreshed themselves and then we said our farewells and exchanged hugs. As I turned to head into the house, a bit of sadness overwhelmed me knowing that I was going to experience some separation anxiety from my colleagues. But, we were back in NY.

Overall, my experience at ImagineNative was a good one, bonding more with my colleagues from NAICA, making new friends, enjoying a new city, watching some rather wonderful films and contemplating some rather confusing programs. This year’s festival may not have been as strong as previous year’s, but I can only comment on those events I attended and hope for the continued future success of ImagineNative.

Fellow CU alumnus, Mike Goodman’s, “A Deadly Affair” was unfortunately accepted into this year’s ImagineNative film festival. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have any animosity towards Mike personally, I only had to endure this poorly constructed homage to film noir. It was so poorly lit (in this case overly lit–not in the traditional low-key lighting style of film noir) that it did a disservice to that classical genre; there were more grays than shadows and highlights. This film is an obvious example of not paying attention to detail. I’m not saying that Mike is a bad filmmaker, I’m simply saying that this film has been given credit where credit is not due.

Let me address some problematic issues with this film. The use of a replica 1940s vehicle that looked more like a modified hotrod especially when a camera tilt down revealed the specialized chrome rims completely jolted me out of my suspended belief. Another problematic area was the very sophomoric attempt at special effects, both visually and audibly. The special audio effect of the gunshot was so muted it most definitely was discerned as some non-diegetic sound—I myself perceived it to be a thud off camera. I felt embarrassed of the image-sound relationship in this film. The accompanying visual effect of gun smoke, which was expelled from the revolver’s barrel, was non-existent on the wall as shadow, yet the gun and hand holding the gun were existent. The gun smoke special effect was an obvious post-production addition, yet it’s cause-effect relationship was parochial. The acting was sub-par at best; the two male cast members were over dramatic and poorly directed, inducing a cringing sensation while watching their performances. This film does not represent the high caliber of work that usually comes out the University of Colorado.

“A Deadly Affair” is a film that should have been excluded by Navajo Spotlight I curator, Charmaine Jackson-John, but apparently she overlooked the deficiencies present within the film to include it in this survey of films. Regarding Charmain Jackson-John, I’m not sure what her curatorial credentials are, but it seems the inclusion of this particular film failed to create a cohesive and well-rounded program. When a film of such low caliber is included in a body of work, it stands out in stark contrast to those other, more deserving films. This creates an atmosphere of ambivalence regarding–in this case–Navajo filmmaking. I believe the rest of the films she incorporated in this spotlight provided a wonderful view into the insight and perspective of Navajo filmmakers. Overall, this was one of two films (possibly three) that shouldn’t have made it past the screeners into any program, but incidents like this are bound to occur.

written by Torry Mendoza

The NAICA crew made it to Toronto about four hours shy of our goal of 4pm-why was this? Well crossing the Triboro Bridge in Queens in early morning commuter traffic is frenzied confusion. My instincts said “stay left!” but the Google directions merely stated, “head towards I-87/Randall Island/Major Deegan Expressway.” Of course this sign harking all three of those diverging (not merging!) directions was on the right hand side leading to an off-ramp exit. Sonny yelled, “Get in the far right lane!” I gunned it across three lanes of traffic trying to make what we thought was the correct exit only to find that it lead down into Randall’s fucking Island which then led us to the FDR expressway into Manhattan for a little tour of mid-town.

Now I don’t normally drive in NYC and I certainly had no desire to drive through rush hour traffic but that is exactly what we did. I ended up taking the Queensboro Bridge, a bridge I normally take while on a train, back across into Queens. We passed my street-where we started off at 5:00am-it was now 7:45 a.m. Sonny and Renee claimed they were enjoying the sunrise over the East River, but I was pissed. We ended up following the Google directions from our starting point this time staying way the fuck in the left lane. LEFT dammit. We made it across the bridge into the Bronx across another bridge over the Hudson and into New Jersey. We were on our way having only wasted two hours of time.

hahahahaha boy o boy ha! Adventures.

We made it to Syracuse 1/2 later than I wanted but things were looking good. However, the trip was marked by confusing directions and would also be marked by tire blows, lost camera equipment, missed panel discussions, snubs at theatre doors, tiny hotel beds that barely accommodated our height (Torry, Sonny and myself are or are over 6′0 tall), and many feet related pains…and blood. I forgot to mention various parts of our bodies oozing blood. That is how committed we are to supporting indigenous cinema and art.

So here in summation are reviews of films I saw in an actual theatre the rest I saw at the convenient Mediatheque center where “delegates” can watch films they wanted to see again or films they missed. I missed quite a lot. You can imagine I spent as much time as I could in there without missing even more.

A Sister’s Love: Film Block
Two films-a feature and a short-which focus on the apparent abuse and violence Native women face everyday.

The Valley
Dirs. Peter Brass and Helder Mauricio Carvajal (above)

We arrived about four minutes late missing the entire opening sequence of this short film but from what I saw it was well constructed, mercifully devoid of dialogue, and short. Basically it was one long sequence of a presumably white man dressed in fatigues and/or hunting chic attire driving a rusty Subaru out to a field where he then pulls a dead body-presumably Indian-out of the hatchback and digs a shallow grave for her to rest. We know it’s a woman because she is wearing pantyhose and nail polish on her toes. Of course it could have been a tranny. Given the overtly gay presence at the festival this idea is not too far fetched. However, the directors (it took two to make a ten minute short!) ensured us the body was to be read as “female.” After he drops the last of the dirt onto the grave the “white” male returns to his car and drives away. We are left with the fading light of evening and the haunting night sounds of the bush. Like I said, it was well-constructed, including excellent sound design. The two directors were also very cute. Very cute! I would later go on to mistake one of them for the performance artist/painter/ Kent Monkman. We had at least a five-minute conversation while dancing at a party before we both realized I was meaning to gush over someone else. He was nice enough to laugh about it.

A Sister’s Love
Dir.Ivan Sen

This pseudo-documentary was an irritating mess. Everything was wrong about it. I hate documentarians who over director their subject. The effect feels like they’re waving a red flag in your face “look this way! think this way!” Let me think what I want to think, for fuck’s sake.
A documentary is supposed to be an OBJECTIVE view of a realistic experience. A Sister’s Love was nothing close to objective. How could it be when the protagonist-cause trust me aborigine journalist/actress Rhoda Roberts ensures you view her as a protagonist-obviously had her nose all up in the director’s ass on this one? Honestly, I believe a documentarian should never allow the subject to dictate the direction of the piece otherwise your vision is compromised. Conversely, I don’t believe a documentarian should construct their own truth by manipulating their subject to perform for the camera and therefore manipulating the audience. In the case of this film I believe both the director and his subject, who was a stage performer at one point in her life, unwittingly worked against each other instead of shedding light on the mysterious disappearance and ultimately tragic death of Ms Roberts twin sister Lois.

I don’t want to give a sequence by sequence critique but, I will say that this enterprise came across more like a narcissistic catharsis for Rhoda Roberts than what I assume was a statement against the lack of interest by the authorities who were depicted as uncaring towards the concerns of the native population. The film also made Lois, whose life and tragic end was supposed to be honored, come off as a wild child in comparison to her sister Rhoda “the good girl” (Rhoda making the comparison herself). In this film Lois is positioned as a rebel stoner who couldn’t manage her own life let alone take care of her illegitimate child whom Rhoda later takes in as her own congratulating herself for building a successful life while her sister falls apart. It was a disgusting display of microscopic empathy and delusional self-aggrandizement. I half wished Rhoda Roberts, who tackily allowed the camera man to video her while she marked the spot where her sister’s headless body was found with a “bush cross”, would also suffer a similar fate. While she is being attacked in the woods the camera-man would continue rolling for our viewing pleasure.
In summation-director Ivan Sen allowed Rhoda Roberts to run emotionally amok juxtaposing her successes with the failures of her twin sister’s life. Perhaps the effect, which comes off a cruel, was unintentional? Certainly it lacks much needed subjectivit. The whole thing is cruel none the less. If my sister “loves” me the way Rhoda shows her love in this mess I hope I’m allowed to come back and haunt the rest of her days.

(boo! what was that?)

Navajo Spotlight 1: Film Block
A block of films “curated” by little known actress Charmaine Jackson John.

Intrepid Shadows
Dir. Alfred Clah
A black and white film made in 1968. Evidently, a group of anthropologists came to the reservation with cameras asking Dine to make what they consider a “Navajo film,” Clah was one of them. Though the community has yet to define their own cinema I argue that Intrepid Shadows is a good reference point to start from. Everything about it is above par: the exposure, composition, and editing were cohesive; the symbology used seemed intentional which belies forethought. Though there was no sound I still felt a message was conveyed, perhaps mysterious to me as an outsider, but nonetheless present and discernable. The same cannot be said for the rest of the films seen in this block, save but two. Also the performance by a young Dine dancer, which took place in front of the screen during the first crucial five minutes, was unnecessary. Perhaps the curator felt this lent her art film credibility but it detracted from the film and the point of this program was to introduce the concept of a Navajo cinema not Navajo modern/traditional dance. The two are mutually exclusive unless you are Martha Graham or Martha Graham-like.

Horse You See
Dir. Melissa Henry
Henry’s video piece is a well-developed idea relating the nature of being Navajo and Indian through the voice of a horse that speaks Dine. The over-all effect reminded me of the short PSA’s seen in episodes of Sesame Street, which I found charming and nostalgic. For some reason a Dine speaking horse is quite hilarious. It garnered a lot of laughs from the mostly indigenous audience. I’m not certain that was the director’s intention but I suppose I’d take laughing over booing. ON the other hand if it was intentionally funny then I’m not sure what was so amusing, which is why I am not an Indian and certainly not a Navajo. Humor is culturally relative. This is why it is successful: it utilizes a simple film/television trope- imbuing animals with human characteristics-to enjoyable effect. Additonally it relates identity, which can be a prickly subject, in palatable format that can open a dialogue without causing distress.
I thought it was the best representation of Navajo media-making in this block.

Making a Stand at Desert Rock
Dir. Klee Benally
This is a PSA not a documentary and certainly not anything near “cinema” in its classic definition. Although Klee Benally and his family are known for their political activism. to which they should be applauded, and their video and musical work is well crafted, this video has its flaws, namely it’s too short to get across the all that it needs to to ensure the audience understands their position. In fact, many of the shorts in this block were too short for their subject.
At any rate, I see this video as part of a series of PSAs on native land rights on POV or in another film block focusing on land rights but not in one that is positioned as an introduction to a nation-based cinematic movement. In this context it is the odd video out.

Grace
Dir. Darwin Roanhorse
Roanhorse is a graduate of Ivy League Columbia University graduate film school. That’s a pretty impressive start for a film career and his style bares the hallmarks of a learned film maker. However, I also found this film to be too short to encompass the emotional/psychological arc it presented. It is a typical coming of age story but one that requires more thoughtful acting and more dialogue to fill out the emotional spaces. In fact amateur acting is the primary reason this film suffers. Something just seemed out of step between the pace of the camera shots, the truncated dialogue, and the actor’s delivery. Due to these problematics we never know what prompted the young girl to begin making banana muffins to rival her elder’s, the protagonist Grace who sells them at a local tribal office to make extra money for her family who is in need. Is her motivation simply avarice, stupidity or PMS? We never know because it is never established (one scene, two lines of dialogue max would have taken care of that). Nor will we know what transpired to make her realize she is in the wrong for competing with her elder. She simply pays the old woman a visit and tells her she is returning home-where ever home is for her. I was unsure how to read this exchange as it came abruptly and just as abruptly the film ended. We have no choice but to read the young girl as a total twat-like most teenage girls are these days-who has no respect for her culture or her elders. I doubt this was the director’s intended effect, but that is how this film plays out.

A Deadly Affair
Dir. Mike Goodman
A deadly affair indeed! I sat through this short thinking it was too long and then wondering what the fuck the punchline was cause it certainly had to be a joke. In any case I am familiar with the often times merciless process of creating work-art or film. But one must prevail over ones obstacles, and this film had some overt obstacles to overcome. Whatever the reasons for its short-comings and flaws it does not belong in a festival. Not yet anyway. Also if this is Navajo cinema? hmmm.

D.C. Navajo
Dir. Shonie de la Rosa
Written by Melissa Henry this is a silly short that pokes fun at tribal politicos who care more about under the table deals and the high price of D.C. coffee then the members of their tribe back home. It suffered from some technical deficiencies and obvious pirating of copyrighted music but it was a hoot to watch nonetheless.

Share the Wealth
Dir. Bennie Klain
I saw this short in Austin Texas at Cine Las Americas film festival. I wasn’t sure what to make of some of the symbols used, but after the Q&A I had a better understanding of how to read the film. I also saw Klain’s documentary Weaving Worlds-a masterful work.

Contest
Dir. Sunrise Tippeconnie
I really enjoyed this short. I wasn’t sure what direction it was going in and I could have done without a few scenes but all in all it was the best narrative in the bunch with believable acting, good camera work, and well-placed film references. A major plus was three really cute Indian boys. Wink wink.

In conclusion:
Several films were good, but taken together those of lesser quality diminished the great potential this block held. It is obvious that some directors lacked talent where others exceeded it. I blame this on the curator. A conscientious programmer would ensure all artists’ works represented the theme concisely and artistically. I believe the lack of experience in film programming, and especially film history and criticism, lead to this disjointed display. If this is Navajo cinema than it has a long way to go before it makes a mark in history. However I know there is more out there and a lot of it is good and because the quality work being made is good I know we’ll be seeing more about this film movement.

Shorts from the Underground: Film Block
The best block in the festival.

The City
Dir. Abraham Coté
“A man from our ancient past has premonitions of the urban chaos that will invade the pristine wilderness surrounding him. In terror, he frantically races to save his family from the horror of the future.”
This is from the festival catalogue…I probably should have read that before watching this because I thought it was senseless. However props to the director who worked with the Wapikoni Mobile Media unit to get this piece made.

Zach Kunuk by recycling center bins

Issaittuq (Waterproof)
Dir. Bruce Haulli
This was produced by ISUMA productions run by Zacharias Kunuk and Norman Cohn. If there is a native cinema at all these films out of Igloolik represent what it is. I liked the film a lot but it bares the style of Kunuk-if Kunuk has a style which I reckon he’d argue he doesn’t. Still for a first effort it is professionally produced and very well acted.

The Burden Carriers
Dir. Pierre Barrera
I have no idea what this was-except polished. Obviously, it’s an experimental piece. In fact it should have been programmed into the experimental block since none of what was in the experimental block qualifies as experimental. Nonetheless I found it tedious to watch. It just didn’t capture my imagination or hold my attention.
Though Torry has other things to say about it so look for his review and interview with the director in a future editions of NAICA online.

The Colony
Dir. Jeff Barnaby
Barnaby was featured in a past edition of NAICA online. He’s odd in a good way. Personally I love his work. As a photography snob I find his visual aesthetic rich and as stylized as the best David Lynch-the best being Mulholland Drive-but his visuals are also sullied in a way that makes you cringe. You get the feeling more is going on in the shadowed corners of rooms and his character’s minds.
In The Colony we get more of the same but with references to an advanced Cronenberg derangement. However, where Cronenberg goes for over the top depravity Barnaby peppers his scenes with a poignant edge. The story is rather simple: Indian man loves his stripper Indian girlfriend who doesn’t look much like an Indian who then fucks his white work buddy leaving Indian man because she’s pregnant with work buddy’s kid and he has more drugs. Sad and tragic?
Sure but simple men always fall for drug-addled strippers. After all, for a anorexic druggie she did have nice tits and ass. Funny how that works out on film huh? Still, you empathize with the Indian for wallowing in self-denigrating behavior but even more so for losing his Indian girl to a conniving white man.
The Colony is a mere 23 minutes of tension. The film should be developed into a feature but if that doesn’t come to pass then I can’t wait until someone gives this guy a bigger budget.

RITES OF PASSAGE: SHORTS PROGRAM
This block of films was marked by really bad work that should not have even been considered for entry into the festival. However three films stand out as shining examples of the craft of short film.

Primera Comunión
Dir. Daniel Eduvijes Carrera
A heart wrenching depiction of a poor Indian boy on the streets of a Mexican pueblo. I could barely watch this film because of the child on child violence. The fact that I have seen these children while living in Mexico, and the fact I grew up in a violent neighborhood in Chicago where children also committed heinous acts of violence against each other intensified my overwhelming sadness. One scene in particular made me cry the most: we see the young protagonist-if you can call him that because we see him commit some naughty acts himself-on a dusty street begging the passers-by to purchase chiclets (a Mexican chewing gum) crying that he is hungry. I really lost it there because it reminded me of this night in Mexico when I was totally broke myself. I had just borrowed the equivalent of five bucks from a friend who also bought me dinner in the form of one of the corn on the cobs doused with lime and chili powder that the street vendors sell. We were walking back to the university crossing the town square where many indigenous people lay about with their children begging for change and/or food. A small boy no more than six approached me asking me for the corn. I pretended not to understand Spanish so he said it in what I assume was his native dialect. Though I didn’t understand him I knew what he was asking. I immediately felt terrible but I didn’t give him the corn. My friend told me to keep walking, just don’t look at them. As we moved passed I heard him say, “I’m so hungry” in his little voice. Just like the boy in this film, and like many of the people in the town who walked passed the boy in Primera Comunión I did the same to this little boy. I’ll always remember that and feel ashamed. In a way that was my own rite of passage because I grew up poor and was one of those children like the one I met and the one depicted in this film, but I grew up to be a self-centered middle class asshole. Of course today I gave $175.00 to Breast Cancer Research and I give my time to NAICA, but I should have given that child the fucking corn on the cob. I guess I’m saying this film did a good job of reminding me to be more generous to the right people. I’ll never know if I helped some woman find a cure for her cancer but at that moment in Mexico I would have known that a six year old didn’t go hungry. And you know what? He more than likely would have turned around to share with his family. Man I really am ashamed of myself right now. See? Films do teach us life lessons-when they are well constructed and well acted that is. This one most certainly was.
(Nanobah Becker gets props for helping the director with the screenplay. EXCELLENT work!)

Fifteen
Dirs. Cody Cayou and Travis Tom
This short video was produced through Longhouse Media out in Seattle. The child really has talent-Cody Cayou. He co-wrote, produced and directed this film with his friend Travis Tom. It’s about a boy who is pressured by his carefree friend to have a drink which turns into a few too many. We see them cavort in a field, which I have to say, looked like fun but I was skeptical that running around while supposedly drunk is possible. Maybe when you’re fifteen it is? I never drank when I was a kid so I can’t say. Of course like some fun times it turns to tragedy. Seriously this kid has talent. Let’s hope he does something with it.
You can see this short on Longhouse Media’s website:
http://www.swinomish.org/native_lens/home.html
If not, email them and ask to see it. It’s worth it.

Taua (War Party)
Dir. Tearepa Kahi
Visually stunning with minimal dialogue, but you didn’t need it. Certainly one of the best short films I saw at imagineNATIVE this year. No surprise it is a New Zealand production. Two young boys ride above in a war canoe carried across land by the elder tribesman whom they serve water to along the way. Tied to the head of the canoe is a captive who is intermittently beaten upon by the leader of the war party. It’s a simple piece-direct but effective. Again this film is visually stunning and very well executed by the director and the actors. Since there is minimal dialogue (does grunting and Maori haka chants count as dialogue?) the director had to rely on the strength of his actors especially the two young boys who naturally fell into their parts. An effective, no, great, short masterpiece in cinema.

I spent lots of time in the Mediatheque center as well, having missed the Thursday night experimental block. I’m now glad I did for they were anything but experimental.
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All photos: M. Colon

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