Director Julia Ducournau’s latest horror film explores the monstrous relationship a person can have with their body
Off the heels of the successful and widely-talked-about film Raw, director Julia Ducournau continues to be fascinated by body horror, a subgenre of horror that deals with the human body in gory, disturbing, and intense ways. If anything, she levelled up the repulsiveness of her images to further explore the monstrous relationship between a person and their body. Don’t get me wrong, I was expecting and looking forward to this; I deeply admire Ducournau’s undaunted gaze. But Titane was an intense, shocking experience despite my preparedness.
Titane follows Alexia, a woman with a metal plate embedded in her skull after a childhood car crash, who now makes a living stripping at car shows. Viewers soon discover that she is responsible for several recent deaths. After an attempted murder goes wrong, she then steals the identity of a missing boy, Adrien, who hasn’t been seen in a decade. In disguise, she reunites with the boy’s father, posing as his lost son. If that wasn’t enough, Ducournau takes a fantastical, anthropomorphic (the application of human traits to non-human subjects) approach to Titane, where Alexia has special connections with vehicles. In between murder and identity theft, Alexia has sex with a car and quickly becomes pregnant with its child. Her stomach is protruding and scarred, and she leaks motor oil which underscores the fantastical horror element of this entire scenario. Meanwhile, Adrien’s father, Vincent, injects himself with steroids in an attempt to delay the effects of ageing. The rest of the film follows Alexia and her volatile relationship with Vincent, who believes that his son has finally returned home.
The film is difficult to digest. A sudden wave of emotion and intense imagery left me confused about what to think and feel. Despite the grotesque nature of its plot and style, Titane is somehow also about the validity of human love and connection. Despite the disconnect between mind and body, the war Alexia’s body rages on her and the way Vincent treats his own body, and their mutual distrust, their hearts still find a connection. This delicate aspect of the film is almost confusing once you realize it’s there. It’s hard to tell if there is real love between the characters, or if it’s a product of delusion and manipulation. As the film closes, it becomes evident that there is a certain beauty in the bond formed between Alexia and Vincent, despite their relationship forming under false pretenses.
In regards to the body horror that was featured in the film, there was also a fascinating display of gender fluidity. Alexia’s terrifying pregnancy parallels the disconnect between who she was and who she is trying to become: someone’s son. There is something to say about the clash between flesh and metal, love and alienation, hostility and isolation. It almost feels like three movies in one, but I think that demonstrates Ducournau’s skill at interweaving genres, visceral feelings, and images that conflict in compelling ways.
All in all, Ducournau explores the nasty parts of being human, and leaves the audience with the message that our bodies control us more than we control our bodies. Titane is thought-provoking, but don’t expect to understand this movie upfront, or even for a while after. It’ll leave you shocked or confused or uncomfortable, just as I felt. This film requires time to percolate in your mind, even multiple viewings. In the end, don’t watch this film if you have a weak stomach for gore or uncomfortable images.
Director Evan Beloff’s new documentary highlights the collaborative vocal power of the Shira choir, revealing both the pain and triumph that the team has experienced during such an isolating time
Montreal filmmaker and Concordia alumni Evan Beloff’s new documentary Just As I Am details the formation of Montreal’s Shira Choir, a talented group of singers with special needs. Set to the backdrop of the COVID-19 pandemic, Just As I Am presents viewers with a much-needed escape from the gloom of the past 18 months as it follows choirmaster Daniel Benlolo and choir members navigate barriers caused by the pandemic, while simultaneously shining a light on the absence of resources for those with special needs.
“[This was] definitely the most challenging film I’ve ever made, from both a personal and professional artistic POV,” explained Beloff. “It was initially a film exploring inclusion, the power of music, and a choirmaster who acts as the emotional glue of his special needs choir. But very early on, when the pandemic hit […] I was forced to make creative and technical decisions that would impact the narrative and visual aesthetic of the film.”
The documentary highlights the collaborative vocal power of the choir, revealing both the pain and triumph that the team has experienced during such an isolating time. “We’re all struggling with the same issues,” said Beloff. “Adults with special needs are no different than the rest of us. Inclusion is essential for us to become a compassionate society.” Despite the past 18 months being nothing short of a nightmare for most, the team has learned that there’s still a light at the end of the tunnel. “The pandemic has created the opportunity for us to light the darkness,” added Beloff.
In the film, the choir members can be seen practicing virtually in the early stages of the pandemic. As the year progresses, the choir is able to meet in person with safety measures set in place. It is apparent that the team is composed of a tight-knit group of individuals, each of them playing an equally important role in one another’s lives. While some technological issues arise during a few of the virtual practices, choirmaster Benlolo and the team persevere, unwilling to succumb to the virtual barriers that the pandemic has imposed.
While Just As I Am showcases each member’s passion for song, it is about so much more than just music. “I believe it’s a sweet film, a film that celebrates life even in the midst of all the sickness and death which we’ve experienced collectively over the last 18 months,” said Beloff. “The Shira Choir is a marvelous group of adults with special needs who have a tremendous amount to teach us about simplicity, kindness, directness, and enjoyment in each moment.”
For more information on the Shira Choir, please visit theirwebsite. Just As I Am can be viewed through CBC Gem.
The Concordia alumna discusses The Voyeurs, Montreal, and representation in film
In 2013, Katharine King So took a blind leap, and decided to move to Montreal to enroll at Concordia’s Mel Hoppenheim School of Cinema. Born and raised in Vancouver, her move to Montreal encouraged her to forge new connections within the film industry. The Concordia alumna’s latest gig, The Voyeurs, granted her the opportunity to play a role in a city that originally ignited her passion for film.
Although acting and filmmaking are her chief passions, she’s equally enthusiastic about advocating for those working in the film industry who identify as marginalized. King So founded the LGBTQ2S+ group at ACTRA Montreal (Alliance of Canadian Cinema, Television and Radio Artists) and she aspires to create lasting change within the industry.
TC: Can you talk to me about The Voyeurs and what it was like to be able to return to Montreal?
KKS: It was great! I’m excited to see what people think of the film, because there’s genuinely a lot of surprises. The film basically focuses on this couple that moves into an apartment where their window looks directly into the loft across the street from them. As they become more obsessed with this couple, things start to spiral.
So it’s a very rare experience to film in a Canadian city, and have it actually portrayed as a Canadian city. Most of the time [in films] we’re pretending that Montreal is New York or… Paris, but to actually film in Montreal and have it portrayed as Montreal felt really special. It was also special to get to be a voice for the city, as someone who lived in Montreal for eight years.
TC: Can you talk to me about your character Ari? What was it like to step into this role?
KKS: I think Ari just immediately spoke to me. The humour that Michael [Mohan] had written into the character was so evident, so I knew I could have fun. The film is suspenseful and can get quite dark, so my character is kind of like the comic relief. She’s also not afraid of being very blunt and speaking her mind. That, as an actor, gives you so much freedom which you don’t necessarily have in the real world.
Also, my character in the film is queer and Cameo Adele who plays my partner is also queer, so the director really went out of his way to prioritize hiring queer people for these parts. There’s a lot of things about this movie that I think felt very authentic for a big film.
TC: In addition to acting and filmmaking, you also started the LGBTQ2S+ group at ACTRA. Could you tell me more about this group?
KKS: We started the LGBTQ2S+ group at ACTRA Montreal, gosh, almost a year and a half ago. We didn’t really have one before, so it’s been really nice to have a community of people that are all part of the LGBTQ2S+ community. We’re there for each other, we have discussions, and we’re also doing a few actions to try and sort of make some progress in the industry.
Right now, we’re working on a better practices document*. The work takes a while, but it’s nice to have that space that can be accessible for people. I feel like that’s something that’s pretty intrinsic to a lot of the work that I do. It feels very relevant in the time and place where we are now in society, to be pushing for certain representation. I also think that’s why the film is so special to me. As a person, I inherently occupy multiple spaces, whether that’s being a woman, or being queer, or half Asian. Often in film, characters are only allowed to do one (role) at once. It was nice to play a role in The Voyeurs that was all the intersections of what I represent and also confident, goofy, and unapologetic.
*This document’s purpose is to present objectives that will make those who identify as LGBTQ2S+ feel safe and acknowledged in the film industry.
TC: What advice do you have for marginalized individuals who are looking to get into the sphere of film?
KKS: I think that it’s very important to have a support system. Also, the internet is a great resource now that wasn’t always there.
The industry is also a lot harder on queer people and people of colour. They get subjected to a lot more criticism, are expected to represent entire blanket communities, and are not allotted the same respect even now. I think you also have to eventually, in some ways, learn to separate the self from the work. If you do take everything so personally it can really wear you down, and it can be a hard industry to maintain your mental health in. Being able to look at something as just work versus your entire identity is very important. But that’s very hard. The work is in your body, with how you look, and all these things, so it’s definitely easier said than done.
TC: In terms of acting, how has it been with the pandemic? Have you taken on any new projects?
KKS: It’s been very interesting. I actually was very fortunate that I was able to work on a DC video game for almost a year, so I had pretty consistent work. It’s called Gotham Knights, and I play Batgirl. So that was really fun! It was also my first video game, so that style of acting is a little bit different than film. I also got to do motion capture and performance capture as well.
I was also shooting the second season of Transplant, which is shot in Montreal. And then I also got […] development funding from the CBC through the Creative Relief Fund for a sitcom that I pitched. Right now, I’m working with my lit[erary] manager and sort of getting that out to networks.
It’s been a weird year, but I think the film industry has managed to maintain a certain level of safety on set. It’s just been a lot of adapting!
Eddie Murphy representing Black culture for the second time in 33 years
“Before Black Panther, there was Coming to America. It set a precedent, it set a standard, it opened up so many doors, it was the first of its kind to celebrate Blackness unapologetically,” said Jermaine Fowler in a BBC interview.
On March 5, 2021, Amazon Prime released the sequel of Coming to America, one of the most important cultural Hollywood statements for the Black community.
In 1988, when Coming to America was released, it brought with it a lot of attention. It had an all-Black cast, and it represented African culture on a mainstream level. Although there were some stereotypes such as the perceived submissiveness of African women, they were modified during the sequel.
In the original movie, Akeem Joffer (Eddie Murphy) is an African prince from Zamunda who goes to America to find his future queen. In the movie’s sequel, Joffer goes to America to look for his long-lost son, Zavelle, who Joffer brings back to Zamunda to meet the rest of the family. It depicts the multiple differences between African and African-American cultures, yet we can see them blend during both movies, especially the sequel.
During the movie, Joffer’s family in Zamunda welcomes his son Zavelle and his family from America. We see the differences between the two families but also witness them blend and bring out the best in each other. In the end, Joffer’s daughter becomes the heir to the throne, and his son marries Mirembe, a woman native to Zamunda. She appears as an empowered, independent, and ambitious woman.
In Coming to America, African women were portrayed as submissive, dependent, with no ambition, and only aspiring to marriage. The sequel showed, however, that Black women, African-American and African women can be independent, ambitious and powerful.
“I’m very excited about African women who are kicking down those pre-existing narratives that held them back. I’m excited by my generation as we’re not taking anything less,” said Nomzamo Mbatha, who plays Mirembe in Coming 2 America, during a BBC interview.
The positive representation of Black people in the media is not common, especially in mainstream movies. The Black community constantly battles for more positive representation.
They portray us either as the good ones that are all docile or the aggressive and dangerous person, and it stems from history. That’s sad,” said Victoria, a student at Université du Québec à Montréal.
Eddie Murphy both plays the leading role and produced Coming to America and the sequel. He is seen as a role model and an icon around the world, and more importantly, within the Black community. Many other influential figures are in attendance in the sequel, such as Teyana Taylor, James Earl Jones, Garcelle Beauvais, Leslie Jones, Arsenio Hall, and more.
Mbatha, a native South African woman, plays the role of Mirembe, a hairdresser. Having a native South African woman in mainstream media is inspiring to South Africans of the younger generation. The film “speaks of what I want young girls from the African continent to feel — that they’re not invisible and they’re not too far, their dream is tangible — we need to open those doors for African girls and women,” said Mbatha.
From Coming to America to Black Panther, it took 30 years for another mainstream Black movie of this magnitude to come along. This in itself shows the lack of representation for people of colour in Hollywood.
Since the beginning of 2020, it has been challenging for the Black community because of the pandemic, the Black Lives Matter movement and the loss of influential people in the entertainment business such as Kobe Bryant, Chadwick Boseman, Cicely Tyson, and more.
Coming 2 America is one of the biggest mainstream Black movies in recent years. During these challenging times, Black people being represented at such a high level, as well as having Murphy back on screen is a light for the community.
Four Montreal-based creators share the impact of COVID-19 on their analog media practice
The hashtag #printisnotdead on Instagram has accumulated over 395 thousand posts as of April 2021. Not too bad for a medium that has been accused of irrelevance for the entirety of Gen Z’s existence.
Yet, it still manages to stick around. The COVID-19 pandemic has highlighted the importance of physical touch, with some feeling negatively impacted by the lack of it. Print, or analog media, is often more labour intensive, hands-on, and time-consuming than digital equivalents, usually yielding less predictable results.
So… why would anyone painstakingly hand print a poster when you could design it in Photoshop, and have it printed in a matter of hours? Has the pandemic had any effect on print? What even is paper art?
Four Montreal-based creators who have adapted, reworked, or dove head-first into an analog practice during the lockdown explain the connection to The Concordian.
Caitlin Yardley / Disposable Film
Caitlin Yardley, a Journalism graduate, is experienced in digital media production. For a recent birthday, she was gifted a disposable camera to experiment with.
Like many ‘90s kids, she used a one-use film camera as a child, explaining that her family has albums upon albums of old photographs. But it wasn’t until the lockdown that she fell for film.
“I really want to preserve every moment now,” said Yardley. “I love the permanence of getting my film developed and holding onto a photo, or when I hand a photo to a friend I’ve had printed it feels really special. So that’s been what has led me to continue with the medium.”
Because of the pandemic, some of Yardley’s friends have moved away and she sees less of the ones that are around, naturally. She explained that the experience has led her to cherish the time she spends with loved ones even more and that film photography is an enjoyable way of making the moments “concrete.”
“I always lose the photos on my phone, or even on my [digital] camera, I’ll upload them somewhere and forget about it,” explained Yardley. “But I’ve been printing off these photos and sticking them on my wall.”
Something that Yardley likes about disposable film cameras is how accessible they make photography, especially compared to high-tech DSLR cameras or finicky 35mm film, which require the user to have experience and skills the former doesn’t.
“With some analog film it’s different, but if you just have a disposable camera anyone can get a super cool photo,” said Yardley. “If I’ve had a bit too much to drink I can snap a photo and as long as the flash is on I know it’s going to be good.”
Yardley explained that disposable cameras are very user friendly, requiring only two controls to function, meaning it’s also easy and quick to instruct others interested in learning about the medium. “As long as your finger isn’t over the lens that’s all that matters,” she said.
“With digital, you can take 100 photos to make sure you get the right one. With film, you have one moment realistically, maybe two, to line up the perfect shot and that’s it,” said Yardley. “You don’t know what you captured, you don’t know if it was just your fingerprint. Three weeks later when you hand the film in and it gets developed — then you know … It’s just not an experience you get with digital.”
Yardley explained that this is exactly what makes disposable film unsuitable as a tool for fast-paced, precise photojournalism required at a protest, but that she will continue to make sure she has a disposable camera ready for capturing special events creatively.
She encourages anyone interested but hesitant of the medium to try it out.
“Pick up a disposable camera and if you do have the pleasure of being around people you love, go out and try to shoot something,” said Yardley. “It’s going to be beautiful no matter what.”
@gorelickart / Linocut Printmaking
@gorelickart* is a Montreal-based artist, in her first year of Studio Arts at Concordia University. At the start of the pandemic, the multi-disciplinary creative found themself living in a small studio, shared with a now-ex partner and a cat. Painting, also a part of their artistic work, proved a good way to collect cat hair in a small space.
They took a printmaking course at Concordia during the fall term and started to learn more about the many distinct forms that fall under the umbrella term of printmaking.
“I didn’t use to draw or do any realistic work, but in printmaking, I’ve started to explore that with linocut and intaglio,” they explained.
Compared to linocut printmaking, which developed in the 19th century, intaglio is a grandmother, originating in the 15th century. Intaglio could be described as chemical engraving — the design is etched onto the plate and then acid is poured over it. Intaglio and linocut are on opposite ends of the printmaking spectrum because the former is an example of incision printing, where the design is essentially inside the plate. Linocut and woodcut, require the artist to carve away everything but the design, making it stand out from the cut-away parts in an almost 3-dimensional manner. They are examples of relief printing.
She was initially drawn to lino, which is short for linoleum, the same material also used as flooring, to create a @gorelickart 2020 stamp for her paintings.
“I bought a 4 by 6-inch piece of rubber, and obviously my stamp was tiny so I just started experimenting more with that,” said @gorelickart.
YouTube videos and a can-do attitude proved helpful.
“I just got the tools and started doing it. I was just carving on my couch, with the block in my hand. So whenever I would miss or [the block] would slide a bit I would stab myself and be like ‘Ahh!’ As I was presenting my piece someone in my class was like ‘You know you’re meant to use this thing to keep the block in place … That would have been good to know, but I guess that’s part of the process of teaching yourself.”
Like many analog methods, linocut printmaking involves several labour intensive steps. Carving a block and printing it are two separate tasks, and @gorelickart prefers the former. They use intaglio inks, which can be hard to clean up and stain easily. She chose a composition of a fish created earlier in the year as one of her favourites, as it is one of the pieces she has cared enough about to go through the process of printing and not just carving.
“I really love carving, I find it’s such a relaxing process. I can do it very absentmindedly, almost like knitting,” she said. “I just sit on the couch, [carving] my block and watch TV and it’s really relaxing. Versus printing that’s more technical, and I’m more stressed about not getting ink everywhere.” They use intaglio inks which can be hard to clean up.
@gorelickart explained they live alone and don’t see friends often with respect to the pandemic regulations. Tactile parts of their artistic practice, such as carving, working with stained glass, and clay have proved deeply helpful in terms of dealing with the difficulties that can lead to.
@gorelickart was inspired by another artist on Instagram using small scraps to make recycled stamps. It prompted them to start reusing their wine corks and linoleum scraps to make custom stamp-sized designs.
“When I was doing bigger blocks I would have so much waste from my carvings and I was like ‘Oh my God I need to do something with this’ … So I just started making tiny little carvings and putting them on the corks. They’re so cute and I love them, but now I have so many I’m like, ‘What do I do with these?!’”
In the future — commissioned stamps, or ones with letter grades for teachers are a possibility but, “Right now I’m just making them for fun when I have extras,” they said. “Printmaking is a pretty low-waste art form compared to painting but it’s important to use everything. Before I was just throwing my wine caps out, so I was like this is pretty perfect.”
Silvana Toma / Papermaking
Some might assume the term “paper arts” means art drawn or painted on a piece of paper. Not Silvana Toma, a lifelong paper collector who likes to leave journals and notepads empty, finding them prettier that way.
Toma visited Japan a couple of times and was fascinated by the process of washi papermaking, a thin yet super-strong paper handmade locally, using ancient methods.
“Even though I enjoy both, I’m more drawn to analog [than digital]. It’s so tactile and hands-on that it helps me disconnect from the world for a little while and only focus on what I am doing in the present moment. Because of this, it’s been super beneficial to my mental health too. It’s also as close to a form of meditation as it gets since I can never sit still for too long,” explained Toma.
She turned her affection for stationary into concrete action, launching NoteStorii, a handmade paper shop, in early 2021.
“In some aspects, lockdown helped since I probably wouldn’t have launched so soon if I wasn’t forced to stay in the house and actually work on this. In general, there’s no easy part about starting a business, especially when you’re a one [person] show,” said Toma, detailing the specific challenges the pandemic has imposed on her fledgling business. The physical store closures made it difficult to source materials, the increased use of Canada Post caused shipping delays and on top of everything, lost packages “didn’t help.”
Papermaking is a highly tactile art, requiring multiple technical steps to get to the final product. A benefit to small-batch paper is that it has a significantly lower eco-footprint than coated, commercially produced paper.
Scraps can be recycled into new paper, but it’s important to understand what its texture is before committing to making it into sheets. This wasn’t always possible with online shopping, sometimes leading to unusable supplies, paired with high shipping costs for Toma.
“I think I’m not the only one who’s been living through the lens of social media pre-pandemic, always plugged in, always going somewhere and checking items off of my endless to-do list. The lockdown forced us to face who we really are beneath the filter we put up for the world, and we either weren’t ready for the reveal, or we didn’t like what we saw. It can cause a lot of anxiety and unrest you know — realizing you don’t really know yourself? I think analog mediums help us tap into a creative side that we’ve perhaps forgotten about; we can take time to think clearly, instead of frantically searching for answers even though we’re too distracted to ask the right questions,” she continued.
“At first I saw papermaking as something only professionals with huge studio spaces could do. I’ve learned that a small workspace doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy the process. It’s also an inexpensive hobby. You don’t need fancy equipment, big machinery or grade A pulp to start off. I began with a kitchen blender and still use the same one, recycled newspaper and a DIY frame from the dollar store. With a bit of patience and willpower it’s a rewarding process,” she said.
“My favourite part is peeling off the dried sheet and stacking them for the final press. The peeling sound and motion feel incredibly satisfying, and so is seeing the final product,” continued Toma. Making paper is physically intense and messy — but it’s a labour of love for the creative entrepreneur.
“I remind myself that cleaning up means I get to come in to a fresh start tomorrow.”
Le Lin / Book Arts + Print Media
Le Lin is a prolific presence in the print world. In their final year of Graphic Design at Concordia University, Lin has shown art books in several exhibitions, produced multiple zines, and co-founded the Queer Print Club (QPC) two years ago — to name just a few of their analog accomplishments. However, he’s also seen aspects of his communal practice, like participating in Expozine, or a print swap the QPC co-organized with Yiara Magazine, become impossible due to the pandemic.
Lin has approached book arts from multiple angles, studying binding and conservation methods that the average person has likely never heard of, seeing a book as a unique 3D artistic creation, as opposed to just a vehicle for other people’s words and images. The distinction is important.
“I always design for print … I use very specific papers. I really care about the transparency and the papers and the materiality of the book itself … A lot of my books you can fold stuff out or it’s bound in a particular way,” he explained.
Lin combines their skills as an artist and graphic designer to create art books. A set two, handmade by Lin, were recently displayed in Dear Family: twenty years ago was just yesterday, at the Pierre-François Ouellette gallery, from March 17 to April 3, as a part of the annual Art Matters festival.
“When [people] open [one of my books] and see that I’ve done the whole cover, embossed the cover, and screen printed most of the transparent pages and then digitally printed all of the other pages and sewed stuff in and they’re like ‘Woah you can do that!?’ and I’m like yeah, you can do anything!”
Lin is in Design, but they have made the effort to pursue printmaking classes throughout their undergrad career, emailing teachers tirelessly to get into the courses needed to further their practice.
“This year shifted a lot. I really wanted to take papermaking and 400-level screen [printing] classes and other hands-on classes like bronze casting but because of COVID, I can’t go in, so I’ve been taking more coding and web design classes. I have made three zines this year but they’re not printed by me,” said Lin.
“One of the projects I’m working on is making a web platform for zines, so you can upload PDFs and it turns into flipbooks online, so it’s kind of bridging that gap. I haven’t partaken in much printing at home but it’s more like translating my practice onto an online skillset,” he continued.
The site features zines by Lin, as well as some that others have uploaded. Taken from the word “magazine,” what makes a zine distinct from traditional media is that they’re self-published and have a long history related to activism or the dissemination of information that is helpful to marginalized communities. They’re known for their blend of educational, personal, artistic, and affordable content.
“I like making things that are accessible … With my work I try to make it super precise. If you can read it, you can understand it.”
*Identity has been withheld for safety/privacy reasons.
Discussing the issues with reboots or remakes in the entertainment industry
Whenever I’m watching an entertainment news show such as Entertainment Tonight, or listening to podcasts like The Ralph Report, I am constantly hearing about the latest remake or reboot of a show or movie. Most of the time, I end up rolling my eyes because I am kind of sick of it. From the reboot of “Saved by The Bell” to the who-knows-what iteration and reimagining of Batman, there is always something. While yes, I understand and agree that nearly every story has been told and what matters is how the story is told, I find myself thinking about why there is this huge craze to bring back old shows and movies, or to just remake them entirely.
My first thought about this is that film executives are just lazy and don’t want to put as much work into telling stories. It seems like there is no real attempt anymore to try to make something original.
After some thought, I asked myself if it’s easier to reboot or remake a piece of media or if it’s more challenging because there is a directly comparable source. I think that it depends on if it’s being marketed as a reboot or a remake. If a franchise is being rebooted, then there is the potential for things to be a little more challenging because the story has to continue, or because it may only feature some of the original cast.
Whereas with a remake, it seems like there is less need to take artistic liberties because the base is there and only certain things are being changed.
Take the 2013 remake of the 1976 horror film Carrie with Chloë Grace Moretz. Not much differed from the original except for the lack of nudity, as Moretz was only 16 at the time, and the use of cell phones. Did the movie need to be remade? In my opinion, no. The Sissy Spacek version of the movie was really impactful, and remaking it without many changes just felt like it was a waste of time.
There have been times where I have been interested in the reboot or the remake of a show that I grew up watching and was left quite disappointed. For example, the Disney Channel show “Raven’s Home,” which airs on the network as well as on Disney+, was taking “That’s So Raven” and making it new. I loved “That’s So Raven” growing up, and when I watched “Raven’s Home,” I was left feeling bored. The jokes weren’t as funny, and there wasn’t the same energy present that “That’s So Raven” had. I was hoping to feel a sense of nostalgia, but instead I was left feeling let down because it didn’t have the same elements that made the original series fun and entertaining. “That’s So Raven” was so original, funny and quite wacky with the plot, and “Raven’s Home” just toned it down way too much to be enjoyable.
There have been instances where I have been incredibly annoyed with the thought of something being remade. For example, recently it was announced that the movie Face/Off was getting remade, and I was angry to hear this. I thought that the original film was this perfect mess because of how unrealistic the premise was and just how much overacting both Nicholas Cage and John Travolta did. So, trying to remake it seems like a waste of time. I don’t see any purpose other than money as a valid reason to remake this movie.
Nostalgia could be a motivation for this reboot and remake craze. In current times, I can understand the want to escape from our reality and try and bring back things that brought joy in the past. However, at the same time, I think that trying to shove forced nostalgia in everyone’s face removes the natural feeling of being nostalgic. Also, if the movie or show is made new, does it still hold the same importance or feeling as the original? I would argue that no, it loses what made it special in the first place.
I can also see how this trend of reboots is a cash grab, honestly. A lot of the time, certain shows and movies that did well in the past or had a decent following are seen as easy money. If a story is familiar, then it might draw a larger crowd than a story that is entirely new.
I think that if there wasn’t such a push for all this rehashing then it might be less annoying. A lot of major studios, with the right amount of funds and new technology, can take many more creative liberties than before, yet they keep reaching into the past to make things again. It frustrates me because there are many stories that could be told, and many ideas that are not being pursued because something that was popular twenty years ago needs another shot in 2021. Nearly every time I hear about a new movie announcement, it’s always some movie or show that was made before. I just want to hear about something that is original, that hasn’t been done before.
Australian vocal powerhouse Sia’s directorial debut Music has finally been released, despite the fact that many wish it hadn’t.
The film stars Kate Hudson as Zu, a newly sober drug dealer who becomes the guardian for her autistic half-sister, Music (Maddie Ziegler). Over the course of the film, Zu learns to take care of Music with the help of Ebo (Leslie Odom Jr.), and musical sequences take place inside Music’s mind showing how she sees the world.
On the surface, the film might look like the perfect recipe for positivity, great musical sequences, and representation. After all, the autism community is typically portrayed in only one way: a savant white man who is awkward with women (Sheldon in The Big Bang Theory, Shaun Murphy in TheGood Doctor). Sia also called the film “A love letter to caregivers and to the autism community,” and claimed she spent three years researching for the film. And yet Music, and Sia, are still being called out for ableism.
The most obvious issue with the film is the casting. In case you were unaware, Maddie Ziegler is not autistic. Ziegler and Sia first collaborated in 2014 for the singer’s viral “Chandelier” music video and Ziegler went on to star in eight other Sia music videos, tour with the singer, and perform with her on shows like SNL, Ellen, and The Tonight Show.
Despite this longtime collaboration, Sia said, “I actually tried working with a beautiful young girl [who was] non-verbal, on the spectrum, and she found it unpleasant and stressful. So that’s why I cast Maddie … Casting someone at [the character’s] level of functioning was cruel, not kind, so I made the executive decision that we would do our best to lovingly represent the community. … I did try. It felt more compassionate to use Maddie.”
In a video about the film, Paige Layle, a young autistic woman who has over two million followers on TikTok said, “What Sia should be promoting is accommodating autistic people,” and, “If you’re saying that anyone can act autistic, it’s just acting … you need to recognize your own ableism there, and why you think that autistics are not good enough at being autistic on their own, that they need to fit your level of what autism looks like and they need to perform to what you know.”
Ziegler’s performance has also been called a caricature of autistic body language. One Twitter user explained that:
“It is deeply reminiscent of the exaggerated mannerisms non-autistic people often employ when bullying autistic and developmentally disabled people for the ways we move. There is absolutely nothing wrong with the ways autistic people move, or the ways we make facial expressions. Some of us roll our eyes and put our teeth over our lips as a stim or just because it’s comfortable. But we do those things naturally. Maddie Ziegler does not. The fact thneoat Ziegler is not autistic, and the fact that her performance is so heavily exaggerated, turns the entire movie into one long display of mockery.”
On the first day of filming, Ziegler, who was 14 at the time, reportedly cried, worried that people would think she was making fun of them, to which Sia promised her, “I won’t let that happen.”
The film has also been criticized for using the character of Music as a prop. David Fear for Rolling Stonecalled it “a sort of neurodivergent equivalent of a Magical Negro.” While doing press for the film, an interviewer even compared the non-verbal Music to an inanimate object, to which Sia agreed.
“There is a caricature of autistics which relies on depicting us as headphone-wearing, gaping innocents who are symbols of purity there to remind us of selfless sacrifice,” said autistic teen Niko Boskovic in an essay.
The other massive issue raised by activists has been a scene in the film that shows Music being forcibly restrained by Zu and Ebo who “crush her with their love.”
“[Music] doesn’t just promote harmful stereotypes about autistic people — it shows restraints that have killed members of our community as necessary and loving acts,” said Zoe Gross, director of advocacy at the Autistic Self Advocacy Network.
In response, Sia promised that the film would add a warning ahead of the movie, and that future printings would remove the scene. She also clarified that the film does not condone or recommend the use of restraint on autistic people. Online however, people say that the scenes have not been removed and there is still no warning.
The film’s musical sequences also use strobing lights, bright colours, loud sounds, and quick camera movements, which are very overstimulating. As one online petition points out, “About one in four autistic people have epilepsy, so the movie can cause seizures and is also very uncomfortable for those without it. Despite making the movie ‘for’ autistic people, Sia has made it in such a way that a majority of us will be unable to watch it.”
Sia has not responded very well to her critics, personally attacking a few before deleting her Twitter account. When one autistic actor expressed their ability and willingness to act in the film Sia replied, “Maybe you’re just a bad actor.”
The singer also said, “I cast 13 neuroatypical people, three trans folk, and not as fucking prostitutes or drug addicts but as doctors, nurses and singers. Fucking sad nobody’s even seen the dang movie. My heart has always been in the right place.”
For the film, Sia also collaborated, to an extent, with Autism Speaks, an organisation that has been called “A eugenics-promoting hate group.” Over 60 disability rights organisations have condemned Autism Speaks. Sia could have learned that by simply looking at their Wikipedia page and yet she said, “I had no idea it was such a polarizing group!”
The singer also referred to Music as someone with “special abilities,” language generally found to be extremely patronizing and derogatory in these contexts. Sia’s resistance to the term disabled, which has been widely embraced by many autistic people, has also been called ableist because it implies that being disabled is a bad thing.
Sia eventually admitted to being ableist to a degree and said she’d learned her lesson, but also said, “I have my own unique view of the community, and felt it is underrepresented and compelled to make it. If that makes me a shit I’m a shit, but my intentions are awesome.”
Later, however, she said, “I realised it wasn’t ableism — I mean, it is ableism, I guess, as well — but it’s actually nepotism, because I can’t do a project without [Ziegler].”
Despite Sia’s seemingly good intentions and some supporters, Music remains at best problematic, and at its worst dangerous. Its nomination for two Golden Globe awards is both confusing and concerning. A petition for the Golden Globes to rescind the nominations currently has over 120,000 signatures.
In her video, Layle claims, “This was not for autistics. This is for caregivers, to feel like some inspiration porn, saviour complex.”
For full disclosure, I haven’t seen the film. The film’s reviews, messages from disability organisations, and videos and tweets made by autistic people have almost universally shared the same message: don’t watch this movie. It’s bad, offensive and dangerous. So I did not feel the need to waste $6 and two hours to confirm. Instead, I think I’ll look at the work of actual disabled creatives and I’d recommend you do the same.
Faculty commits to changes incited by Film Production Students for Inclusivity and Action organization
In fall 2020, the Film Production Students for Inclusivity and Action (FPSIA) drafted a letter of demands, clearly outlining their recommendations to address structural racism within Concordia University’s Film department. After collecting over 100 student and alumni signatures, their initial demands were met and accomplishments outlined in a recent Instagram post.
FPSIA demands
Transparency and accountability in the department’s recognition of the demands and concerns raised in the letter.
Transparent hiring process for new faculty members from diverse backgrounds.
Increased BIPOC perspectives and subjects within the department’s curriculum.
Increased responsibility for teaching assistants within the department.
Clarity in the admissions process and that the Mel Hoppenheim School of Cinema work together in collaboration with students towards inclusivity in the film industry.
A redefined jury system for Filmmaking II & III (FMPR 332 & 432), with a redistribution of roles and resources, in favour of “real world experience.”
Refreshed training for faculty, staff and students regarding the Code of Rights and Responsibilities, and that the Mel Hoppenheim School of Cinema makes a commitment to handling complaints filed underneath the Code.
Future equipment purchases be made with accessible, affordable options, and that money acquired through donations can be distributed as grants or bursaries to students who need it most.
Faculty commitments made thus far
The Film Department has formed an Equity, Diversity and Inclusion committee to address the FPSIA’s demands listed in the letter. The committee holds seven seats, with two reserved for students. Two seats are currently occupied, one by the co-chair of the department, along with Assistant Professor in Cinema, Marianna Milhorat. Three committee seats are also reserved for a full-time, part-time and technical staff member.
The faculty, who has previously committed to annual artist-in-residence positions, is reserving this position for a person who self-identifies as BIPOC or who is otherwise deserving through rich community engagement experience.
Workshops, training programs, and funding opportunities have been implemented.
In a conversation with Flora Nwakobi, member of Film Production Students for Inclusivity and Action (FPSIA), Video Editor at The Concordian and Film Production student Adam Mbowe framed the need for diversity and inclusion at the Mel Hoppenheim School of Cinema. Watch the interview below.
The FPSIA will be hosting a discussion on the topics of Film, Gender, and Education with Dr. Tracy Ying Zhang, Alexia Roc, and Whitney Norceide on Feb. 24 at 7:30 p.m. For more information or to attend the event, visit their Facebook page.
The highest-grossing LGBTQ+ movie in Taiwan gives audiences an emotionally charged experience
Directed by Kuang-Hui Liu, Your Name Engraved Herein is a coming of age movie that tells the story of two classmates, A-han (Edward Chen) and Birdy (Tseng Jing-Hua), who fall in love precisely when the martial law is lifted in Taiwan in 1987. Despite this, society doesn’t change overnight, and homophobia, family pressure, and social stigmas remain present.
It’s intimate and sensual, but heartbreaking at the same time.
The martial law lasted in Taiwan for 38 years, from 1949 to 1987. This period of time is known as the White Terror, when the Republic of China took control of Taiwan. Chiang Kai-shek, leader of the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT), decided to impose a martial law, a temporary imposition of military authority and control of civilian rule, on Taiwan to prevent the Communist Party, led by Mao Tse-tung, from winning the Civil War. Freedom of speech and human rights were declined. Civilians who opposed it would either be imprisoned, tortured or even executed.
In the film, Birdy is a new student at a strict all-boys Catholic high school that A-han attends. The two rapidly become friends and their bond grows stronger.
They take part in the school’s band, led by Father Olivier (Fabio Grangeon) from Montreal, who is also the school’s priest. Father Olivier always reminds his students, “Profiter du moment” (live in the moment). During one of their classes, he discusses the concept of youth and love with his students. While everyone is questioning the priest about his love life, A-han and Birdy glimpse at each other.
News of President Chiang Ching-kuo’s death surfaces at school. Students are encouraged to take a trip to Taipei to pay their respects to the deceased. In Taipei, A-han and Birdy take advantage of their stay in the capital to enjoy their time together. Still, they are resistant to their mutual affection.
The arrival of girls shifts the school’s dynamic. Birdy is noticed by Ban-Ban, who represents social acceptance, stability and heterosexual romance. A-han gets jealous as Birdy spends more time with Ban-Ban and A-han won’t let go of his affection towards Birdy. A series of confrontations and reconciliations follow as they part from each other. Finally, life brings them together a few years later, giving them an opportunity to reflect on their past.
Director Liu captures a period of time when many people suffered from discrimination due to social stigma, even after the removal of the martial law. Gradually, society was able to evolve as Taiwan became the first Asian country to legalize same-sex marriage in 2019.
The movie pays a tribute to known Taiwanese LGBTQ+ activist, Chi Chia-wei, who was imprisoned during the White Terror. The activist appears in one scene of the movie, where a protest is happening, holding a sign that says “Homosexuality is not a disease.”
At times, it is hard to watch since the story is beautiful, but also heartbreaking. In a particular scene, Birdy is injured in a scooter accident and A-han decides to help him shower. A-han and Birdy get intimate. When Birdy climaxes, he kisses A-han but rapidly apologizes. Then, both cry in each other’s arms, understanding each other’s pain, shame and love.
The title of the movie is in reference to the song “Your Name Engraved Herein” written by Hsu Yuan-Ting, Chia Wang and Chen Wen-Hua, and performed by Crowd Lu. In the film, A-han plays the song on the phone to confess his love to Birdy. By the end of this scene, both start sobbing as they listen carefully to the song, heartbroken.
In a Timeinterview, Liu mentioned that “The LGBT communities need a movie like this to tell them, ‘You are allowed to love, you are not guilty.’”
The movie sheds light on those who have lived in pain and frustration due to past trauma.
Although the film depicts a generation that was denied to celebrate their identities freely and are recognized in Taiwan today, it still demonstrates that the fight for LGBTQ+ rights is not over.
Your Name Engraved Herein sends a clear universal message that, regardless of sexual orientation, love is love and everyone deserves it.
Your Name Engraved Herein is available to watch on Netflix.
David Fincher’s latest film falls flat in revealing Herman J. Mankiewicz’s inner life
Mank was hard to sit through. This is both surprising and disappointing to me, as an avid fan of director David Fincher’s work. But when it comes down to it, Mank simply doesn’t pack the punch it needed to keep me engaged.
The film follows Hollywood screenwriter Herman J. Mankiewicz as he heals his broken leg in a far-away lodge, writing what would become Citizen Kane. Meanwhile, we jump sporadically into various moments of his past, exploring the people who’ve inspired the script and significant events that affected the writer. These flashbacks, which make up most of the film, attempt to reveal Mankiewicz’s inner life.
The problem is that the flashbacks are confusing and feel disconnected from each other. More generally, Mank has a big editing and writing problem — the entire structure is off. The introduction of flashbacks and the end of “present-day” scenes lack motivation; nothing in a previous scene clearly triggers the succeeding flashback. At points, it almost feels random.
And while you’re trying to figure out the connections between scenes, the excruciatingly long dialogue sequences only add insult to injury. Everything seems so convoluted as characters talk a whole lot about nothing, only making me wonder “Why is this here, and what am I supposed to be learning?” It seemed as though the real story of the film was hidden somewhere in these flashbacks, but the confusing back and forths only make it difficult to know what exactly that is.
I believe that Mank’s structure fails itself because it tried too hard to pay homage to Citizen Kane. The black and white cinematography and 1940s sound is done well and works as intended, but it should have been kept at that.
The reason Citizen Kane’s heavy use of flashbacks works is because the story supports that structure. It’s about a journalist interviewing people who knew the titular character after he died. Its structure is what helps make the story so dynamic. The film also makes explicitly clear the connection between the present scene and the flashback. Mank falls flat relying heavily on flashbacks because its story just doesn’t support it, or at least it didn’t need it. There is no doubt that Fincher can direct complex films, he’s made an admirable career out of it. He just lost something with Mank.
Fincher has had an ability to adapt real stories and novels and transform them into thematically rich pieces; The Social Network is about the development of Facebook on the surface, but really, it’s about friendship, loyalty, betrayal, and the fine line between ambition and greed. Zodiac follows journalists’ and detectives’ search for the Zodiac Killer, but it’s really about the consequences of obsession.
Mank just doesn’t have the same spark. Obviously, it would be ridiculous to assume that every film needs to be deeply philosophical, political, or personal, but Mank seemed like it was setting up something more. When I compare Mank to Fincher’s previous work, I don’t see the same strength in his themes.
Ultimately, Mank is confusing and long, which makes it hard to care about. There is no attempt to connect to its characters, to make them likeable, or to make themes and plot clear. It’s harsh to say this, especially as a fan of David Fincher, but at the end of the day the descriptors “confusing” and “boring” are accurate, and that is just a bad combination to have.
Online screening of Focus Iran in Montreal: a French documentary about Iran
The International Festival of Films on Art (FIFA), in collaboration with the Maison de la culture de Côte-des-Neiges, presented a free online screening of Focus Iran from Nov. 18 to 19, available to all Canadian residents.
The documentary, Focus Iran (2017), follows the efforts and struggles of five Iranian photographers, including four young women, who have to overcome many barriers to continue working in their country. It is a story which shows the honest personal narratives of these artists about how they could battle the religious and social taboos to shoot a real image of the invisible folds of current Iranian society.
Directed by French duo Nathalie Masduraud and Valérie Urréa, Focus Iran speaks about the different styles of photography like portraiture, staging, and documentary photography via the personal experiences of their photographers to explore the challenges of being a photographer in Iran.
“After the Islamic revolution in 1979, many artists had to leave Iran. I was lucky to be one of them,” said Montreal-based humanitarian photographer Aydin Matlabi in a phone interview. He was a guest from FIFA for the public screening of this documentary at the McCord Museum two years ago. “The Islamic regime stopped shooting my project because I broke the taboos,” said Matlabi. “This documentary is about these taboos.”
Some photographic subjects are considered taboo by Islamic rules in Iran. For example, it is not possible to shoot a nude body or show women without a veil. If a photo presents a couple, the man is not to be shown beside the woman, and it is forbidden to shoot homosexual people.
Even if photographers could shoot these subjects, they may not be able to display the photos in galleries in Iran.
In this circumstance, it seems impossible to be a photographer, but the documentary tells the story of the photographers who are still working. “They are like the real heroes for me,” said Matlabi. “Despite their chance to leave Iran and despite many social, political and traditional issues, they continue to create the art with their nation.”
These artists use different methods to bypass censorship and limitations. Some of them use metaphor.
“I tried to take the pictures of my subjects in front of my room window where there is a unique background of a grey concrete building. This building was like a metaphor of Iran, whose people suffer the economic and political problems,” said Newsha Tavakolian, one of the women photographers featured in the documentary.
She also discussed another limitation: “The woman artists in Iran are moving in the minefield.”
Iran has a patriarchal society where women encounter many obstacles. The documentary navigates all of the barriers but never talks about them directly. While watching this documentary, the viewer follows the women on their shoots, in their studios, and at different locations to find out how these barriers forced the women to redouble their efforts to reach their goals, despite lacking freedom.
“Focus Iran documented the voice of these artists and gave them [the] freedom to express themselves to the world,” explained Matlabi.
From Tehran to Kashan and the lake of Urmia in the northwest of Iran, the documentary gives a new image of Iran that is far from the usually discussed nuclear issues and political negotiations.
“Focus Iran tried to avoid the negative aspects of Iran and mostly focused on the artist’s beautiful struggles,” Matlabi said. “It is interesting that the staff could get all the permissions to talk with the interviewees and provide a real image of current Iran for their audiences.”
Sharing the works of filmmakers of the Middle Eastern and North African diaspora
The 2020 edition of the Middle East and North African (MENA) Film Festival is taking place online until Nov. 27 and offers a variety of works by filmmakers from the Middle Eastern and North African diaspora. The virtual film festival offers the public a chance to discover films that shed light on a variety of cultures, diverse dialogues and stories.
This year, MENA presents 20 short films and three feature films. Comedy, documentary, experimental films and more have been included in the film festival’s programming.
The festival offers a variety of works, providing a space for the voices of artists that are a part of Middle Eastern and North African communities. MENA also aims to provide a place for emerging artists and new voices to share their work and create a welcoming space for various dialogues.
My Dream Goes All the Way to Iran (2019), directed by Negar Mojtahedi, documents the stories of six Iranian-Canadians sharing the most painful and beautiful moments of their journeys from Iran to Canada. The film is a powerful portrait of the Iranian expatriate, portraying an immigrant population that is often misunderstood and misrepresented. The movie depicts the realities that refugees and immigrants face, uprooting their lives for a hopeful future.
Directed by Franco-Tunisian director and writer Manele Labidi, Arab Blues (2019) tells the story of psychoanalyst Selma (Golshifteh Farahani) who comes back to Tunis after living in France for 10 years. Selma has decided to set her practice as a shrink in Tunis, which is seen as a skeptical practice in the capital of Tunisia. Presented as a comedy, Arab Blues opens a window into modern Tunisia but also presents cultural clashes in a humorous form.
Amphitheater (2019) by Qatari filmmaker Mahdi Ali Ali, tells the story of a photographer named Sarah who follows a rebellious girl in her hideout: an amphitheater. Sarah is intrigued by the girl’s behavior and captures her in candid portraits.
There is also the coming-of-age film from Lebanese director Oualid Mouaness, 1982 (2019), which depicts 11-year-old Wissam, who is determined to confess his love to his classmate Joanna on the last day of school. Meanwhile, school teacher Yasmine, alongside other teachers, try to mask their fears as many are on different sides of the political divide. The story is set during the beginning of the 1982 Lebanon War.
Voice of Silence (2016) by Iranian director Panahbarkhoda Rezaee is a documentary narrative that tells, through a photographer’s lens, the story of the Iran-Iraq war that lasted from 1980 to 1988. The movie gives a voice to the victims of the war.
MENA offers the chance for the public to engage with a variety of works coming from different places in the Middle East and North Africa. This is a great opportunity to get to know the various stories and perspectives of Middle Eastern and North African filmmakers.
Many events happen in the Middle East and North Africa that tend to be less spoken of in Canada and the virtual film festival is a great place to experience the different realities lived in these areas and authentic Middle Eastern and North African works.
The virtual film festival serves as a cultural experience where walls are broken down and different dialogues are presented in space, without geographical divides. MENA serves to celebrate the many cultures present in the world and share stories that tend to be less known.
The MENA Film Festival is on until Nov. 27. Tickets are sold online. Viewers can obtain a pass for full virtual screenings for $40, giving the opportunity to the audience to see as much as they want, and individual passes for $10 each.
