Fitting In: Maddie Ziegler's best performance yet in a heartfelt story about body agency

Canadian writer-director Molly McGlynn’s  semi-autobiographical portrayal of MRKH syndrome is painful to watch yet necessary.

By Isabella Soares

Maddie Ziegler and Emily Hampshire as a mother and daughter duo in Fitting In. (Image via Elevation Pictures)

"The body is not a thing, it's a situation." This quote pinpoints the main question that Canadian writer-director Molly McGlynn poses with her second directorial feature Fitting In.

What is initially a coming-of-age story about Lindy (played by Maddie Ziegler), a teenage girl eagerly awaiting her first period and looking forward to losing her virginity to her high school crush, quickly turns into body horror.

When Lindy goes to the gynecologist for the first time, she expects to get out of her consultation with a birth control method in mind but learns instead that she has Mayer-Rokitansky-Küster-Hauser (MRKH) syndrome, essentially meaning  that she doesn't have a vagina or a uterus. 

Startled by the realization that her dream of one day having two kids is no longer a possibility, and disappointed that she won't be able to have sex as soon as she hoped, Lindy finds out that the only way for her to be able to have a "normal girl life" is if she carves a vagina for herself with a dilator or has surgery. Although she initially sees this diagnosis as an automatic burden, it also opens her mind to what it means to be a girl and the question of her need to fit in.

Something magical happens when a filmmaker tells a story that is meaningful to them. They add even more nuance and details based on their own lived experience. McGlynn's work in Fitting In is personal, and that in itself, is a win. In a way, it seems like the film is a letter to McGlynn's younger self, giving her teenage version an inside glimpse of the hardships as well as the light at the end of the tunnel.

Casting Maddie Ziegler as the main character in this project is also a thumbs-up choice. After her riveting performance alongside Jenna Ortega in HBO's The Fallout in 2021, the actress and dancer's latest acting credit is arguably her best yet. 

Ziegler also has great onscreen chemistry with her character's mom Rita, played by Schitt's Creek alum and Canadian actress Emily Hampshire. Although both are going through different situations, they share the same concern for body image. While Lindy feels like an outsider for not having a vagina like her classmates, Rita is trying to get back into the dating world while still feeling insecure in her own skin as a breast cancer survivor who’s  unable to afford plastic surgery.

Although Fitting In is oftentimes a hard watch, it also sheds light on a much greater issue: body agency. No matter what your body looks like and whether it is conventionally perfect or not, it isn't anyone's business to dictate what you should do with it. From the beginning of the film, Lindy is treated by her male gynecologist as a problem needing to be fixed; it's only when she meets Jax (Ki Griffin), who is intersex and open about it, that she slowly comes out of her shell. 

Despite this coming-of-age tale striking a cord and bringing a fresh perspective about a rarely talked about syndrome, Fitting In does feel underwhelming at times. The pacing slows down towards the halfway mark when Lindy begins to make a series of insensitive decisions. Although Lindy's attitude stems from her urge to conform, the scenes play out like a repetition of many overplayed high school storylines. The film could've also benefited from more satirical song choices, as it does in a scene where "Barbie Girl" starts playing through Lindy’s headphones during a scan.

Overall, Fitting In isn't a total home run, but it is an incredibly important story worthy of attention. From tackling the pressures to fit into a certain mould as a girl to showcasing a diverse cast, the film's strengths are in its powerful storytelling that goes beyond the surface level.

The film does a great job of showcasing humanity over the medical examination, giving the characters heart, soul and personalities that are separate from their diagnosis. Even if the pacing loses its grip halfway through, the audience is still drawn to the characters until the very end. It is also refreshing to know that McGlynn was able to enlighten audiences with bits and pieces of her story. 

The film allows the viewer to sympathize with the hardships of having MRKH, such as not being able to have periods or get pregnant, and undergoing the pain of inserting medical dwindles daily in the hopes of getting sexually active. With so many of these struggles putting into question a girl’s identity, it is heartwarming when Lindy finally lets go of her insecurities and looks at her MRKH with pride. 

Fitting In is currently available on VOD. Click here to rent it through Prime Video.

American Fiction: Jeffrey Wright gives a standout performance in Cord Jefferson’s debut feature film #TIFF23

The TIFF People’s Choice Award winner delivers uncompromising commentary on the pressures and expectations placed on Black artists while maintaining a story full of humour and heart

Jeffrey Wright plays Thelonious "Monk" Ellison, a dynamic character who is at once both cynical and filled with humanity (Courtesy of TIFF)

By Caelan Monkman

Satire is a notoriously challenging genre to execute well. It requires an intimate understanding — and often appreciation — of the subject being satirized, while simultaneously a recognition of the flaws and dissonances that exist within that very subject.

It’s here that American Fiction writer and director Cord Jefferson truly prevails. Jefferson is accomplishing a doubly challenging task, tackling satire and adapting the film’s screenplay from a book — Percival Everett’s 2001 novel Erasure — another famously difficult feat. This accomplishment is all the more impressive given this is Jefferson’s first feature film.

The film follows Thelonious "Monk" Ellison (Jeffrey Wright), a struggling author who keeps finding himself pigeonholed as a “Black writer” while simultaneously being told by editors that his works “aren’t Black enough.”

Dealing with various personal and family problems, including the death of his sister and an aging mother who is succumbing to Alzheimer's, Monk is feeling the pressure to succeed as a writer to support his family. But with white editors and audiences continuously deciding on his behalf what is and isn’t “Black enough,” Monk can’t seem to catch a break.

This is until, in an act of frustration, he submits a draft to his editor titled ‘My Pafology’ — an over-the-top story filled with clichés about Black communities — under the pseudonym Stagg R. Leigh. To his surprise, it is loved by his editor, and he’s offered the largest book deal of his career.

What follows is a whirlwind series of events that results in Monk finding anonymous success for his work while simultaneously disagreeing with the very art he is now forcing himself to create.

In a Q&A with Jefferson following the film’s world premiere at the Toronto International Film Festival, he explained that he didn’t want the film to feel like a lecture. The film succeeds in doing this, managing to walk the tightrope of satirizing without spoonfeeding the audience, trusting them to understand the messaging in the film, but without pandering to them either.

Jefferson, whose writing credits include the award-winning HBO shows Watchmen and Succession, was a journalist before making the transition to writing for TV — and now film. As a Black journalist, Jefferson was often asked to cover what he calls the ‘racism beat,’ a “revolving door of misery and tragedy” that focused on stories of tragedy and racism befalling communities of colour rather than stories that uplift them.

Here, Jefferson experienced firsthand the same things Monk does in American Fiction. Grappling with the commercialization and fetishization of the “true Black experience”, the film explores how, as stated in one of the more poignant lines of the film, “White people think they want the truth, but they don’t. They just want to feel absolved.”

The resulting film is one that is both bitingly funny and depressingly real. With exceptional performances across the board, and worth mentioning a delightfully lush and jazzy score from Laura Karpman, American Fiction is a terrific start to the hopefully long list of feature films to come from Cord Jefferson.

The Boy and the Heron: Miyazaki’s triumphant (last?) film #TIFF23

Hayao Miyazaki’s directorial return presented to the audiences at the Toronto International Film Festival (TIFF) the auteur’s love letter to his previous works.

By John Vo

(Courtesy of TIFF)

When Studio Ghibli comes to mind, the image of the man who sought to create more than films, but the most magical and immersive worlds, is formed. We think of the countless films created since the studio first came to fruition four decades ago. Yet before he solidified himself as one of the most prolific auteurs in not solely animation, but also cinema itself, Hayao Miyazaki was once a Japanese boy who longed to bring bold artworks and imaginative concepts to life. When 2013’s The Wind Rises came out, and Miyazaki himself claimed he would be retiring (although he already said that four times prior), many, including myself, truly believed that we wouldn’t be seeing more works from the movie legend. Until he finally shared the triumphant news in 2021 that we would be getting another film from him. That film would be the now-released The Boy and the Heron (or Kimitachi wa Dō Ikiru ka).

Very loosely based on his connection to the Japanese novel How Do You Live? by Genzaburo Yoshino, Miyazaki’s film is comprised of an original story and new characters. During the Second World War, 12-year-old Mahito loses his mother after a bombing that causes the hospital where she resides to burn down. His father soon remarries his late wife’s sister and the two move to another city in the country. As he struggles to adapt to the continuing grief of losing his mother and being in a completely new setting, Mahito meets a talking heron who tells him that his mother is still alive. Eager to discover what this strange and magical heron means, he follows him into a nearby abandoned tower and is transferred into a new world. Mahito then sets on a journey full of fantastical creatures and dangerous obstacles to find out what truly happened to his mother.

Although this synopsis sounds very straightforward, Studio Ghibli films have the innate ability to turn a simple concept and expand it beyond the scope of what anyone could’ve imagined; Miyazaki is not like any other artist. Before becoming an auteur, he was once just a boy in Japan during the bombings and remembers the brutality of war. His family and he would also face hardships, like when his mother got spinal tuberculosis. These key moments of his life are translated into the motifs in the projects he has helmed for Studio Ghibli. From his anti-war stances in The Wind Rises and Howl’s Moving Castle to how humans deal with illness and grief in films like My Neighbour Totoro, Miyazaki infuses the experiences of his youth into relatable and honest coming-of-age stories that portray adolescence as both the wondrous and arduous. The core belief that art can be used as a means of dissecting and understanding one’s emotional and personal turmoils is beliefs is ever so evident in Miyazaki’s body of work.

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The Boy and the Heron is the amalgamation of everything you could imagine for a Hayao Miyazaki film and more. Cute creatures that would make adorable stuffed animals? Check. A fantastical world with its own set of physics and features? You got it. Another score produced by the mind behind the music of Ghibli, Joe Hasaishi? The closest thing one can get to an out-of-body experience. The animation? Oh, there are no words worthy enough to describe how vividly immaculate this film is to look at. The lush colours Ghibli loves to use in all of its films are present and paired with the iconic stylized designs of the characters and settings. When viewing the film, you’ll catch what will go down as one of the studio’s visually striking scenes, the animation becomes eerie and akin to how one might see a nightmare play out. It shocks you to the core but adds a whole new dimension to the film and the potential of 2-D animation. In our current climate where the only animated films you can catch in cinemas feature 3-D anthropomorphic animals just for the sake of a cash grab, Studio Ghibli and the Japanese animation industry as a whole are a firm reminder that 2-D animation is anything but a relic of the past.

At the heart of our story is a young adolescent struggling to adapt to the newfound changes in his livelihood and familial relationships. The character of Mahito acts as our eyes and ears into the countryside and the world he and we are about to experience. The dynamic between him and the other characters, especially between his father and former aunt now step-mother, are some of the most nuanced and complex relationships in the Ghibli canon. Yet, no character is written to be a two-dimensional caricature but are all provided glimpses into their viewpoints and what motivates their actions. We can’t mention a film called The Boy and the Heron without mentioning the titular heron. Although I only screened the Japanese version at TIFF — meaning no commentary from me on Robert Pattinson’s voice acting — the heron in the film remains one of the studio’s oddest secondary characters. His motives are shrouded in mystery for a good portion of the film and it is not until later we discover his true purpose within the narrative. The heron does lead to another point that the Japanese voice actors did an exceptional job with the script. Voice acting in animated film is nothing like acting for the cameras and the ability to express the character's words without being over-the-top is crucial. Like every past Miyazaki film, the voice acting is top-notch with moments of the subtle and dramatic interspersed.

Beyond the surface level and aesthetics, the consistent themes and storytelling of Miyazaki’s work are displayed at possibly an all-time best. Through the hero’s journey, the concepts of grief, violence and coming-of-age are explored in an allegorical manner akin to films like Spirited Away and KiKi’s Delivery Service. Although the film is set in 1940s post-WWII Japan, the themes of war and self-discovery are meticulously written to retain timelessness and relevancy to our current society. Now more than ever, Miyazaki’s clear stance on how war can affect countries as a whole and the youth affected mirrors current events today.

When fans of films, especially Canadians, discovered that the film would be premiering as the opening film for the Toronto International Film Festival (TIFF), it solidified Studio Ghibli and Miyazaki’s place in cinema as a trailblazer. His work has gone on to be referenced in games, and live-action works and is a key influence for other esteemed film professionals. It was so obvious even walking alongside King St. W where all the magic was happening at TIFF. The film became the first ever animated and international film to open for the festival, Torotonians lined up hours early for the special merch pop-up and for the small possibility of snagging last-minute tickets to see the film. Suffice it to say that the videography of Studio Ghibli means a lot to general audiences and film as a whole.

A swan song (pun half-intended) to the works of Studio Ghibli’s past, Hayao Miyazaki blends all the things audiences love about his work and creates a film that pays homage to the classics while standing on its own as a formidable film. The Boy and the Heron is a love letter to all the fans who look towards his films and animation as a source of inspiration and solace. Although the story will not be the easiest to understand once you exit the theatre, you leave with the same breathtaking awe and wonder that comes after watching a film of such calibre and raw passion.

The subtitled and dubbed versions of The Boy and the Heron are in theatres now. For more information or to buy tickets, check the link here.

Images courtesy of TIFF

Humanist Vampire Seeking Consenting Suicidal Person: Ariane Louis-Seize’s feature debut contains lots of blood, and even more heart #TIFF2023

Although not wholly original, the horror-comedy presents some unique ideas and follows through with a solid execution full of humanity (and vampiranity)

Humanist Vampire Seeking Consenting Suicidal Person delights audiences with its use of humour and compassionate handling of sensitive subjects (Courtesy of TIFF)

By Caelan Monkman

Would you compromise your morals, even at the expense of alienating yourself from your family — or worse — your own death?

That is the question that Canadian director Ariane Louis-Seize attempts to answer in her debut feature film, the horror-comedy Humanist Vampire Seeking Consenting Suicidal Person.

The film follows Sasha (Sara Montpetit), a “teenage” vampire (she’s 68, which is like 17 in vampire years) who, according to a vampire pediatrician — yes, you read that correctly — possesses a neurological condition which makes her feel compassion towards her human victims, rather than hunger. As a result, Sasha can’t bring herself to kill humans for food, electing instead to drink blood from IV bags as though they were hemoglobin-filled Kool-Aid Jammers.

Out of frustration and a desire to cure her condition, Sasha’s family elects to send her away to live with her cousin Denise (Noémie O’Farrell), hoping that some time away from home will set Sasha straight.

Feeling isolated from her family and unable to express her extremely-vampire-specific dilemma with others, Sasha struggles with how to move forward, ultimately electing to attend a depression support group. There, she meets Paul (Félix-Antoine Bénard), a suicidal teenager who — after putting two and two together about Sasha’s bloodthirsty predicament — offers his life to her as a guilt-free blood sacrifice.

What follows is an unlikely friendship between the two misunderstood minors, who, through each other, discover there’s perhaps more to life than just survival.

The film wears its influences on its sleeve, sharing similarities with black comedies like The End of the F***ing World and The Addams Family while still creating a distinctly original end product. It also doesn’t take itself too seriously, being aware of the absurdities that can arise from the modern-day lives of vampires, à la What We Do In The Shadows.

Additionally, the film has a distinctly Canadian feel to it — and not just because of the multiple utterances of tabarnak and a creative and humorous scene involving poutine. The unique, independent spirit of the film is reminiscent of the (admittedly more abstract) absurdist films of Guy Maddin, or of Jason Reitman’s TIFF-premiering classic, Juno.

Billed as a horror-comedy, the film leans into horror tropes primarily as aesthetic choices, often subverting them for comedic effect. Much of the film is presented matter-of-factly and with a deadpan delivery, allowing the absurdity of the situation to carry the humour.

Despite the film’s humorous subject matter, it also contains its fair share of surprisingly profound moments. Dealing with topics such as depression and suicide, the film approaches these themes head-on, facing them with equal parts compassion and humour, without ever trivializing them.

At times the film could do to sit on these emotional beats a bit longer, but regardless, they still work well and provide some lovely tender moments amongst the deadpan of the rest of the film.

The end result is a film that leans heavily on common horror and coming-of-age tropes but still gives audiences an original end result and has them feeling good as the credits roll.

Humanist Vampire Seeking Consenting Suicidal Person is now available for digital rental and is playing at the TIFF Bell Lightbox on January 27.

CanCulture's executive team look back on the Toronto International Film Festival #TIFF23

Spanning from the 7th to the 17th of September, Mariana, Caelan and John reflect on their experience attending the prestigious film festival

By Mariana Schuetze, Caelan Monkman, John Vo

One of the most fun and enriching experiences for us was to be on the red carpet, next to other media outlets and talking to incredible filmmakers (Mariana Schuetze/CanCulture)

Mariana Schuetze: I have always had this dream of watching many films in one day. A "double-feature" at the movies. But not even during “Barbenheimer,” I did that. So it's not an exaggeration when I say covering the 48th annual Toronto International Film Festival (TIFF) for CanCulture this year was a dream come true.

Back in June this year, I and the other two members of this term's executive team, Caelan Monkman and John Vo, decided to apply to press at TIFF in 2023. Very hopeful and unsure of what would happen, we quickly filled out an application and submitted it. A couple of weeks later, we got it: Press Accreditation at the Toronto International Film Festival.

What does Press Accreditation give you?

Mariana Schuetze: Getting Media Accreditation at TIFF offers you a few tickets to public screenings, some networking events and countless opportunities to catch Press & Industry events. This includes P&I screenings of films, which are held on a first-come-first-serve basis. Another exciting opportunity we had access to were the red carpets! As press, we get to ask for red carpet placement and interview or photograph our favourite artists.

John Vo: When we got sent our emails proudly saying that CanCulture Magazine would be granted press access to the festival, it felt like a hazy dream. I usually err on the side of optimism, but my mind droned with the loud thoughts that we would be rejected and turned away. Would it be truly surprising since I’m sure thousands in Canada and across the world apply each year for the chance to cover TIFF? Receiving that email felt like finding the coveted holy grail. Not only because we could see tons of films but also the confirmation that rising publications like ours would be given the chance to participate in one of the most anticipated events Toronto offers.

Caelan Monkman: I remember being so excited when I opened my email and read that CanCulture had gotten press accreditation approval. The press accreditation meant that we could cover red carpets and industry events, as well as attend film screenings specifically for press and industry passholders. More than that, though, press accreditation was validation that all our work as student journalists and members of CanCulture Magazine had paid off, and we were well on our way to being professional film journalists.

What was the experience like?

M: In 10 days I got to glimpse into at least 15 people's minds. I got to know 15 unique stories. In the 10 days of the festival this year, I watched 15 films. Running from theatre to theatre was a nerve-racking experience of its own, but the best part of it all was living through so many different experiences. At the end of the festival, I genuinely felt like at least a whole month had gone by.

As a press member with the opportunity to basically watch as many films as I wanted (or could), I was really excited to just sit down, watch a movie and exercise my critical thinking. During most films, I had a small notebook and a pen and I sneakily tried to take some notes during the screenings. They are a bit all over the place but turned out to be really useful for me to separate what happened in what film, after watching four movies in a day.

J: Toronto streets are a familiar picture: bustling people with unique dreams trying to make it to their destinations, cars blaring their horns in all their road rage and the streets lined with restaurants and boutiques. The only time the city becomes still is during the witching hour. Toronto couldn’t be any more busier, right? Wrong!

As I headed towards my last film for the 48th Toronto International Film Festival on a Saturday afternoon, I scanned the streets. I became overwhelmed by packs of people eagerly looking for the next celebrity to spot or waiting in the rush line to potentially see a movie. When people talk about sensory overload, TIFF should come to mind.

Scanning through all the moments I experienced, I smiled fondly and sighed in relief that it was over. What can I say that isn’t obvious? To start, seeing actors and directors in front of you can be weirdly anticlimactic. Like “Wow, you’re a human being just like the rest of us but with money and status.” Still, I definitely had my moments where it struck me that these famous and talented folks came up to the bustling and smelly streets of Toronto all in the name of celebrating film. The art of being in films, making films, conversing about films.

C: The first thing that comes to mind is the sheer scale of the festival. There are hundreds of films screening at the festival, each with their own casts (well, some with their own casts, thanks to the SAG-AFTRA strike), crews, production and distribution teams, etc. The festival takes place in various locations near the TIFF Bell Lightbox in downtown Toronto, so when you’re surrounded by so many other festival-goers milling from one venue to the next, it can definitely be a bit of a sensory overload.

Although at times overwhelming, the experience was immensely positive. You can tell that everyone at the festival — from the volunteers to the press to the fans to the celebrities — are all in attendance because of their shared passion and love for cinema. Getting to see so many films while surrounded by those sorts of people is incredible.

Despite the SAG-AFTRA strike, there were still plenty of big stars on the TIFF red carpets! One of my favourite moments was getting to interview legendary New Zealand filmmaker Taika Waititi, who was at the festival for his latest film, Next Goal Wins.

The downside

M: As you would imagine, the biggest downside at a film festival like TIFF is not having enough time to watch everything you want to. In talking to my fellow friends and journalists covering the festival, I came across so many interesting and new stories to watch, but I just didn't have the time, opportunity or energy to watch them.

Also, when choosing what films to watch from the hundreds of options being offered at the festival, I was drawn to stories similar to mine. At least for this first-time experience, I don't believe I went too far out of my comfort zone with my choices, and I can say I thoroughly enjoyed everything I watched. However, my goal for next year is to certainly watch some pieces I normally wouldn't at the theatre.

J: After the first day and the adrenaline wore off, the exhaustion finally started to kick in. Ten days of attending events and films never sounded like an easy feat to start but pairing that with balancing school work and eating regular meals was more challenging than defeating the Roman empire. I like to joke that they should change placing TIFF in September so that student journalists won’t pull their hair out but I suppose if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.

C: The festival is an all-day affair for 11 straight days. That means that it’s easy to tell yourself you should be doing more — seeing more films, attending more red carpets, writing more articles — even when, in reality, that may not actually be feasible. As students, we were all balancing schoolwork and personal responsibilities on top of our festival coverage, something that most of the festival’s journalists didn’t have to do. Ultimately, I just had to remind myself that I’m human and that as much as I would like to see every film that’s screening, I also needed to make time for my personal wellbeing and school responsibilities.

Our favourite films

J: We obviously can’t talk about actors and writers in films without addressing the elephant in the room. All I can say is that CanCulture will always believe in paying artists fair wages. If you did not already have that mindset, this festival cemented that belief. All the films curated for the schedule were made with the love and passion that comes from humans. The lived journeys and intricate thought processes translated onto the big screen are something no robot or studio executive could replicate. This was prevalent, especially during the Q&As post-film where the cast and directors of the film would come out and describe in grand detail why they continue to do what they love. Cinema, from international films to documentaries to wacky comedies, should come from the hands and minds of artists who are paid fairly for their work. Out of all the lovely films at TIFF available to see, my top three would definitely be The Boy and the Heron, Concrete Utopia and Dicks: The Musical.

M: The majority of the films I watched told women or queer people's stories, and were mostly directed by women or non-binary people. This specific way of looking at life certainly shaped my experience at the festival. In the end, though it's hard to choose, my favourite film I watched was Toll (or Pedágio, in its original language, Brazilian Portuguese), directed by Brazilian director Carolina Marcowickz. CanCulture had the incredible opportunity to interview the director and the star of the film, Meave Jenkins.

C: There were a lot of excellent films that I got the chance to see at the festival. While hard to choose, my favourite film was Cord Jefferson’s American Fiction, which also happened to be the winner of TIFF’s People’s Choice Award. It was funny, heartfelt and conveyed an important and necessary message without feeling preachy or pretentious. Other films I really enjoyed include Ariane Louis-Seize’s horror-comedy Humanist Vampire Seeking Consenting Suicidal Person, Viggo Mortensen’s Western drama The Dead Don’t Hurt, and Weston Razooli’s charming and mystical adventure film Riddle of Fire. And of course, I would be remiss not to mention the newly remastered iconic concert film Stop Making Sense, which, although I had seen it before, was incredibly fun to see on the big screen and had me and the rest of the TIFF audience dancing along in our seats to every single song.

Checkout our Film section for some exciting reviews.

Overall: our takeaways

M: I think the biggest takeaway from this experience, for me, is that I want to do this. I want to be surrounded by film in any way I can, be that as an entertainment journalist or someone who works in film. Movie magic is real and TIFF was full of it. "For the love of film!"

J: In our pursuit of attending one of the world's biggest and most renowned film festivals internationally, I obtained something grander than I ever imagined. Being at TIFF could have been so daunting if I had done it alone, but with my fellow masthead members and the other students who attended with different outlets, I felt secure knowing I could lean on them for support. We got to bond over films, dissect them to the nth degree and applaud in packed theatres. This is a longwinded form of saying “Maybe the real treasure was the friends we made along the way” but less corny.

C: TIFF was an incredibly rewarding experience, and I’m incredibly grateful I got to be a part of it. The films I saw were excellent, and although by the end of the festival, I was a bit ‘film-ed out’ and in need of a good long nap, I left feeling like I’d experienced something truly special. It was also validating to be surrounded by, and working alongside, other industry professionals. Looking down the red carpet and realizing you were standing a few metres away from CTV and Letterboxd — not to mention literal celebrities — definitely created some “pinch me” moments.

Summer Qamp brings a whole lot of queer joy to the screen at #TIFF2023

Directed by Toronto-born filmmaker Jen Markowitz, this documentary aims to preserve a historical record of the camp experience for queer kids

By Mariana Schuetze

Camp fYrefly is a national leadership retreat for lesbian, gay, bisexual, trans-identified, two-spirited, intersexed, queer, questioning, and allied youth (Courtesy of TIFF)

"Have you ever been in a space that is all queer people?," a voice from behind the camera asks a few young campers. They're all still sitting in their own rooms, getting ready to go to camp. This time, a camp for queer, trans and non-binary teens.

Premiering at the 2023 Toronto International Film Festival, Summer Qamp is a documentary about the experiences of a group of kids attending Alberta's Camp fYrefly for LGBTQ2S+ youth. Beautifully brought to screen by Toronto filmmaker Jen Markowitz and their amazing team, the movie follows the lives of these kids as they make life-long memories in this safe space– surrounded by people who accept them for who they are.

Right from the start, this film will tug on your emotional heartstrings. Markowitz perfectly captures such small and specific moments in these campers’ lives; their feelings, wishes, sorrows, laughter, cries… It's all present throughout Summer Qamp, making it incredibly touching and relatable to many queer people.

CanCulture's editor-in-chief, Mariana Schuetze, had the amazing opportunity to talk to Summer Qamp director Jen Markowitz about their work on the film.

Lots of life-long memories happened during this week’s stay at Camp fYrefly (Courtesy of TIFF)

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

I just want to say again, what a beautiful film. It was really amazing to watch. I cried a lot. It was very beautiful. You have probably been asked this many times, including a bit yesterday, but I still wanted to ask you, how did Summer Qamp come about? Why did you feel like you needed to tell the story?

Well, I've always prioritized queer stories in my work. And in the past few years, I've been lucky enough to have the chance to pretty much work exclusively in queer storytelling. So, even though this film had the wheels rolling before I became a part of it, I signed on to direct it. This is very much exactly the type of story that I would want to tell. I've always really cared about seeing images of queerness that normalize it, it does not make the queerness part of the story. Having said that, I know that their queerness is a very key part of this story, but you know, I really tried to bring in a lot of just like kid images of kids doing regular kid stuff in that way too. So, this is a dream project. Even though I was not there at the genesis of it, it really feels like something I've been working towards my entire life.

You're from Toronto, right? What does it feel like to have the film premiere here?

I don't think I could have imagined how it would feel prior to the festival. Since I got the news that we were premiering here, it really didn't click in until probably after our premiere, prior to our second screening. When I could see on people's faces how they felt about the film. The faces of the audience walking out, and hearing the moments where they were responding to the film while it was playing, it's been very impactful and affirming for me as somebody from Toronto, as a creative, as a filmmaker. I was at a dinner last night, and before we ate, everybody stood up and told a little anecdote about themselves, and mine was that I used to work at a video store called Review Video, and a number of the people in the room had rented videos from me when I was a teen and I was always so blown away when they would walk in and so nervous and in awe of them and I never in a million years thought that I would be seated across the dinner table from them. So, it's huge in so many ways. It's very affirming, very humbling. It feels like a real moment in my life that I don't wanna forget.

That sounds very incredible. I think you're just talking about it now, and you talked about it at the Q&A, about how there weren't really a lot of queer stories when you were growing up to look up to. And today, being someone making it, what kind of message do you want people to take away from this film? And how does it feel to be the one making something that already is so life-changing and will live forever for queer kids to see?

Although a number of different intersections of people will undoubtedly see this film, the ones that I made it for are the ones that are portrayed in it. My only interest in crafting this film was to give queer young people a positive, joyful image of themselves and of who they could become as they age. My only intention with my work is to see queer and especially trans people grow real. And I don't have much to say about myself in the process. That is the only thing I care about, and I will continue to push that forward. What's been really nice about doing press for this film is that I think out in the world, I am quite modest about exciting things happening in my life and this is an exciting thing happening in my life, and I'm able to sit in that joy because I'm able to talk about the intention for the positive impact that it is having on people already. I'm able to talk about the need for more material like this. I could talk about this film forever because I want as many people to see it as there are in this world.

That's what I wanted to say. Yeah. I think someone said this at the screening, that this film is something that everyone will learn and get something out of seeing it. So, that was one of my questions. What life do you want this film to have in an ideal world?

I think I'd like to see it continue to have a life for the people who need to see it for years and years and years. I'd like to see it become a part of a historical record of what queerness looks like for teens in 2023. And I'd like for people, for young queers in the future to be able to look back and know their ancestry in that way. I wish I had things that I could look at from my youth that could have shown me where I came from, where I was headed, etc. I think, yeah, I would really like for it to… exist as a historical record of today's queerness.

I think that's one thing I noticed when watching the film, and I think you nailed it, the Gen Z queer experience. As Gen Z, a lot of things that we watch today are very not like our generation. So it was so relatable and interesting. And I was wondering, how was it to work with these kids?

They are a very different generation from me. But I don't know, I bring a lot of my own like youthfulness and brattiness andmischief when I direct. If there's a game to be played, if there's an arrow to be shot, if there's an art and craft to be done, I will always be the first one to pick it up and try it. I think that they sense that in me. I became just another kid at camp when I was there. And I also, I really approached them like, because I wanted to hear where they were coming from. I let them decide what they wanted to talk about, what they wanted to say, what they wanted to avoid. I think that when you're a teen, it's easy to allow yourself to be interrupted. And when you're an adult, it's easy to interpret teen hesitancy as something that needs to be interrupted. So, I really just gave them the floor. I trusted them. I did not care what aspects of their lives they wanted to talk about. I just wanted to get to know them. And I don't think they get that space too often in the world. So, in having approached it that way and they, having maybe not been given that opportunity too often, created a lot of very relaxed trust with a lot of space around it, with a lot of safety around it. I really wanted to get to know who they are. People don't really wanna know that about most age groups. But, I think because I look back on my teen years and wish that I had experienced so much more than I had because I was afraid. I've always been really interested in revisiting that side of myself and getting to know these kids was sort of part and parcel of that.

During their stay at Camp fYrefly, the kids enjoyed many different activities, including dancing, archery and theatre (Courtesy of TIFF).

And they certainly had something to say. I was watching it and I just kept thinking, they're so wise and life has made them grow up so much. They're still so young, but so wise. I was wondering, what was the editing process like? How did you know what to put in and what to not put in? I imagine there's a lot more stuff, right?

We didn't have to cut too many scenes. Instead of that, we just made the most of the scenes that we really wanted to prioritize. A lot happened every time the camera was on, but it was not so much a matter of picking specific scenes, it was a matter of crafting those scenes down to a condensed story. Editing was a long process. It was the first time I'd taken on a project of this scope. So, your guess was as good as mine in terms of how to get the ball rolling. And I was really fortunate to be working with a team of executives that had a lot of patience when it came to discovering, or when it came to crafting these scenes and finding the tone that fit. We tried a lot of different things in post-production before we landed on what you saw in the film. It was such a rigorous nonstop process. I questioned myself so many times that once we got to the finish line. You know when they say that when people give birth, they're like, ‘I'll never do this again,’ and then they forget about the labour process. I think it was a bit of that. It was such labour. I swore I would never wanna do it again. And now here I am writing.

I can only imagine. But this was also another one of my questions, what is next for you? What other stories do you want to tell, do you have anything lined up?

I'm really living in this moment with this premiere and want to think hard before I commit to the next project. The one thing I can assure you is that it will be queer. Those are the only stories that I want to talk about. So every project you ever hear me taking from now until the end of time will be about queer people, trans people, non-binary people.

Where can people watch the film?

We have distribution in Canada with Super Channel and TVA. One of the things that we are hoping falls into place while we're on the festival circuit is in America and beyond, where it'll land on a streaming service or something of the like at some point. I have no doubt in my mind that this film will become available to those who want to see it.

And to just wrap it up, what would you want to tell people before going into this film?

I want to tell people to remember their kid selves, watch it as your kid self, watch it as your teen self. Yeah, I think that's what I want to tell people.

Redefining the Vietnamese diaspora in Ru #TIFF2023

The anticipated film adaptation of Canadian author Kim Thuy’s novel portrays a nuanced take on the Vietnam War

By John Vo

Tinh (Chloé Djandji) in a promotional still for Ru (Courtesy of TIFF)

To a large population of the world, the sound and sight of rushing waters have connotations of tranquillity and zen. The continuous ebbs and flow of water in lakes and rivers is a metaphor for overcoming the turbulent changes faced in our lives. It is when we look at the Vietnamese diaspora that the perception of large bodies of water drastically transforms into something ambiguous. This unique experience is embodied in the film adaptation of Kim Thuy’s debut novel Ru.

Directed by Charles-Oliver Michaud, the film premiered at the 48th annual Toronto International Film Festival (TIFF) on September 13th, a number Thuy said is lucky in the preamble before the screening. (We’ll get back to the theme of luck later.) Thuy is an award-winning and celebrated Vietnamese-Canadian author and graduate of the Université de Montréal. She has written works such as Man (2013), Em (2020) and Ru (2009), the latter having won the Governor General's Award for French-language fiction in 2010.

Looking through Thuy’s bibliography, it becomes clear how deeply ingrained her Vietnamese identity is in her works. When discussing the film with director Michaud, Thuy said she asked him to capture the heart and thematic line of her novel while allowing him to utilize his own vision for the on-screen adaptation. This collaborative effort would create a film that weaves the core parts of Thuy’s narrative and themes with Michaud’s detailed filmmaking.

Opening with the house of our protagonist Tinh (Chloé Djandji) in Vietnam with her family, the quaint and emanating warmth is a representation of a middle-class Vietnamese home in the 1970s. It is in this brief but fleeting moment that Tinh, her family and the audience will feel truly safe.

During the Vietnam War, Saigon, the capital of South Vietnam, fell to the communist party of the North. Fearing for their lives under the new communist regime, over 140,000 people fled the country by various treacherous methods. Soon after, Canada announced the country would welcome South Vietnamese refugees and provide them an opportunity to start anew. 

On the way to Quebec, where the story will take place, the characters see the glistening snow for the first time. As they do, the camera work and actors’ expressions convey the bewilderment of the mysterious white flakes falling from the sky. Even though most Canadians in the audience have seen snow first-hand, the intricate filmmaking techniques allow us to see through the curious lens of the family. Throughout the film, Michaud chooses to take a subtler approach, straying away from flashy cuts or special effects. In moments where the camera lingers on the subjects, the characters' nuanced reactions to the world around them become prominent. The subdued use of a background score and filmmaking techniques fit the understated tone the film is going for.

At the heart of Ru is the story that we’ve seen told and retold: a family’s journey of uprooting their entire livelihoods to move to a new country. This version opts to depict the Vietnamese refugee experience during and after The Vietnam War.

A main aspect of this experience is the internal conflict the family faces of choosing to reminisce on the country that was once home versus attempting to keep persevering in life without being stuck in the past. The film's usage of both Vietnamese and French languages exemplifies the thematic relevance as the characters try to assimilate into Quebec. The title of the novel and film itself alludes to this core struggle. “Ru” in French can mean a stream or a flow of money, tears or blood while in Vietnamese, the word means “cradle” or “lullaby.” Thuy’s novel and film try to create an intersection between the language of her native homeland and the language she has adopted in Canada.

Based on her family's and her own experiences immigrating to Canada as refugees, Thuy’s characters are all provided moments where their deep-seated fears and motivations become prevalent. Dinh’s father’s (Jean Bui) determination to find work and her mother’s (Chantal Thuy) stern and harsh critiques of her daughter’s attentiveness to school stem from the burdening weight of losing financial and emotional stability. For the family and the many other Vietnamese expats, life has been riddled with tumultuous obstacles.

The journey of coming to Canada is revealed in a select amount of scenes that show the harrowing reality. Described as “boat people,” Vietnamese refugees were crammed into boats on their way to salvation. With no room to move, lack of proper food and the looming threat of sinking or being murdered by pirates, on many of these boat people feared for their lives. Arriving at an Indonesian refugee camp, conditions were not better. These scenes provide much-needed context for the stakes and sacrifices her parents make for the safety of their children. Dinh’s parents' actions would not be considered traditional “perfect parenting” but many immigrant audiences can resonate with the sacrifices and trauma their parents endured. Dinh being perceptive about the suppressed pain her parents try so desperately to hide from her shows how rapidly she’s had to mature at such a young age.

The film is anchored by Chloé Djandji’s remarkable performance as Dinh. Rather than having tons of dialogue or a moment of grandiose emotions (imagine Daniel Day-Lewis's performance from There Will Be Blood), her role as the eldest daughter and a girl trying to find her place in—what is to her—a strange world requires a subtlety realistic to how most young kids act. She doesn’t understand the Quebecois French she’s hearing, everything around her is unfamiliar to Vietnam and she’s endured things no child should ever experience. For her first credited on-screen role, Djandji’s performance captures the complex emotions needed to solidify the overarching themes.

Through all of the people they meet in Quebec and their strong familial bond, the story of Dinh and her family is, at its core, a shining coming-of-age story. Throughout this review, the concept of layered characters and their backstories has been brought up frequently. A quick scan of all existing films in the West will make one realize that Vietnamese representation in film, especially ones set during the Vietnam War, has been relegated to solely one thing: “the enemy.”

Films like The Deer Hunter and Full Metal Jacket are framed around the point-of-view of white Americans, which consequently leads to the “opposing enemy” of Vietnamese people being portrayed as blood-thirsty antagonists. It isn’t that these films are not allowed to portray soldiers in this light, but the consistent pattern of reducing the Vietnamese diaspora to nothing but obstacles distracts from the brutality real refugees faced during the war. In the slew of films about the Vietnam War, Ru’s willingness to illustrate the struggles and dreams of a Vietnamese Canadian family learning to adapt is monumental.

Instead of antagonizing a certain side of the war, the film opts to highlight the ever-changing emotional states the family faces. The best way to describe the film’s approach to its characters is compassionate. From the French-Canadian family who looks out for Dinh’s family to the elderly Vietnamese man who provides words of wisdom for our lead character, we’re shown the importance of how building community can heal trauma.

At the premiere of the film, Thuy talked about her connection to the idea of luck. The idea that it was luck that allowed her to write a book about her experiences. The idea that it was lucky to bring a film adaptation of that book to life. Most importantly, Thuy believes that luck brought her family safely to Canada and allowed them to re-establish the stability they feared was long gone. A story about a young girl and her family overcoming hardship has become one of the most heart-warming and timely films of the year.

Ru is slated to release in cinemas later this year. For more information on the novel and Kim Thuy, click the link to her website.

How to Not Direct a Sequel: A film review of Hey Viktor!

Cree Actor Cody Lightning’s debut feature Hey Viktor! is a biting comedy about the struggles to remain relevant and the toxic effect of a massive ego

By Sarah Grishpul

WARNING: This article contains spoilers for the film Hey Viktor!

Director, co-creator and lead actor Cody Lightning isn’t afraid to poke fun at himself in his debut feature film Hey Viktor! which had its Canadian premiere at the Toronto International Film Festival (TIFF) this year.

In a CBC interview, he talks about how the film started as an inside joke between him and his roommates, as they often quipped about Lightning using his fame as a child actor to behave like an entitled, bigshot star.

Hey Viktor! is a mockumentary comedy shot in Alberta documenting the fictional life of Lightning nearly 25 years after his childhood role in the 1998 film Smoke Signals. In the movie, a young Lightning plays “Little Victor,” the younger version of the main character during several flashback sequences.

For the Indigenous community, Smoke Signals was groundbreaking in portraying the ordinary lives of First Nations people while simultaneously dismantling harmful stereotypes. It was also the first movie to be written, directed, co-produced and acted by Indigenous people.

Hey Viktor! dives into the impact Smoke Signals had on Indigenous representation early on in the film, featuring talking head footage of the original cast reminiscing their time shooting the film and its cultural significance after its release.

However, for the fictional Cody Lightning, there’s almost an unhealthy attachment to the film, as he clings on to the role of Little Victor as the sole part of his identity. Upon first meeting Cody, it becomes clear that this is not the type of main character an audience would be inclined to root for, as the man is—to be frank—a real jerk. 

In the film, the real-life Cody Lightning plays an exaggerated caricature of himself as a middle-aged struggling Indigenous actor trying to relive the glory days of his childhood role. He spends his days teaching acting classes to youth, picking up acting side jobs in gay porn, and spending his earnings at the bar or on drugs.

The first act sets up Cody’s life quite well, establishing him as an absent father and self-centred friend drowning himself in alcohol and drugs as he descends into a downward spiral while the threads of his life start to unravel. It’s during the second act where the film leans heavily on comedy when Cody decides to create a sequel to Smoke Signals titled Smoke Signals 2.

The meta-production of this fan film is immediately a delightfully comedic dumpster fire, with Lightning unafraid to stoop even lower for the sake of a laugh at the expense of his character.

One of my favourite raunchy moments of the film was when Cody and his manager Kate (played by Hannah Cheeseman) woke up after spending most of their film funding on drugs and partying to find Cody buck-naked with fecal matter smeared against the glass door. 

(C’mon. Poop is funny.)

Whereas the first two acts were the comically strongest in setting up Cody’s life and intolerable character, the third act takes an emotional turn as Cody finds himself truly at the bottom of the barrel. After screening his film, which to no surprise ends up insulting and angering the audience, Cody is heckled off stage and a mob of spectators burns a giant prop of his head. 

He loses his girlfriend, kids, and even his best friend Kate, who has always stuck by him despite her own dreams. Finally losing her is what drives Cody to become a better person and, by doing so, creating a better sequel to Smoke Signals.

Overall, I deeply enjoyed this film and appreciate its bold and brazen humour. Even if you haven’t seen Smoke Signals, the film stands well enough on its own that audience members don’t need to rely on prior knowledge to have a good time with this one.

Hey Viktor! may be a little rough around the edges, but it’s got a lot of heart, and is a film I would definitely recommend to those in need of a good laugh.

Hey Viktor! is slated for a theatrical release in spring 2024 and will eventually land on Crave, where Canadian viewers can watch at home.