Dunlevy: Montreal documentary hunts for stolen indigenous masks that inspired surrealists
The repatriation and restitution of art and cultural materials is a hot topic these days. A prime example is estates trying to reclaim objects taken by the Nazis or sold by Jews under duress as they fled Germany. But there's another example closer to home.
Montrealer Joanna Robertson and Cree filmmaker Neil Diamond's absorbing new documentary So Surreal: Behind the Masks explores what happened to Yup'ik and Kwakwaka'wakw ceremonial masks taken from these indigenous tribes in Alaska and British Columbia's northwest coast more than a century ago by traders, government officials and collectors.
The masks were brought as far as New York, where they inspired some of the great European surrealist artists, who were living in exile mid-century, and eventually made their way to auction houses, world-famous museums and private collections.
Leading us on an investigative journey to learn the significance of these masks, the circumstances of their removal and where they ended up is Diamond. He appears on camera throughout the film as an unassuming, intrepid protagonist, pushing the narrative forward with playful determination.
He has done the same in his other films, including 2009's Reel Injun, which examined the problematic portrayals of Native Americans in Hollywood westerns, earning him and co-directors Catherine Bainbridge and Jeremiah Hayes three Gemini Awards and a Peabody Award.
'I've gotten quite comfortable (on screen),' Diamond said recently, over coffee with Robertson at Outremont's Croissanterie Le Figaro. 'Sometimes I forget the camera's rolling and I just act real goofy.'
'I think people appreciate it,' Robertson said. 'You bring a lot of humour to these (potentially) doom and gloom situations.'
One amazing shot in the documentary shows Diamond puffing on a cigarette as he rides a bicycle down the middle of the road in the bustling Champs Élysées, with the Eiffel Tower behind him, and ponders his next move.
Inspired by their subjects, the filmmakers take a surrealist approach to the storytelling as they weave together disparate clues and different ways of seeing the situation.
On the one hand are Yup'ik tribe members who are happy to see their masks being preserved and showcased under the same roof as the Mona Lisa: One magical moment finds Yup'ik artist and storyteller Chuna McIntyre singing and dancing joyously as he approaches one of his tribe's masks on display at the Louvre, during an after-hours visit.
On the other are members the Kwakwaka'wakw and their allies, who are in a continuing fight to see their masks — including many stolen during Canada's Potlach ban in 1921 — come home. At the heart of the intrigue is a quest to locate a mystical Raven Transformation Mask and possibly converse with its current owner about its eventual return.
Somewhere in the middle are the wild surrealists — Max Ernst, André Breton, Roberto Matta, Enrico Donati and Joan Miró — and their friends, including famed French anthropologist Claude Lévi-Strauss, who were endlessly stimulated by the otherworldly dreamscapes evoked by these masks. The extent to which they were aware of how these artifacts were obtained is unclear.
'I'm grateful we're able to shine a light on these stories, which are so fundamental to our understanding of who we are — of colonization and also the importance of Indigenous storytelling and culture,' Robertson said. 'The surrealists saw something — they lived through war after war after war — and they saw something in these masks, however problematic, as a reminder there's another way of being, and of seeing the world.'
She expressed hope their film can foster empathy toward indigenous communities and all that they have lost.
'Yeah,' Diamond agreed, 'because if you lose your culture, you have nothing else.'
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Montreal Gazette
2 days ago
- Montreal Gazette
Dunlevy: Montreal documentary hunts for stolen indigenous masks that inspired surrealists
The repatriation and restitution of art and cultural materials is a hot topic these days. A prime example is estates trying to reclaim objects taken by the Nazis or sold by Jews under duress as they fled Germany. But there's another example closer to home. Montrealer Joanna Robertson and Cree filmmaker Neil Diamond's absorbing new documentary So Surreal: Behind the Masks explores what happened to Yup'ik and Kwakwaka'wakw ceremonial masks taken from these indigenous tribes in Alaska and British Columbia's northwest coast more than a century ago by traders, government officials and collectors. The masks were brought as far as New York, where they inspired some of the great European surrealist artists, who were living in exile mid-century, and eventually made their way to auction houses, world-famous museums and private collections. Leading us on an investigative journey to learn the significance of these masks, the circumstances of their removal and where they ended up is Diamond. He appears on camera throughout the film as an unassuming, intrepid protagonist, pushing the narrative forward with playful determination. He has done the same in his other films, including 2009's Reel Injun, which examined the problematic portrayals of Native Americans in Hollywood westerns, earning him and co-directors Catherine Bainbridge and Jeremiah Hayes three Gemini Awards and a Peabody Award. 'I've gotten quite comfortable (on screen),' Diamond said recently, over coffee with Robertson at Outremont's Croissanterie Le Figaro. 'Sometimes I forget the camera's rolling and I just act real goofy.' 'I think people appreciate it,' Robertson said. 'You bring a lot of humour to these (potentially) doom and gloom situations.' One amazing shot in the documentary shows Diamond puffing on a cigarette as he rides a bicycle down the middle of the road in the bustling Champs Élysées, with the Eiffel Tower behind him, and ponders his next move. Inspired by their subjects, the filmmakers take a surrealist approach to the storytelling as they weave together disparate clues and different ways of seeing the situation. On the one hand are Yup'ik tribe members who are happy to see their masks being preserved and showcased under the same roof as the Mona Lisa: One magical moment finds Yup'ik artist and storyteller Chuna McIntyre singing and dancing joyously as he approaches one of his tribe's masks on display at the Louvre, during an after-hours visit. On the other are members the Kwakwaka'wakw and their allies, who are in a continuing fight to see their masks — including many stolen during Canada's Potlach ban in 1921 — come home. At the heart of the intrigue is a quest to locate a mystical Raven Transformation Mask and possibly converse with its current owner about its eventual return. Somewhere in the middle are the wild surrealists — Max Ernst, André Breton, Roberto Matta, Enrico Donati and Joan Miró — and their friends, including famed French anthropologist Claude Lévi-Strauss, who were endlessly stimulated by the otherworldly dreamscapes evoked by these masks. The extent to which they were aware of how these artifacts were obtained is unclear. 'I'm grateful we're able to shine a light on these stories, which are so fundamental to our understanding of who we are — of colonization and also the importance of Indigenous storytelling and culture,' Robertson said. 'The surrealists saw something — they lived through war after war after war — and they saw something in these masks, however problematic, as a reminder there's another way of being, and of seeing the world.' She expressed hope their film can foster empathy toward indigenous communities and all that they have lost. 'Yeah,' Diamond agreed, 'because if you lose your culture, you have nothing else.'


Winnipeg Free Press
4 days ago
- Winnipeg Free Press
Art, morals and power
In this darkly absorbing and deeply intelligent novel, German writer Daniel Kehlmann charts the choices made by the real-life Austrian-born film director G. W. Pabst, a master of the silent and early sound eras. Known as 'Red Pabst' for his empathetic exploration of social issues, he leaves Europe after Hitler's rise to power, joining a community of cinematic exiles in Hollywood. Then, in a seemingly inexplicable turnaround, he returns to Austria — annexed by the Nazis and now called Ostmark — and ends up creating films under the patronage of the Reich propaganda minister Joseph Goebbels. Clearly, Pabst has struck some kind of Faustian bargain, but Kehlmann's writing is so subtle it's difficult to mark the exact moment at which the filmmaker falls into complicity. Testing the boundaries between art, power and moral responsibility, The Director evokes creative life under totalitarian rule with exacting precision and scathing effect. Heike Steinweg photo Daniel Kehlmann's latest novel traces the movements of director G.W. Pabst, who fled Austria after Hitler's rise to power but voluntarily returned while the Nazis were still in power. Dividing his time between Berlin and New York, Kehlmann has generated buzz in the English-speaking world with such works as Measuring the World and the International Booker-nominated Tyll (translated, as is The Director, by Ross Benjamin). Kehlmann's approach to period stories is idiosyncratic and urgent, cutting the realistic horrors of history with sharp, ironical humour. This is not a comprehensive or conventional biographical novel. Kehlmann uses the outline of Pabst's life but fills it in with passages that are imagined and inventive, sometimes terrifying and sometimes out-and-out surreal. Working in long, loosely connected chapters, many of which function as standalone vignettes, Kehlmann takes us first to 1933, with Pabst somewhat adrift at a Los Angeles party. He's awkward and overheated and his English is poor. Kehlmann also has a running joke about how Pabst is constantly being confused with fellow Weimar filmmakers F. W. Murnau and Fritz Lang. 'No good coffee anywhere, but the fruit juices are astonishing!' says a cheerful compatriot, but Pabst seems unable to adapt to this sunny paradise — and to his demotion to the cinematic B-list. Not longer after, the novel relocates to France, where Pabst and his wife, Trude, are spending a drunken evening with German refugees in a Paris bar. Desperate for documents and safe passage out of Europe, these actors, writers and critics are shocked when Pabst reveals he is voluntarily returning. (The chapter ends with a sombre listing of these historical characters' fates — who escapes to America, who dies by suicide when a transit visa expires, who is murdered by the Nazis.) Pabst's reasons for going back to Austria remain deliberately opaque. He explains that he must visit his aging mother, but Kehlmann slyly suggests this might just be the first of the director's many rationalizations and self-delusions. Pabst's actual biography has hazy areas, and Kehlmann demonstrates how this haze can be a byproduct of fascism, as people cover over guilt with blurred memories and disputed histories. The Director introduces us to various real-life figures, from Greta Garbo (aloof, imperious) to a comic British writer who is clearly P.G. Wodehouse (humorous, hapless) to Goebbels (whose meeting with Pabst showcases Kehlmann's brilliantly sinister use of doppelgangers and double meanings). Filmmaker Leni Riefenstahl is portrayed as an appalling moral monster who is also inadvertently, grotesquely hilarious. Kehlmann also has an Orwellian eye for the kind of totalitarian infiltration that goes beyond controlling citizens' actions to policing their words and even thoughts. Trude attends a book club with the wives of high-ranking Nazis, a supposedly pleasant social occasion where a wayward opinion can have dire consequences. No wonder Trude enters into an 'internal exile' of perpetual drunkenness. The Director In another scene, prisoner-of-war Wodehouse — making a compulsory appearance at a film premiere — learns to his bemusement that the Hitler regime has outlawed criticism. Practitioners of this supposedly 'Jewish and Bolshevik' discipline are now replaced with 'describers.' (They aren't even allowed to say whether a film is good because that would imply that it could be bad.) The demand for 'genuine Aryan cinema' hangs over Pabst's film The Molander Case, based on a book by bestselling Nazi hack Alfred Karrasch. The film was in the late stages of production in Prague when the Soviet army reached the city and remains unfinished and unknown, allowing Kehlmann to turn it into an enigmatic question. Is it as cinematically brilliant as Pabst's (highly unreliable) narrative insists? And even if it is, could it possibly be worth Pabst's deal with the devil? Art remains when the mess of politics is over, Pabst says to Trude in one scene, but she seems to have a clearer sense of the cost. Kehlmann's own responses to Pabst's moral situation — the director's small, incremental compromises and then his sudden, terrible capitulation — are incisive and unsparing, full of absurdities and killing ironies. And they are never didactic, this novel of ideas remaining immediate, entertaining and a really good read. Alison Gillmor writes on film for the Free Press. Alison GillmorWriter Studying at the University of Winnipeg and later Toronto's York University, Alison Gillmor planned to become an art historian. She ended up catching the journalism bug when she started as visual arts reviewer at the Winnipeg Free Press in 1992. Read full biography Our newsroom depends on a growing audience of readers to power our journalism. If you are not a paid reader, please consider becoming a subscriber. Our newsroom depends on its audience of readers to power our journalism. Thank you for your support.


Vancouver Sun
5 days ago
- Vancouver Sun
5 top shows to watch as APTN celebrates 25 years of Indigenous stories
The Aboriginal Peoples Television Network (APTN) is celebrating its 25th anniversary. The Canadian broadcaster is the first national public television station for Indigenous peoples, and holds the same status as CBC TV, Radio-Canada and TVA. The station is found on regular cable services, in high definition on APTN HD and streaming on APTN Lumi. In celebration of its quarter-century milestone, a new channel called APTN Languages is launching with programming in at least 15 Indigenous languages from across Canada. Programs range from the cross-cultural cooking show Moosemeat and Marmalade to the hit comedy DJ Burnt Bannock about a struggling Cree DJ. Monika Ille is the APTN CEO and a member of the Abenaki First Nation of Odanak. A recipient of the King Charles III Coronation medal in recognition of her contributions to Indigenous storytelling in Canadian media, Ille oversees a broadcast operation that produces shows ranging from mystery-thrillers and cooking shows, to documentaries and sports, all delivered from an Indigenous viewpoint. Get top headlines and gossip from the world of celebrity and entertainment. By signing up you consent to receive the above newsletter from Postmedia Network Inc. A welcome email is on its way. If you don't see it, please check your junk folder. The next issue of Sun Spots will soon be in your inbox. Please try again Interested in more newsletters? Browse here. Even such venerable shows as Hockey Night in Canada get an Indigenous spin, broadcast in both Cree and Inuktitut. Ille says that when APTN applied to the CRTC 25 years ago, it was a dream to have a national Indigenous network. The broadcaster's impact on Indigenous identity, inside and out of communities, has been profound. 'It was something completely new at the time with only a handful of Indigenous producers and creators to work with,' said Ille. 'Now, we work with hundreds, making sure that our Indigenous stories and languages are more present than ever before with us in control of not only our image, but how we want to say it. I think that makes a very big difference in our relationship with non-Indigenous people.' She sees the launch of APTN Languages as one more development in ongoing reconciliation, noting that restoring native languages is key to reclaiming culture. 'In the 21 years that I have been at APTN, I always felt that we needed to do more to make Indigenous language be accessible to all people across the country who want to hear the beauty of these languages,' she said. 'Most of the shows are also subtitled in English and French, so they are accessible. More and more Indigenous peoples are reclaiming their languages, which is essential to their identity.' APTN is based in Winnipeg, but its programs are created all across the country. B.C.'s busy Hollywood North industry is no stranger to APTN productions, with many of the broadcaster's biggest hits coming out of the province. Staff at the network provided a list of the five most popular made-in-B.C. APTN programs. 1491 — Untold Stories of the America's Before Columbus : 'An older program, but still one of our most popular series,' said Ille. 'It tells the story of many people's histories pre-European contact.' (English and French) Moosemeat and Marmalade : 'This cooking show is an all-time fan favourite,' said Ille. 'You can learn so much about people through their food and the relationship between Art Napoleon and Dan Hayes has really built a bridge between Indigenous and non-Indigenous peoples.' The show has drawn over 16 million international viewers. (English) Nations at War : This history program dives into the many wars Indigenous peoples have fought between one another and with settlers over the centuries. (English/French/ and Hul'Q'umi'num') Ocean Warriors : A docuseries about the Ahousaht's Coastal Nations Coast Guard Auxiliary team and its ongoing mission to carry out marine rescues, find missing divers, address environmental disasters and more. (English/French/ Nuučaan̓uɫ) Yukon Harvest/Dän K'eht'e : Filmed mostly in the Yukon, but also in Kamloops, Fort St. John and Stewart in B.C., this show focuses on Indigenous hunters across Canada and their culture. Nominated for a trio of Canadian Screen Awards in 2022. (English/Dän K'i) sderdeyn@