by Daniel Pecoraro, Staff Writer

The start of the Athena Film Festival brought five films in three days. Some ties that bind, beyond the festival’s key themes: Denmark, dancing, menarche, colonization, and a strong belief that films should be approximately 90 minutes long. Without further ado, here’s are some of the flicks I saw on Thursday and Friday nights and Saturday afternoon:

GIRL
Written and Directed by Adura Onashile
Starring Déborah Lukumuena, Danny Sapani, Le'Shantey Bonsu, and Liana Turner
87 mins.

(TW: sexual violence)

As noted in my preview post, from the clips I saw I expected GIRL to be a sentimental “mother and daughter dealing with adversity” flick. And I was right, to a point; it’s a film about a mother (Grace, played by Deborah Lukumuena) and a daughter (Ama, played by Le’Shantey Bonsu) trying to get through life in a an apartment both tiny and at the same time having a lot of stairs in Glasgow. But I didn’t expect the emotional impact on me to be more akin to Uncut Gems in its anxiety-inducing, occasionally bewildering tone. More than anything else, GIRL is an on-and-off panic attack for just under 90 minutes, with characters who never quite become three-dimensional.

Ama is eleven years old, Grace twenty-five, and they are basically each other’s world. They sleep in the same bed and bathe in the same tub, and they seem to be one of the few Black families in their apartment complex. The only time Grace leaves is to work her cleaning shift at a mall, Ama secretly gazes through binoculars at the complex. I think the intent from debut director (and screenwriter) Adura Onashile was to show a mutual need for one another, but the not-directly-said trauma at the core of her life — Grace’s rape in a clearing at thirteen — is clearly the ultimate driver of Grace, and Ama just has to follow along. Grace’s twin coping mechanisms are counting to break out of her traumatic recollections and keeping Ama as locked up as possible, and both are ever-present. Grace’s rules for Ama are to stay inside, never open the door for anyone, and to trust nobody. She’s has withheld from Ama the knowledge of who her father was and why her body is undergoing the changes of puberty. (Similarly, the viewer is withheld basically any aspect of Grace’s backstory aside from her presumed rape, and it’s unclear where Grace is from and when she and Ama got to Scotland.)

There are so many moments in the film where I was shaking my hands in the air, wondering how Grace came to think she could keep Ama safe by sealing her off from the world in the middle of a city. (Though I guess it kind of worked for The Wolfpack kids.) I’m not alone in this frustration; school social worker Lisa (Ayesha Antoine), building manager Samuel (Danny Sapani), and Ama’s neighbor, classmate, and only friend Fiona (Liana Turner) are all just trying to help. Nevertheless, Grace pushes them all away, moving from apartment to apartment to avoid making ties with anyone, and to keep Ama from making a similar connection, all in the name of keeping each other safe. In some ways, the titular girl is as much Grace as it is Ama, both being forced to grow (but never quite getting there in the lens of the viewer).

All this trauma, undercut with very little gentleness or joy (which really only comes in the first and last few minutes of the film), makes for a flat movie with flat protagonists. I yearned to feel some semblance of warmth from this film as it went along. The closest I got (aside from bright colors of the character’s clothes, courtesy of Kirsty Holliday’s costume design) was Ama’s relationship with Fiona, a bond that is formative, caring, and — especially in Grace’s eyes — transgressive. That’s especially clear when Fiona, not Grace, helps Ama deal with her first menstrual cycle. But otherwise GIRL just made me feel like I was hit with an emotional hammer for an hour and a half. Lukumuena and Bonsu do well with what they’re given, even if it’s a lot of thousand-yard-stares and hyperventilating. I think they both deserved to express more.

Twice Colonized
Directed by Lin Alluna
Written by Lin Alluna and Aaju Peter
In Danish, English, and Inuktitut with English subtitles
92 mins.
Now streaming in Canada on CBC Gem (and coming to the US via Film Movement)

(TW: suicide)

In retrospect, it’s not surprising that Twice Colonized begins with Aaju Peter, lawyer, activist, and keeper of Inuk cultural traditions, letting her granddaughters try on her clothes. We open on Peter, living in Iqaluit, Nunavut, Arctic Canada, with one of her grandkids putting on her sealskin lawyer’s robe. This documentary, executive produced, co-written, and “lived by” Peter is, in her words, on “personal consequences of being colonized by other nations.” But it’s ultimately a story of endurance and organizing, to ensure that the next generation has a better life. And in the process, it’s less a story of Peter’s life story and more a snapshot of her late fifties, as she endures grief and abuse and rediscovers her identity.

Sure, the film briefly intercuts between Peters speaking at conferences and meetings of the UN with anti-seal hunting protests from environmentalists, but it’s largely grounded in Peter’s life as it is now. The film follows Peter’s globetrotting in support of indigenous rights (especially a carveout of the ban on seal hunting for Inuk people and for a permanent forum for indigenous peoples at the EU) and writing a book on Inuk history to counter the prevailing narratives in “Southern Canada” and Denmark. The Danes were Peter’s “first colonizer,” as she was sent from her native Greenland to Europe to study at the age of eleven, living with a Danish host family. Director Lin Alluna has incorporated what appears to be home video footage from Peter’s childhood (but is in fact a dramatization on Super 8) as part of the film, driving home how Peter’s Inuk identity and her knowledge of the Inuktitut language was taken away from her. It wasn’t until a conference with other Inuk people — including those from Nunavut — did she return to her culture, in the process moving to Nunavut with a new husband and raising four kids in Arctic Canada.

While she did not suffer the same abuse as First Nations peoples in the residential schools, the goal was the same — to erase the indigenous heritage and to Europeanize. In a sense, Peter being “twice colonized” could refer not only to the Danes and Canadians but also her individual colonization, both socially and mentally. (Any time she needs to speak Danish in the film makes Peter angry, an almost psychosomatic response to colonial trauma.)

Midway through the film, Peter is dealt a twin blow: her son is found dead by suicide, having jumped of the tenth floor of his apartment building, and what’s more, her boyfriend humiliates her in her grief by cutting her hair. (A year later, the abuse continues, after a breakup and reconciliation.) It’s then that she decides to write an Inuit history, taking two planes and a boat past massive ice floes to Nanortalik, just outside of Nuuk, to rediscover childhood sites and rekindle childhood memories with her brother.

Peter meets other indigenous people, such as the Sapmi in Sweden, to get a comparative sense of colonization. The attempted erasure of culture, of language, of existence, is the same, and continues to push her forward in her efforts to establish a permanent EU indigenous forum. All the while, she continues to grieve her son and try and moor herself in this turbulent time in her life. Her book’s epigraph, “Is it possible to change the world and mend your own wounds at the same time?” could easily be the logline of this doc.

Alluna and cinematographer Iris Ng’s Super 8 segments (the childhood dramatization, a Daughters of the Dust-esque tableau along the Greenland coast) are visually arresting. But they pale in comparison to Peter herself, from her smoking and seining for salmon to dancing to Tina Turner’s “Proud Mary” cover atop a hotel bed. And, indeed, to time spent with her grandchildren, passing along an indigenous spirit that is both reverent of the culture of her elders and ancestors and fiercely modern.

Dancing Queen
Directed by Aurora Gossé
Written and Executive Produced by Silje Holtet
Starring Liv Elvira Kippersund Larsson, Sturla Harbitz, and Viljar Knutsen Bjaadal
In Norwegian with English subtitles
92 mins.

(TW: eating disorders)

I can’t say I’m typically the biggest fan of movies set in middle schools, probably for the same reason my mom didn’t care for Spring Awakening: “Too much angst. I’ve had enough angst!” I didn’t really have a great time in sixth, seventh, or eighth grade — too many hormones and too much stress, self-imposed and societal — so I tend to stay away from such films, lest I relive it all. But I had an opening in my Saturday morning schedule (more on that in my closer post), so I decided to give the Norwegian film Dancing Queen a try. And I was pleasantly surprised to find a film that was more about overcoming childhood anxieties and subverting expectations, led by the adorable Liv Elvira Kippersund Larsson and Sturla Harbitz.

We meet Mina (Kippersund Larsson) and Markus (Harbitz) just before the start of seventh grade (which, to be thorough, is actually the last year of elementary school in Norway). They’re both content with their nerdy niche in the school pecking order, with both excelling in math and science classes when they’re not on their bicycles. Then a stranger comes to town: E.D. Win (Viljar Knutsen Bjaadal), one of the most popular young hip-hop dancers in Norway, having moved from Oslo. (We never meet E.D. Win’s parents — or really anyone’s parents, aside from Mina’s — so the viewer’s just left to wonder why this kid’s moving out to the suburbs, how he got into hip hop, and how young kids get popular on Tiktok or whatever.) Almost immediately, Mina’s crushing on E.D. Win, and when he announces he’s starting a dance crew, she auditions, learning dance from YouTube videos and from her grandmother (Anne Marit Jacobsen), who used to be a dancer at a club.

While she’s still very green, Mina makes the crew, and sets off on a transformation from gawky geek to Norwegian b-girl — somewhat to the consternation of her mother (Andrea Bræin Hovig), who thinks Grandma’s putting her up to this. (The chat between mother and grandmother after Mina’s makeover montage, complete with changing out her glasses with contacts, is a clever meta-commentary on girls-coming-of-age films. Also, I was amused how Norwegian hip-hop streetwear is basically just a bunch of tie-dyes and pastels.) After hours of practice — solo, with her grandmother, and with Markus — she gets paired with E.D. Win as a duo in competition for the Mjøsa Challenge. E.D. Win is immediately upset with this news from their dance coach Shaan (Cengiz Al), storming out of the practice studio and refusing to rehearse choreography until Shaan forces him to apologize.

Eventually E.D. Win apologizes, and she and Mina begin a grueling set of rehearsals. E.D. Win ends up being a domineering jerk, urging an impressionable Mina to lose weight, which inevitably leads to anorexia, overexercise, and fainting during a practice run of their routine. Ultimately, E.D. Win is kicked off the crew, and teams up with classmate Bella (Ylva Røsten-Haga) as independent entrants in the challenge. As Mina’s dance partnership implodes, her friendship with Markus (who is crushing on Mina) teeters as well, but they end up working together on a routine for the competition.

Screenwriter (and EP) Silje Holtet does a great job working within the confines of this genre to, at the same time, dismantle some of its damaging tropes. (Though I do wish the “bumbling parents” schtick was replaced by Jacobsen and Anders Baasmo’s parent characters using their words about Mina’s change in style, grades, and diet. Baasmo in particular gets little to do in the film, reifying the kinda-useless-dad motif.) Jacobsen portrays a caring, though flawed, grandmother and not a Dance Mom-once-removed. Mina (and Markus) realize that they don’t have to choose between school and dancing. In fact, I think Holtet and director Aurora Gossé show that Mina’s intelligence is a primary source of her talents; she initially has difficulty with freestyling, but (like many nerds!) she can follow steps well. It all leads to a sweet Grand Gesture from Markus and a dance routine in the competition that left me misty-eyed. I hope Dancing Queen gets US distribution soon — it’s a strong film for sentimental adults and gives some good messages to the kiddos, too.

Fancy Dance
Directed by Erica Tremblay
Written by Erica Tremblay and Miciana Alise
Starring Lily Gladstone, Isabel Deroy-Olson, Ryan Begay, Shea Whigham, and Audrey Wasilewski
93 mins.
In English and Cayuga with English subtitles
Coming soon to theaters and Apple TV+

It’s pretty shameful that it took a year for Erica Tremblay to find a distributor for her debut narrative feature Fancy Dance. And were it not for star Lily Gladstone winning a whole bunch of awards for her other 2023 film Killers of the Flower Moon, who knows if Apple would have taken a chance on this film. Fancy Dance is a stirring, provocative, and taut (half the length of Scorsese’s latest!) thriller, propelled by a largely native (Blackfeet, Blood, Nez Perce, Tr’ondek Hwech’in, Annishabe, Ponca and Tonkawa) cast, carefully discussing key native issues without falling into the tragedy-porn trap, and was shot on Cherokee land.

Gladstone plays Jax, a formerly convicted drug dealer and curren con artist and hustler, trying to make a few bucks taking care of her niece Roki (Isabel Deroy-Olson) while trying to find her missing sister Tawi (Hauli Gray, who also serves as the film’s choreographer). As is often the case, local police on and off the Seneca-Cayuga reservation in Oklahoma (including rez police officer and half-brother JJ, played by Ryan Begay) don’t have jurisdiction, and the FBI is barely giving the case any bit of their time. Jax has to resort to playing detective, showing her sister’s “Missing Woman” flier at the strip club Tawi formerly danced at, and daringly extracts information in the “man camps” of white oil workers, feeding JJ clues along the way and exhorting him to get a hold of the feds. Indeed, the only way any government systems come Jax’s way is to put Roki in the custody of Jax and Tawi’s estranged (and white) father, Frank (Shea Wigham) and his second wife Nancy (Audrey Wasileski), who may as well have been named Karen. (Nancy’s offer of her old ballet shoes to Roki, a traditional Seneca-Cayuga dancer, has some serious “kill the Indian to save the [wo]man” undertones.) All the while, Roki’s main goal is to get to the powwow in Oklahoma City where she and her mother are defending mother-daughter champions, and where Roki believes Tawi will turn up.

Ultimately, Jax pulls a desperate heist, getting Roki from her grandparents’ house, stealing Frank’s car in the process. Together they head on the road to the powwow, with stops along the way to Tulsa to follow a lead on Jax’s possible whereabouts. In turn, at Nancy’s suggestion. Frank begrudgingly (and in the end with great regrets) has an Amber Alert put out for Roki. They remain the rest of the film marked women — perhaps literally the case for Roki, who has her first period. Jax holds a ceremony for her first moon on the poolside patio at a house where they squat while on the run, a picture frame used as hardwood for the ritual. (Two straight days of movies with menstrual rite of passage — only at Athena!)

With her script, direction, and the sheer force of her cast, Tremblay’s pulled off a tightrope act, combining high drama and tension with a sensitive, at times humorous touch. Gladstone, as Jax, shows range reminiscent of Frances McDormand in Three Billboards outside of Ebbing, Missouri — a relentless, by-all-means-necessary search for the truth in the face of a society that has no interest or will to supply that truth, borne out of a deep and abiding love for the people in her life. (That includes Sapphire, played by Crystle Lightning, Jax’s lover and dancer at the club.) Ultimately, Jax secures a tidy resolution for Tawi’s, Roki’s, and her own stories, with some help from JJ along the way. In the culminating powwow, I felt not only for Jax and her family, but for all the other missing and murdered indigenous women. Some inevitably don’t have a Jax in their life, a sister (or sister figure) fighting for them, and many are never found alive or dead. Hopefully with this film’s eventual release, it not only gets in front of Apple-subscribing viewers, but compels them to act in changing the forces that lead to Fancy Dance’s desperation and bleakness, while securing the means toward the film’s humanity and joy.