A Compelling Visual Album

Songs from the Hole details the double-life prison sentence of James “JJ’88” Jacobs – who was incarcerated for murder in 2004, when he was only 15 and involved with gangs – as his family spends years fighting for a lighter re-sentencing. Originally conceptualized as a screenplay Jacobs wrote while incarcerated, Songs from the Hole displays the highs and lows of Jacobs’ life as he struggles to adapt and grow up while in prison.

Self-described as a “visual album,” Songs from the Hole features an array of stylized choices, ranging from musical vignettes to animation, which blur the lines of a coming-of-age family saga with documentary and narrative components. This is exemplified in the opening shots of the film, which is a fantastical reenactment of sorts: the audience lays eyes on 15-year-old Jacobs dancing in a prison yard while a watchtower looms over him. The young actor playing Jacobs is wide-eyed and beams a smile despite the harsh environment he finds himself in, thus establishing the tone for the film, which is able to balance harrowing, heart-breaking moments with joyous and uplifting ones. Gayles carefully shows the audience every facet of Jacobs’ life, including family anecdotes which tug on the heartstrings.

A monumental turning point in Jacobs’ sentence occurs when he discovers his passion for writing, rapping, and performing music. Music is prevalent throughout Songs from the Hole, and every track is performed by Jacobs himself, with vocals secretly recorded in prison by fellow musician and producer richie reseda [sic]. As Jacobs states in the film, “I have to manufacture hope, and the way I manufacture hope is through music.”

Each song in the film correlates to events that Jacobs underwent while in prison, with Gayles dramatizing the events. In one instance, Jacobs retells how the tracks came to be created through a lengthy stint in solitary confinement – also known as “the hole.” Once he decided to make the best of an uncomfortable experience, he laid on the ground and entered a meditation, after which artistic ideas began to flow through him.

The finished songs exhibit the physical and emotional journey that Jacobs underwent in prison, unapologetically showcasing his anger, regret, determination, and hope. Healing is a long road, and the effects of imprisonment don’t only impact the individual, but their loved ones as well. Using talking heads interviews and vérité footage, Songs from the Hole shows how Jacobs’ family deals with his sentence, their fight to reduce his sentence, and the barriers they face to overturn it.

This makes it much more heartbreaking when, towards the latter half of the film, Jacobs’ music ends up becoming an obstacle to attaining his freedom, when the parole board deems everything he does “an act.” They do not believe Jacobs’ good behavior to be a sincere reflection of his character and rehabilitation, partly due to his guest spot on another musician’s project, which contains negative views about law enforcement.

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Recognizing the Humanity of Incarcerated Individuals

“People who are incarcerated are people attached to other people,” Jacobs commented in a post-screening Q&A at the Seattle Black Film Festival, where both he and reseda [sic] emphasized the importance of recognizing the humanity of incarcerated individuals. “It is real lives that are engaged, and not just the person in the cage. My father did 18 years with me; my mother did 18 years with me.”

After learning that he was denied a re-sentencing, Jacobs tearfully calls his father. His ricocheting cries are heard as he breaks down over the phone, unsure what more he needs to do to prove his growth as a human being. Opposite him, William Jacobs’ father attempts to be strong and reassuring, but his anguish is palpable. The scene is harrowing, showing how the industrial prison complex hinders accountability and instead perpetuates harm by prioritizing punishment over restorative justice.

“When we think about public safety and justice… [when] you think about people who are incarcerated and think maybe they need that, just think about that: you’re saying maybe a person needs that pain and suffering, that a human being needs to suffer,” said Jacobs in the post-screening Q&A. “People are being incarcerated. Human beings. I hope people walk away from here seeing our humanity.”

In such a way, Songs from the Hole maintains a large degree of optimism, despite its heavy setting and content. In the post-screening Q&A at SBFF, Jacobs spoke about how joy is a vital emotion that is crucial in the struggle to fight for justice and prison reform, and in his own journey throughout the film.

“A Black boy and his joy is a powerful thing,” he stated. “As my dad said in the film, we can grieve now, we can cry now, but we can’t give up, and joy is what’s motivating me from not giving up. It keeps me from giving up.”

At its best, the prison system is supposed to safeguard inmates’ well-being and assist in their rehabilitation. More often than not, they do the opposite – instead becoming another obstacle as prisoners try to redeem themselves and grow. Jacobs’ music is a powerful demonstration of how art can heal. It is a roadmap of his transformation while in prison.

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Moments Drawn from Real-Life Experiences

Central to the narrative of Moloka’i Bound are the everyday experiences of Tengan and the film’s lead actor, Holden Mandrial-Santos, who both grew up in Kāne’ohe on the island of O‘ahu. The two started working together in a filmmaking capacity shortly after becoming roommates in 2017. Less than a year later, Mandrial-Santos acted in Tengan’s first short film, Mauka to Makai (2019).

“We just have deep conversations all the time about how proud we are to have grown up where we grew up, and we haven’t really seen it depicted in the way that we know it to be true,” Tengan explains.

“For me, it’s definitely having an opportunity to tell the stories of where I come from and being able to represent the people that I’ve grown up with,” Mandrial-Santos says, regarding what draws him to the work. “Maybe it’s selfish, but they’re so important to me that I want their voices to be heard and for them to feel proud that there is someone telling our stories out there.”

Throughout Moloka’i Bound, Madrial-Santos plays Kainoa — someone who, after being released from prison, makes big strides towards creating a better life for himself. To help him get off his feet, his sister’s family grants him permission to stay with them, and his teen niece begrudgingly gives him her bedroom — all on the condition that he stays on the straight and narrow. Another promising development comes when Kainoa finds meaningful employment pounding poi, a Native Hawaiʻian cultural food.

Most importantly, he manages to rekindle his relationship with his son, Jonathan, and in some moments, even to get back in the good graces of his son’s mother, his ex-girlfriend. At the height of their reconnection — though it never reaches the level of rekindling he secretly hopes for — she “trusts” Kainoa to take Jonathan out for a long fishing adventure, even if the trust comes across like a doubt-saddled leap of faith.

Everything seems to be trending in the right direction, but self-sabotage is ever around the corner. Kainoa remains embattled in the struggle between reforming himself and falling back into risky behaviors that threaten his dearest relationships.

“I’m always interested in nature versus nurture — and that push and pull that we all have within us,” says Tengan, whose work often deals with the complex journeys of paternal figures. “Especially in Hawaiʻi, where it’s… such a beautiful environment, in so many ways, but there’s still so many hardships that people are dealing with all the time.”

As Kainoa spends more and more time with Jonathan — played by young actor Achilles Holt — his love for the land and his Native Hawaiʻian culture shine through brightly. Kainoa takes great pride in passing down knowledge, nostalgically contrasting his familiar comforts against the corporatized overdevelopment of O‘ahu. He teaches his son how to fish and sail, relays the importance of cultural foods and music, and tells stories about the magical land of Moloka’i, where horses and deer run wild.

To create Kainoa — a character who is full of depth but also mired in challenges — Mandrial-Santos drew inspiration from his own family and personal stories. Kainoa is, in part, based on his uncle, while Jonathan is based on his cousin.

“Growing up, before my uncle had gone to jail, he was the charismatic uncle. Everybody loved him,” recalls Madrial-Santos, who adds that he still sees his uncle every week. “He took care of the family, but … he just went through problems.”

“[He] was someone who I looked up to,” Madrial-Santos continues. “We knew what he was involved in and stuff like that, but it was never seen in a way where what he was doing was… very wrong. We knew that he was supporting us, and we knew that he cared about our family.”

“Where we grew up, we saw so many people who are [fundamentally] good people… they just get caught up in things beyond their control, and sometimes it’s hard to shake a lot of those habits, unfortunately,” Tengan adds, regarding challenges his peers had faced with addiction. “That was something we tried to set up with each of these characters… [with] Kainoa trying to navigate like who he is, and ultimately, the man he wants to be.”

An Authentic Community of Non-Actors

In addition to being theoretically centered around familiar people and places, Moloka’i Bound also draws directly from the community with their choice of cast. Nobody in the film is a professional actor, which the filmmakers believed was necessary to preserve the authenticity of the story.

“It’s so hard, I think, to replicate [our upbringing],” explains Tengan. “It’s hard to cast people outside of that who don’t really understand it.”

For a story to be successfully carried by non-actors, Tengan stresses the importance of ensuring that they are “comfortable in their own skin.” He also adds that what attracted him to casting each of them was the fact that they were, off-screen, “very steadfast in who they are.”

One example can be found in community member Hale Natoa, who plays Hale, the parole officer that oversees Kainoa’s release from prison. Hale is depicted as a sympathetic and gentle figure, though he is simultaneously vigilant in making sure that Kainoa hasn’t returned to his old ways. In reality, Natoa was formerly incarcerated himself and is presently on parole now. He was able to share his real-life experiences to help the filmmakers shape the on-screen representation of parole, ensuring that it was believable and accurate.

The Mystical Journey to Moloka’i

Native Hawaiʻian cultural touchpoints are ever-present throughout Moloka’i Bound, whether they are portrayed through language, food, or music. Many of the characters speak in Native Hawaiʻian or Pidgin Hawaiian, which can be difficult for non-locals to understand — and often, their words are not clearly translated. Hawaiʻian music is also omnipresent. It is heard on the radio, in headphones, or in the hands of Kainoa as he plays guitar, both solo and with his sister, who sings alongside him. Music becomes a vehicle for Kainoa to share with his son about Native Hawaiʻian food and culture; it also serves to highlight the ways in which their understanding of the world has grown apart while Kainoa has been in prison.

“Imbuing [the film] with Hawaiʻian music that we grew up listening to and loving and was kind of omnipresent in the background of our lives [was important],” says Tengan, who notes that Mandrial-Santos, who is also a musician, was one of the artists who contributed to the soundtrack. “I hoped [the music] would resonate for audiences beyond Hawaiʻi, because there’s so many talented Hawaiʻian musicians there.”

Another cultural touchpoint of significance is the island of Moloka’i. Throughout the film, Kainoa waxes poetic about the majestic island where his mother lives — and along the way, he endeavors to bring Jonathan there, in hopes of showing him lands that have yet to be spoiled by tourism and Western influence. Certainly, the importance of the island also plays a front-and-center role in the film’s title, but as the narrative unfolds, Moloka’i Bound leaves viewers wondering whether Kainoa and Jonathan will ever complete a journey there together. And even if they did make it, would the island hold any magic whatsoever? Or is its beauty simply in the mind of Kainoa, who is nostalgic for a past long gone?

Tengan first thought to partially set the film in Moloka’i due to the fact that his great-great-grandma lived on homestead land there. As he explains, “Spending some time there, we really got to understand the essence of Moloka’i and its peoples. My mom would tell me stories about going to visit her in the summers with her cousins… and how different Molokai’i is from O‘ahu.”

In the film, Moloka’i is certainly a place, but also seems to encompass the spiritual purity of Hawaiʻi, pre-colonization. The filmmakers wanted to do justice to the area while making sure to respect it and its inhabitants. How to find the balance was constantly a topic of collective conversation.

“Our producers that are on Moloka’i, [Mikiala Pescaia and Matt Yamashita,] were like, ‘Can you make sure you don’t make it look too attractive or beautiful… so tourists won’t come?'” says one of the film’s producers, Nina Yang-Bongiovi. “That was something that Alika had to be really thoughtful about. How much do you show?”

“That was an ongoing conversation with our Moloka’i producers, who were guiding us to make sure the way that we were trying to portray [Moloka’i] felt good to them, because they live there,” Tengan says. “It was definitely important to us that this didn’t feel like a tourist advertisement for the island, because we really want to preserve the way of life that they have over there.”

Native Hawaiʻian Cultural Specificity with Global Implications

Throughout Moloka’i Bound, the presentation of Native Hawaiʻian culture never feels too heavy-handed; it is always seamlessly woven into the solid, character-driven narrative and easily understood through the way that it is felt. Tengan’s experience watching films from all over the world played a vital role in his ability to display his culture on-screen.

“Having fallen in love with global cinema when I was in film school and watching films from around the world but having not been from those parts, [I understood] through context clues what they’re talking about,” Tengan explains. “I hoped that [in Moloka’i Bound], that’s the experience that other people [will] have who aren’t from Hawaiʻi or have never been to Hawaiʻi… Through context clues, [one] can kind of understand the feeling that we’re trying to convey, which is more important than the specificity of it.”

“It’s up to the filmmaker to tell the story they want, but it’s up to a diverse team of people that will give good notes from an outside perspective,” adds Yang-Bongiovi, who is also a co-founder of Significant Productions, a production company she in 2010 started with Forrest Whitaker. “Since I’ve been with this team, I would just assume that people will understand certain things — but when the editing was shared with advisors at Sundance [Institute], they would say, ‘What does that mean, or what does that mean?’ And they would come up with five different areas [of cultural significance that] they didn’t understand. I remember that Forrest Whitaker also came up with notes like, ‘What does that mean? Can you expound on… why pounding poi is a cultural practice?'”

Though Moloka’i Bound does not laboriously focus on topics of gentrification, displacement, or loss of culture, it does hint to these things through its presentation of Native Hawaiʻi. By some measures, Native Hawaiʻians comprise only 6% of the islands’ current population — or 21% if you include those who are part-Hawaiʻian. When one considers such real-life challenges, all of the film’s subtle cues take on a deeper meaning.

They also mirror the struggles faced by Indigenous communities worldwide, which are forced to live in colonized societies that disenfranchise them, subject them to higher rates of incarceration, and may be at odds with their customary ways of life. Thus, it follows that global Indigenous films inspired the genesis of this project.

Tengan and Moloka’i Bound cinematographer Chapin Hall first began to work together after attending Māoriland Film Festival. The festival booked them a car to take a day-and-a-half road trip from Ōtaki, Aotearoa, where the festival was held, to Auckland, New Zealand. Though they hadn’t worked together prior, they were so inspired by watching all the Indigenous films at Māoriland that they spent their drive mulling over a quick project they could shoot together in Hawaiʻi. Thus was born the short film for Moloka’i Bound (2019). Tengan and Hall’s relationship only blossomed from there, and Indigenous films continue to influence their work to this day.

“Meeting [other Indigenous filmmakers] from all over all over the world [and] seeing the connection that all these communities have in the stories that we share… was really amazing to me,” Mandrial-Santos recalls, describing his feelings after attending the LA Skins Festival which focuses on Indigenous films. “[Our subject matter] felt insular to where I was from… but for them to connect to the stories that we were telling and to hear theirs as well… it really opened my eyes.”

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Masculinity Guided by Matriarchs

Named after its main character, Sujo is divided into five chapters that specifically follows Sujo’s journey from when he is a young boy to when he is a teenager, entering the wider world on his own. The first chapter is “Sujo” and covers the main character’s youngest years; the remaining four are named after family members, friends, and mentors who become central to Sujo’s life path.

At the start of the film, 4-year-old Sujo is orphaned in the countryside of Michoacán, located in central Mexico. A cartel member had just taken revenge on his traitorous sicario father, Josue, after Josue had betrayed and murdered a man close to him. To ensure that Sujo is not punished for his father’s misdeeds, Sujo’s aunt Nemesia requests leniency from a head cartel member – who begrudgingly allows Sujo to remain under the custody of his aunt under one condition: he is never to be seen in the main town.

Sujo grows up under the watchful eye of Nemesia, played by Yadira Pérez, but he also eventually learns to defy the cartel member’s initial orders. Over time, he becomes loosely initiated into the gang himself, and then eventually must escape it. Along the way, Sujo‘s life is greatly informed by the transformative power of matriarchs – even despite an ongoing drug war that is often riddled with machismo and toxic masculinity.

“We were excited but were worried also, that we could portray… a construction of masculinity and all the issues of masculinity,” explains Valadez. Valadez and Rondero, who have been working together since Rondero’s first short film, En Aguas Quietas (2011), have long felt “closer to female stories.”

Sujo is the duo’s first film to feature a male protagonist. During the screenwriting process, it was only natural that their story – which centered around the coming-of-age of a Mexican boy – also incorporated strong female characters. The filmmakers were influenced in part by the controversial phenomenon of personas desaparecidas, or unsolved missing persons cases which have plagued Mexico in recent years.

“In Mexico, it’s something we feel very close [to],” Valadez explains. “There are males, of course; there are sons and brothers, and but it’s mainly women who throw themselves [into] looking for justice, and very often, they become activists.”

Portraying Mystery Through Settings and Cinematography

Communicating through an expansive lyrical and poetic style, Sujo owes a large part of its success to its striking cinematography, which serves as a grounding throughline to a tale that is otherwise full of dynamically-shifting environments and emotions. That language was born from a tight-knit collaboration with cinematographer Ximena Amann, who the co-directing duo have been working with for years. Together, they created a visual language that is simultaneously grounded in reality and floating in dreaminess.

Twice in the film, for example, deaths are portrayed with the deceased moving in slow-motion, crossing wordlessly through naturalistic landscapes as they look directly into the camera. No verbal explanation is necessary for viewers to understand that the dead have passed onto another world. This visual motif, Valadez explains, came primarily from Romero’s imagination, but was executed together as a team and speaks to the film’s larger themes.

“When we were discussing and writing, what we also wanted to do was to have different points of views [on] time and reality. We wanted the film to change in those point of views that are not necessarily corresponding to only one character, but to one season of a life,” Valadez explains. “We wanted [the deaths] to feel like… the boy growing up and having this sense that the world is complex – and using all those devices to express… the mystery of the universe.”

The environment and animals are referenced numerous times throughout the project and help heighten the film’s sense of mystery. In one haunting scene, Sujo and Nemesia cross paths with a wild dog as night descends, but Nemesia reassures Sujo to have no fear. She simply describes the dog as a creature that “belongs to the cerro,” or mountainside, bringing a mystical quality to the everyday presence of animal life as significant players.

“[Relationships to animals are] shared among the cultures in Mexico… A general idea of how we feel [about] the world [is] that we are connected to the animals; that we are connected to nature,” Valadez says. “We wanted to express that through all our human endeavors and all the things that we deal with — our worries and violence, [we are still] contained in something that’s broader and goes beyond those.”

Lighting also played a primary role throughout Sujo and was deeply guided by cinematographer Amann’s vision. Sunlight and moonlight heighten the mystical qualities of people and animals; similarly, scenes with moonlight or dim lighting heighten key dramatic moments and build tension.

Valadez credits evolving technologies, fast camera lenses, and sensitive cameras as crucial to helping them pull off the look that they wanted. Using such tools, she explains, “[With] some particular scenes, we could shoot with moonlight… and when we couldn’t do that, we had to find a way in which to set the scene and to find… sources of light that would justify the lighting.”

When natural lighting was insufficient or inappropriate, the filmmakers made a rule to rely strictly on practical lighting, as opposed to adding additional lights to the set. Practical lighting thus involved the cast holding flashlights in their hands or driving cars and motorcycles – but the self-imposed limitations did result in some logistical and technical challenges.

One evening, young Sujo enters town with his two best friends and receives his first kiss from a girl. The three boys travel by way of running and riding motorbikes down dirt roads, but the scene had to be filmed twice to account for insufficient lighting the first go-around. The filmmakers shifted the blocking during the second attempt to utilize the headlights of the motorcycles more significantly.

“We shot that [scene] twice, because the first time they were walking without the motorbike… so we didn’t have a source of light…” Valadez recalls. “We shot it, and it didn’t look good, [so] we went back.”

Community Closeness and Community Care

Sujo was filmed in Valadez’s home state of Guanajuato, which borders the state of Michoacán, where the fictional story is set. Personal relationships and an intimate understanding of the region were vital to the success of the production, which was supported by people who have known Valadez practically her whole life. Also relevant was the fact that the filmmakers were quite familiar with the area; they had already scouted the rural areas outside of the main city center Guanajuato for other projects.

“We just continued to explore the places around those communities, and that gave us, I think, the advantage of using spaces that were just as we found them, but also building some others in those spaces and having like the best of both worlds,” explains Galadez. “[We had the] the realism of the spaces, and also [built] with that realism to our advantage.”

Among the production’s custom-crafted sets was the home of Nemesia, which the film translates as “Vengeance,” though the name’s origins come from Greek mythology. Nemesia’s home is described by cartel members as that of a bruja; crafted of dark wood and set in isolation, it possesses a cold, drafty feel every time it is seen at jnight.

Throughout Sujo, its filmmakers play with stereotypes Mexicans may have regarding male figures caught up in cartel violence, but they also hope to present such characters in sensitive and considerate ways. Part of how the characters are “held” in the film is in relation to the community around them, whether that be by mothers, aunts, educators, cartel members, or peers. The film demonstrates that relationships in small, violence-affected communities can be close-knit and caring, even despite the prevalence of illegal or dangerous behaviors.

“In general… there’s no clear division between victims and perpetrators. We can all be one or the other, depending on the circumstances…” Valadez shares. “All perpetrators — all these young men that in Mexico have turned themselves to violence — they were at some point kids, and so, they were innocent. They deserve that recognition that there’s something that we have done wrong in society for them to become who they are.”

One example can be seen in Josue, the troubled father of Sujo. Josue was a sicario who was killed for being a murderous traitor – but the few times he is seen with his son, he is tender, caring, and full of fatherly ambition. His character arc is complex, but such complexities are also relatively normal, according to Valadez. She shares that the filmmakers were inspired by the work of journalist Javier Valdez Cárdenas, who was eventually murdered for his reporting on cartels.

“[Javier Valdez Cárdenas] wrote extensively about young men going into violence, with direct accounts…” Valadez explains. “It’s so human and so understanding in a very deep way, I think, that [it] allowed us to rethink how we were approaching violence.”

In order to authentically tell the story of Sujo, the film relied on a host of nonprofessional actors from the local community. Among them was teenager Juan Jesús Varela, who played the lead character, Sujo. Jesús Varela has since discovered his passion for acting and is pursuing acting more seriously, despite not having a professional background.

“You cast non-professional actors because you may think [they’re] similar to the character, [and] they bring their humanity and their characteristics to get to the character,” says Valadez, who adds that productions outside of Mexico City generally work with non-professional actors.

Working with non-professionals can come with a degree of authenticity, but it also comes with its ethical concerns. Care can be especially necessary when working with people who come from communities that face great adversity or are not well-resourced.

“When we were working as assistant directors, we felt some productions use those boys or those girls, like: we cast you for film, we use you and then we discard you. And there are cases of films that went [to] big festivals and made money, but those kids remain in their communities,” Valadez comments. “It was a challenge of how we should approach that so it was a positive experience. We couldn’t offer that we would change their lives, because that’s not in our hands – but we could offer an experience that would be meaningful, hopefully, and just proportional to what they were giving us.”

In the latter part of the film, Sujo is forced to leave his hometown and finds his way to Mexico City, where the conditions of survival and landscapes of the city are far removed from the wilds of the countryside. There, he takes on his first meaningful employment, finds secret ways to educate himself, and otherwise scrapes out a living in a new city where he knows no one.

Sujo’s journey seems lonesome and difficult after his departure. But by tracking his journey through multiple perspectives of those important in Sujo’s life, the film raises important questions about what it takes for a young man to survive after a lifetime dictated by violence and drug cartels.

“When we have shown this [film or script] to some [Mexicans], I think we realized… to use the prejudice of the viewer as a narrative device,” says Valadez, who notices that Mexican viewers often expect Sujo to make the worst choices possible. “It’s like: this kid is not going to make it. This kid is gonna rob the teacher. This kid is going to become the same as his father.”

Through Sujo, Valadez and Rondero might simply be asking some of the questions that many onlookers are thinking. Do these children and men have a choice in the controversial decisions that they make? Or are they merely trying to survive?

“This crisis has just lengthened throughout the years,” comments Valadez. “I think we, as Mexicans, keep thinking: how are we going to get out of this?”

Yet despite the darkness, poverty, and violence sometimes faced by those affected by the drug trade, Sujo does somehow manage to offer some respite – which can exist in family, friendship, dreams, and the beauty of the natural world.

Sujo Film Trailer

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Embedding Social Media Perspectives into a Short Film

“One of our big focuses in the movie was how can we depict social media in the way that we consume it,” says Leonard, in reference to the film’s editing style and camera work. “There’s no real coherent scenes, because that’s not how social media works. [Social media is] really fractured and isn’t very interested in showing you the full lives of anyone, so we didn’t [either].”

Experimentation was a core part of the film’s inception, and it is much of what attracted Rogers to write the story in the first place. For instance, The Influencer plays with aspect ratios — at times presenting visuals in a dynamic format that divides the screen into three vertical panels, as if three vertical social media video were placed side-by-side. Each vertical panel highlights a different aspect of the influencer’s daily routine, and a new panel appears every time a moment unfolds. The scrolling effect is reminiscent of social media feeds and draws viewers firsthand into the influencer’s world.

Rogers originally conceptualized The Influencer in 2019, and she wanted to write a story that wasn’t bound by any rules. Embracing the “weirdness” of the story’s subject matter, Rogers was inspired to venture deep into experimental horror territory.

“I just [had] never done a lot of this stuff before; I had never worked with found footage,” Rogers explains, of the film’s experimentation. “It’s a very non-traditional film structure, both in the storytelling and the technology of it… that was scary but also exciting… I didn’t know if it would work.”

But it did work, in large part due to the film’s editing. Montage scenes burst in a kaleidoscope of colors and swift cuts to present a whirlwind of vivid, fragmented moments. Each sequence seamlessly blends into the next with a rapid-fire pace that imbues the film with a distinctive energy — where every swipe captures fleeting glimpses into life’s transient emotions.

“It was a very chaotic shoot because we were doing it so non-traditionally…” Rogers explains. “We didn’t have a lot of the traditional crew positions, and we [we]re slotting people into new roles that we were creating, just to have a production that was based around social media.”

Using Music as the Backbone for Filmmaking

Rogers and Leonard knew early on that they wanted to create the film score before the film itself – and that the score would then establish the tone and energy of the entire piece. They reached out to Seattle musician Celene Ramadan – who releases music under the monikers Leeni and Prom Queen – and asked Ramadan to compose music for the film months before they even began shooting. The Influencer‘s high-tempo score energizes the intensity of the different montages; its pulsing syncopated beats drive the pace forward and mirrors the incessant flow of social media updates.

“This whole process was extremely unsettling in a great way, but [the soundtrack] was one of those things where I was like, ‘I gotta have this nailed down because this is not something that we want to be figuring out in post,” explains Rogers, who stresses that the filmmakers wanted to record the short film like a music video. “Essentially, you know your beats, you know your tone, you know what you’re filming for, [and the score] really dictates the style of the shots.”

Rogers and Leonard discussed the core themes of the story with Ramadan and gave her a monologue, which would thematically serve to help with music assembly. This resulted in Ramadan composing a series of hit songs that gave the film a feel of flipping through a Top 40s radio station.

“She made a series of music along the instructions of, ‘We want this to be a score, but we also want it to sound like it could be a pop song on the radio,’ which are not the same thing,” comments Rogers. “And she did it.”

In one particular standout chorus, Ramadan sang, “I want to be a God” – and the filmmakers latched onto the hook right away. The line became a central theme of the film and helped expand the story’s concept where a social media influencer is practically deified.

The vast amount of music that Ramadan composed gave the filmmakers variety which helped them shift shifting tones abruptly and sharply throughout The Influencer‘s 10-minute runtime. Bubblegum pop music was set alongside industrial sounds, for instance – and Rogers and Leonard felt that this contrast was essential in capturing the different sides of the social media landscape that they wanted to depict.

Behind-the-scenes photos from The Influencer

Training Actors to Become Crew Members

Another compelling experimental component of The Influencer is the way that actors were assigned dual responsibilities for filming. For the actors to act as social media influencers themselves, they often also became camera operators. Leonard and Rogers expressed that this aspect of social media savviness was something they were looking for when casting for the film. The practice adds a heightened sense of reality before the film ventures into full-on horror territory.

“We didn’t have a camera person moving the phones around, choreographing each of those movements. [We had] Lael, teaching [the actors] how to properly wipe frames,” explains Leonard. “They’re not only having to learn these performance beats, but they’re also having to direct the camera with themselves at the same time, which is just completely new for an actor.”

“It’s such a double-edged sword shooting with phones, as no one knows when you’re rolling,” Rogers adds. “With traditional film sets, it’s very clear when you’re rolling… with phones, it’s like, ‘Where’s the camera? Where’s the DP? Where’s the monitor?’ And we’re hidden in another room with an iPad, and because the phone has such 360-degree capabilities, we would just have to, as a crew, be somewhere completely different.”

Leonard was also producer on Dream Creep – a local short film by Carlos A.F. Lopez that premiered at Sundance — where Rogers offered special effects. With such successes under their belt, both Leonard and Rogers are determined to elevate Seattle’s filmmaking scene and prove that Seattle is a creative goldmine on the same level as New York and Los Angeles.

To do so, Rogers hopes to transition soon to creating feature films, and Leonard hopes to continue lending a helping hand and being a resource to other local filmmakers through her production company, Lenny Pictures.

“With this run – both with The Influencer and with Dream Creep – it has been [about] finding our people – not only from like a Seattle and crew and collaboration experience but also on a more national, international scale of finding our audience,” Rogers reflects. “Going to huge genre festivals and having people scream at kills like it’s a concert is a wild theater experience that I’d never had before.”

Watch The Influencer

Photo Credits (Top to Bottom)

• Deisy Patiño and Peter McNally in The Influencer. Courtesy of All is Well.
• Deisy Patiño in The Influencer. Courtesy of All is Well.
• MacKenzie Wynn, Laura Hetherington, and Deisy Patiño on the set of The Influencer. Courtesy of All is Well.
• Peter McNally and Laura Hetherington on the set of The Influencer. Courtesy of All is Well.
• Brianna Murphy and Peter McNally on the set of The Influencer. Courtesy of Lenny Pictures.
• Laura Hetherington, Peter McNally, Lael Rogers, MacKenzie Wynn, and Deisy Patiño on the set of The Influencer. Courtesy of Lenny Pictures.
• Director of Photography Jonathan Houser and Lael Rogers on the set of The Influencer. Courtesy of Lenny Pictures.
• Bria Condon in The Influencer. Courtesy of All is Well.
  9. Laura Hetherington, Bria Condon, Deisy Patiño, and MacKenzie Wynn in The Influencer. Courtesy of All is Well.
• Bria Condon in The Influencer. Courtesy of All is Well.

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Capturing the Whole Human Story

When Voge began shooting the film in April 2018, she was living in Colombia as a freelance journalist and decided to go to Mexico to cover the story of a “migrant caravan” — a group of migrants traveling to the United States — which had captured the attention of the Trump Administration and the media. Voge first met Magdiel when they were both about to board the cargo train infamously referred to as “The Beast (La bestia),” which countless migrants travel on each year while crossing Mexico.

“The intention was to build out their whole personalities as full humans, which I think is a more powerful way to build empathy,” Voge comments, regarding the documentary’s decision to focus on just Magdiel’s family. “They are people, humans, just like yourself, no matter who you are, and who they are.”

The unfortunate reality is that most refugees like Magdiel, Mirna, and Joshua are displaced from their homes for a multitude of reasons beyond their control. Sometimes they trudge through relentless deserts with the scorching sun beating down as they march for hundreds of miles with limited water. Journeys can be a grueling marathon of cramped buses and sweltering trains, where air conditioning is a distant dream, and families can easily be separated. Lamentably, when they finally reach U.S. soil, the nightmare continues as many are often cruelly torn apart from their loved ones and placed in detention centers. This perilous trek claims countless lives, leaving behind a trail of tragedy and heartache.

All We Carry shows that the act of coming to the U.S. or leaving one’s home in Latin America is not one-dimensional. “[The film is] not only about the golden opportunity of the U.S., and the horrible place [the migrants are] leaving, but it’s also the challenge,” Voge explains, of the nuance. “[The U.S. is] also beautiful and it’s challenging, and the place that many people are leaving is also beautiful and challenging.”

Once Magdiel, Mirna, and Joshua finally enter the U.S., they are immediately separated. Magdiel is held in a detention center in San Diego California, which he remarks is similar to a prison. Mirna and Joshua were also held in a detention center for nineteen grueling days, until they were released and traveled to Seattle to live with Mirna’s sister.

While staying in Seattle with Joshua, Mirna painfully recalls another mother who was forcefully separated from her son and acknowledges that it could’ve been her and Joshua instead. The audience is also shown glimpses of the couple’s phone calls when they are separated, as they prepare for the possibility that they might never see each other again. Thankfully, after enduring three months of detention, Magdiel is transferred to Seattle and finally reunited with his family.

“Their mental health and everything they had gone through definitely impacted how we told the story in multiple ways,” Voge said. “Pulling out the universal elements of these particular experiences that they have was really important.”

Rebuilding in the United States

Once reunited in Seattle, the family manages to be sponsored by a local Jewish synagogue that is associated with the Northwest Jewish Coalition for Immigrant Justice. Throughout the film, Magdiel, Mirna, and Joshua connect and bond with another family of immigrants. It’s a beautiful display of unity, as synagogue members help Magdiel and Mirna adapt to their new environment, provide them with a house to stay, look after Joshua, and celebrate Christmas with them.

“They have this beautiful connection with this Jewish community, and we see all the giggles in the car with the synagogue, these kinds of stand-in grandparents, and how beautiful that connection is for both sides,” Voge explains. “It’s like they’re bringing so much joy to this community, and vice versa.”

As these positive events are happening, the family remains under the stress of preparing for a hearing that will determine the rest of their lives. Yet despite all the heartbreak, there are moments of prosperity and happiness that reflect the universality of their personhood. An extremely powerful moment occurs when the family experiences snowfall for the first time, showcasing how refugees find moments of solace and peace after surviving traumatic experiences.

“This type of story is the type of story that I love to tell – [with] topics that are very timely, very newsy, but told in a very personal, intimate way, zoomed completely into one person or one family’s experience…” Voge explains, who ran an educational nonprofit called One World Youth Project before she became a journalist. “I still always think of storytelling as a tool for education.”

Another profoundly touching moment unfolds when Mirna describes Honduras to Joshua, who has no memories of his birthplace. As she narrates, the screen transforms into sweeping luxurious aerial shots of Honduras, showcasing its lush forests and winding rivers. The breathtaking images contrast starkly with the harsh realities faced by the young family, highlighting the beauty they were forced to leave behind while underscoring the involuntary nature of their departure.

​​”You see how lush and beautiful it is, and how much she loved growing up in a rural area,” explains Voge. “People might have stereotypes about people in the U.S., in rural areas. You might think everyone who lives in the city might think, ‘Everyone who lives in a rural area just wants to get out…” There might [also] be ideas like, ‘Everyone coming from Central America is coming from a city, and they’re all fleeing gang violence,’ but neither of those things are the case.”

Voge is currently working on her next documentary feature film, which will examine the issue of abortion and reproductive health following the overturning of Roe v. Wade by the Supreme Court in 2022. The film will feature a gynecologist who is attempting to start a reproductive healthcare clinic that will provide abortion care.

“She’s trying to start it in a boat or some floating vessel in federal waters in the Gulf of Mexico that would serve patients,” Voge comments, noting that the Gulf states all currently have abortion restrictions. “Once again, it’s a topic that’s very ‘newsy’ that I want to take a much more personal look at through the lens of a doctor who’s becoming an activist.”

Voge’s camera is not only a tool, but a gateway into the heart of the human experience. Through her cinematic artistry, Voge transforms serious, heartbreaking stories into powerful educational experiences that don’t only seek only to entertain, but spark empathy, understanding, and dialogue about the struggles and triumphs of those displaced by conflict and hardship.

Filmmaker Cady Voge with the family

All We Carry Documentary Film Trailer

Related Resources

Northwest Immigrant Rights Project
Northwest Jewish Coalition for Immigrant Justice
International Rescue Committee
The UN Refugee Agency

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Maria Barquin, Program Director, Radio Campesina (Photo Credit: Roberto “Bear” Guerra; Courtesy of Quiet Pictures)

A Potentially Election-Swaying Demographic

With over 31 million eligible voters, Latine voters are now the second-largest voting block within the United States. Their populations are highest in states like California, Texas, and Florida – but they also hold sway in the crucial swing states of Wisconsin, Michigan, Pennsylvania, North Carolina, Nevada, Arizona, and Georgia. Some analysts believe that Latine voters could decide the outcome of the 2024 election between Democratic candidate, current Vice President Kamala Harris, and Republican candidate, former President Donald J. Trump.

“One of the first things we discussed was how to capture the spectrum of Latine voters all across the country. Is it even useful to think about us as a voting bloc?” asks Latine Vote 2024‘s New York-based producer Marcia Robiou. “We are so diverse, not just racially, but also geographically, politically and every way you can possibly think of.”

“At the end of the day, some people are going to be left out because we only have an hour,” she continues.

According to Latino Vote 2024, Latine voters comprise 14.7% of the electorate – with about 17.5 million expected to vote and about 20% of those individuals voting for the first time in 2024. Yet according to Robiou, Latine voters are not easily predictable from election cycle to election cycle.

“Latine voters are very independent or affiliate more with the independent party than a lot of other groups, ethnic or racial groups, so they really focus on the policy – and the specific candidate, not so much,” explains Robiou. “[They] don’t adhere as much to party loyalty.”

Chuck Rocha, Political Consultant and Former Sr. Advisor to Bernie Sanders (Photo Credit: Jerry Risius for Quiet Pictures; Courtesy of Quiet Pictures)

Zaleeae Sierra, Youth Director of the organization Promise Neighborhoods (Photo Credit: Carissa Henderson for Quiet Pictures; Courtesy of Quiet Pictures)

Samuel Rodriguez, Pastor, New Season Church (Photo Credit: Victor Tadashi Suarez for Quiet Pictures; Courtesy of Quiet Pictures)

Maria Teresa Kumar, President of Voto Latino (Photo Credit: Fernando Rocha for
Quiet Pictures; Courtesy of Quiet Pictures)

Finding the Correct Balance & Connections

To ensure that the documentary’s subject matter was relevant to the current election cycle, Latino Vote 2024 relies on polls and research to center top issues of importance to Latine voters. The film opens with interviews of organizers and residents from Allentown, Pennsylvania, where challenges of housing, affordability, gentrification, and other struggles of the working class are ever-present.

“The top [issue] over and over again was the economy and inflation and rising housing costs,” says Robiou. “For the most part, the people I spoke to were very pragmatic about that.”

She continues, “Regardless of what political party they’re affiliated with, a lot of folks I spoke to felt that both parties were being too extreme on social cultural issues, but we’re not advancing any type of coherent policy on the economy, for example, or even immigration.”

On the topic of abortion, Arizona is offered as a case study, as the state currently bans abortions after 15 weeks of pregnancy. Voters will decide in November 2024 whether to expand or protect abortion rights in the state constitution.

The immigration debate is partially framed through religion, as the documentary follows church leaders who are devout and family-oriented, yet represent perspectives on both sides of the aisle. Reverend Gabriel Salguero, Lead Pastor of the Gathering Place in Orlando, Florida, preaches against those who do not welcome foreigners, while Reverend Samuel Rodriguez, Lead Pastor of New Season Church in Sacramento, California, was tapped by former President Trump to be the first such Latino individual to speak at Trump’s Presidential inauguration in 2017.

Such subject matter is made all the more complex when one considers that not all Latine voters are immigrants or even the children of immigrants, which is often the stereotype. Many are U.S. citizens who have been naturalized or were born in the country, sometimes with a family line that has been in the States for generations.

The filmmakers behind Latino Vote 2024 also very much reject that current media narrative that Latine voters are overly Democratic or Republican. One palpable interview segment features Clarissa Martinez de Castro, Vice President of the Latino Vote Initiative UnidosUS, speaking about the current statistics and historical context.

“If you look at Latinos historically, about two-thirds of their support ended up going to Democrats and about one-third goes to Republicans,” explains Martinez de Castro.

While Latine voters’ party alignments have ebbed and flowed, their recent “return” back to the Republican party is not particularly exceptional, according to the long-term data. A visual graph in Latino Vote 2024 corroborates the history. In 1980, the Latine community voted 56% for Carter and 35% for Reagan; in 1992, 61% for Clinton and 25% for Bush; in 2040, 58% for Kerry and 40% for Bush; in 2008, 67% for Obama and 31% for McCain. Most recently, in 2020, they voted 61% for Biden and 36% for Trump.

“We try to keep those historical context in mind, so we don’t make the mistake of… following the news cycle in this idea that there is this rush of Latine folks to Trump or to the Republican Party, but we do want to represent that,” comments Robious.

Moment from Rev Gabriel Salguero’s church, The Gathering, in Orlando, FL (Photo Credit: Bernardo Ruiz; Courtesy of Quiet Pictures)

Clarissa Martinez De Castro, Vice President of the Latino Vote Initiative at UnidosUS (Photo Credit: Fernando Rocha for Quiet Pictures; Courtesy of Quiet Pictures)

Former Texas Congresswoman Mayra Flores (Photo Credit: Bernardo Ruiz; Courtesy of Quiet Pictures)

Adapting to a Chaotic Election Cycle

Other crucial moments in the current election cycle are represented by footage from the Republican National Convention (RNC) and Democratic National Convention (DNC). At the RNC, high-profile Latine politicians – such as Texas Senator Ted Cruz and former Texas U.S. Representative Mayra Flores – are seen promoting Trump and speaking to conservative tendencies of Latine culture, in general.

Footage of the DNC came later, as the Latino Vote 2024 filmmakers had to adapt their narrative to the fast-changing and chaotic election cycle. The film was close to its final edit when significant new developments occurred that sent the team back to the drawing board.

“It’s a challenge doing a documentary on something that’s in the news…” says Robiou. “We were pretty close to delivering a cut when the assassination attempt on Donald Trump happened, and then shortly after that, Biden stepped down, and we were wrapping production.”

Because the final product needed to reflect Vice President Harris’ sudden ascension as the Democratic nominee, the filmmakers had to do a lot of new shoots, and tough decisions needed to be made in the final edit.

“A lot was left on the cutting room floor…” says Robious. “We had to do new interviews with folks now that Harris was at the top of the ticket, [because for] a lot of our film, they were talking about Biden versus Trump.”

In addition to the documentary, the team had enough additional material to create 10 other short films – and under the guidance of PBS, they focused the smaller segments on the stories of young voters and first-time voters. The first one of the ten released follows a young first-time voter in Nevada, who director Bernardo Ruiz had also filmed in the documentary’s 2020 installment.

“We have footage of him when he was 15-years-old and looks very different. Now he’s 18 and voting for the first time,” explains Robiou. “He’s an organizer, or his mom is an organizer, and seeing his political evolution is really interesting… he’s very well-spoken – way better spoken than I was at 18 years old.”

The remaining shorts are focused on different types of Latine voters, whether they be Indigenous, Afro-Latina, young MAGA supporters, or individuals at a Puerto Rican auto body shop. Overall, the multiple experiences portrayed by the breadth that is Latino Vote 2024 performs a crucial task in providing an in-depth yet nuanced snapshot of hard-to-define Latine voters, during a U.S. election of great potential consequence.

Organizer Audrey Peral and son Francisco in 2020 (Photo Credit: Roberto “Bear” Guerra; Courtesy of Quiet Pictures)

Mike Madrid, Political Consultant and Co-Founder of The Lincoln Project (Photo Credit: Antonio Cisneros for Quiet Pictures; Courtesy of Quiet Pictures)

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In 2014, Yanomami shaman and activist Davi Kopenawa co-authored The Falling Sky, a landmark work chronicling the Yanomami’s Indigenous worldview and warning of the dire consequences of environmental destruction. Ten years after the book’s release, his urgent message reverberates throughout a 2024 feature documentary of the same name, co-directed by Brazilian filmmakers Eryk Rocha and Gabriela Carneiro da Cunha.

The Yanomami, an Indigenous group living in the Amazon rainforest of northern Brazil and southern Venezuela, have long faced threats to their land and culture. Their population of approximately 30,000 people inhabit one of the largest Indigenous territories in the world, spanning roughly 37,000 square miles. However, illegal mining, deforestation, and encroachment by outsiders have devastated their ecosystem, introducing diseases and polluting vital rivers and water systems. ‘

The Yanomami’s resilience, embodied by Kopenawa, has been a cornerstone of their survival amidst these crises. Kopenawa has often been called “the Dalai Lama of the Rainforest” for his efforts to amplify the Yanomami voice on the global stage.

A Collaboration Rooted in Respect

As a documentary, The Falling Sky (A Queda do Céu) renders Kopenawa’s dreams and warnings into a powerful visual treatise, inviting global audiences to witness the urgency of the Yanomami’s struggle for survival.

During the New York City premiere at DOC NYC, Kopenawa and The Falling Sky co-director Eryk Rocha spoke about their journey with the film, through translation by the film’s publicist, Juliana Sakae. The film — which was seven years in the making and had its world premiere in the 2024 edition of Cannes in Directors Fortnight — was not an attempt at a direct adaptation of the source material. Well over 600-pages-long, the book’s scope is expansive and took many years to create with co-author, French anthropologist Bruce Albert.

“It all started while [co-director Gabriela Carneiro da Cunha and I] were reading the book,” Rocha explains, regarding the book’s impact on them. “We started searching for Davi and for Bruce to propose the project of making the film.”

Approaching the project with respect and openness, the filmmakers invited Kopenawa to shape the film, which is a co-production with the Hutukara Yanomami Association, an organization led by Kopenawa. Hutukara Yanomami Association works to unite and represent disparate Yanomami communities in Brazil and advances indigenous rights in the country.

Rocha described how the team immersed themselves in Yanomami life. A reahu — or collective ceremony led by shamans in an effort to hold up the sky — became a pivotal moment.

“It reoriented us during the filming, reoriented the script, and the film itself,” Rocha says. “It was during filming this ritual that it changed the structure of dramaturgy.”

The different components of preparation and realization of the reahu ritual serve as the main throughline of the 110-minute film. The Yanomami prepare food for the intercommunal feast and adorn their bodies with ornamentation like macaw feathers and body paint. In one scene, two men shuck plantains at night, with flashlights wedged between their neck and shoulders. They joke and gossip as the sound of a group of women singing can be heard in the distance, and the sound of crickets loud in the foreground. As night falls, Kopenawa addresses his community, cautioning and motivating the younger generation.

“And because we are surrounded by the napë [non-Indigenous] people, you, young people, awaken your wisdom!” he says. “You, who like to imitate the napë, know that I used to imitate them. I even cut my hair like them. I kept copying them and learning their language. And then I began to see myself as a protector of the Yanomami. That became my dream…”

“While I was fighting, you were growing,” he continued. “Look to your dreams! Don’t think: we were born for no reason. We grew up for no purpose.”

For the filmmakers, the process of surrendering control in light of the reahu became an enlightening experience.

“We didn’t arrive with the pre-made film,” Rocha explains. “We actually allowed [surrender] to happen, and it was such an intense, incredible and radical experience for us.”

Media as a Tool to Fight for the Forest

For Kopenawa, cinema represents a strategic opportunity for the Yanomami. He has collaborated with filmmakers before — most notably on the 2021 documentary A Última Floresta (The Last Forest) directed by Luiz Bolognesi — and his interest in using film as a medium to send his message to napëpë demonstrates the Yanomami’s adaptability. They interface with outsiders through nontraditional means, while staying rooted in the integrity of their beliefs.

“Film is not our culture. It’s not a culture from the forest. It’s actually a white culture,” Kopenawahe admits, while at the same time recognizing the medium’s significance and reach. “It is really important for those who don’t know the Indigenous people to get to know them, because we are not able to go to the city, so at least our image is traveling to the cities.

“There are people that don’t believe that we exist,” he adds.

Kopenawa’s life is deeply entwined with the fate of the forest. His activism began in the 1980s when he witnessed the devastating effects of gold mining on his people. Since then, he has tirelessly fought for Yanomami land rights.

Incorporating these experiences, Kopenawa actively guided and shaped the filmmaking process. He explains, “We want to show our suffering, but at the same time, we are protected by the nature, the forest, and the xapiri [sacred forest beings].”

Kopenawa’s decades-long fight to save his people has resulted in major gains, including formal recognition of and government protections for the Yanomami’s forest lands in Roraima and Amazonas states, in 1992. In 1999, Brazilian President Fernando Henrique Cardoso honored Kopenawa with the Ordem do Rio Branco for his efforts advocating for the Yanomami people.

However, the protections gained in 1992 have been under constant threat — particularly during Brazil’s recent political climate, which sees rampant deforestation and weakened environmental enforcement.

Dreaming for and of Survival

Dreams hold a central place in Yanomami cosmology, acting as a bridge between the spiritual and physical worlds. Kopenawa asserts that the destruction of the forest disrupts this sacred balance, not just for the Yanomami but for all of humanity.

The documentary’s structure mirrors the Yanomami approach to storytelling, weaving together dream-like imagery, rituals, and the daily rhythms of life in the forest. The result is a work that feels as alive as the environment it depicts, pulsating with the energy of the entire ecosystem in which the Yanomami live.

Kopenawa offers a stark comparison between Yanomami dreamscapes with those of urban dwellers who are disconnected from their inner lives. “The city is full of light and full of things like a lot of partying, a lot of drinks, and then they go to bed at one or two AM,” he comments.

In contrast, the Yanomami respect the need to sleep and dream. He explains, “We have boundaries. We stop everything in order to sleep. Mother Earth sleeps and dreams on our behalf, and this is very important. Often we dream about the future ahead, whereas the people of the city dream about driving a car, riding in a boat, or being a football player. Our dream is different.”

He laments the loss of this connection to nature in industrialized societies.

“The thing is that the white people don’t speak the language of the planet, but they could,” he say, lamenting the loss of connection to nature suffered by industrialized societies. “People who don’t want to dream: I would consider them our enemy, because they are people who don’t actually want real things from life. They are destroyers of the planet, and the only thing they want is money.”

The Yanomami’s struggle is not merely about preserving their land; it’s about the survival of the planet. The Falling Sky carries an urgent message: the destruction of the Amazon is not a distant tragedy but a global crisis.

The film also underscores the power of storytelling as a tool for resistance. Rocha describes the three “pillars” of the film, saying, “The first is to diagnose the catastrophe of the system itself. The second one is to warn that this self-destruction is really advanced. And the third one is to invite the white people beyond and not only to dream about themselves.”

The goal of the film is also to amplify the message of the book on the global stage, not just the United States. Rocha explains, “The film’s desire is actually what Davi’s desire is in his own book, which is to spread the word, maximizing his word for the napë to get conscious about the collapse that the world is about to have between death and life.”

While traveling the international festival circuit with the film, Kopenawa has observed how the film is serving a purpose.

“It’s the acknowledgement that we exist; the acknowledgement of the strength of nature,” he says. “It is something interesting or beautiful that the non-Indigenous people were putting us in front of other people. So we’ve earned the respect that the Yanomami people deserve.”

Quoting Kopenawa, Rocha concludes, “I want the film to be an arrow in everyone’s heart.”

The Falling Sky (A Queda do Céu) Film Trailer

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Misunderstandings of Grief

In the wake of the loss of his wife, Sonny Lee (Jae-Hyun Kim) uproots his family from their home in Korea to the Canadian prairies in search of a fresh start. Hired to help cull the local feral dog population, Sonny takes up arms against the mongrels that plague the surrounding forests – alongside the behemoth of his grief. As he attempts to build a new life without his wife, his son, Hajoon (Da-Nu Nam), and his daughter, Hana (Sein Jin), try to do the same, struggling to adjust to a reality that does not include their mother.

“Lost dogs seeking for a place of belonging, barking to take up space and to let their existence be known: this felt akin to the central family,” Yoo explains.

A key theme throughout Mongrels is the parallel drawn between the Lee family and the wild dogs that Sonny is expected to hunt and execute. The dogs, wandering in the forest, are greatly misunderstood, just as the Lee family misunderstands one another and are unable to recognize the common thread that runs through their individual pain.

Sonny, who masks the pain of his loss beneath a whirlwind of drunken outbursts and isolation from his children, is misinterpreted as a cold and unfeeling father in the eyes of Hajoon and Hana.

“Deep down, [Sonny] holds a powerful love for his children, but he doesn’t know how to express it or connect in the right ways,” Yoo says. “Vulnerability is difficult or seen as weakness for a man born in his generation, so he may feel the need to teach this to his children as well by raising them harsher rather than nurture.”

As Sonny struggles against a simultaneous resistance to and need for vulnerability, Hajoon and Hana wade through the muddy waters of grief in their own ways. Hajoon deflects the ache of the loss and attempts to focus instead on how to better fit into his new life in Canada. Hana, unable to accept that her mother is gone, spends her days making a wish for her return every time a plane flies overhead. The misunderstandings among the family build up, placing them further and further out of one another’s reach.

“I never wrote the film imagining grief would become such a central theme. I understood loss was a mutual experience that the family was undergoing, but wanted to focus more on each character’s unique situations, perspectives, trials and tribulations,” Yoo says. “Later, I realized that grief actually further drives them into their own worlds of isolation, as they all need to cope in different ways apart from one another.”

It isn’t until the film’s end that this period of isolation finally lets up, making way for familial understanding and reconnection. In two intensely vulnerable moments, the pain in Hajoon’s eyes and depth of loss in Hana’s voice help Sonny realize that his children both harbor the same hurt that he had been hauling all on his own. After tirelessly attempting to protect them from the pain as well as protect himself from having to admit the reality of his own, Sonny is finally able to understand his own loss in the context of his children’s, and the three of them are gifted with the relief of knowing they will never have to shoulder that pain alone again.

Strength in Visual Storytelling

Yoo splits this film into three distinct, character-driven chapters, utilizing both narrative and visual storytelling to paint a picture of the Lee family as they reshape their lives around the family’s missing matriarch.

“We wanted to cater the visual language in a way that really, really depicts each character’s perspective,” says Yoo.

Beginning with Sonny’s chapter, the screen is made to feel like a confined box where Sonny grapples with his grief. The walls close in on him as he fails to be the father he knows he needs to be.

“In the first chapter, the aspect ratio is the tightest, and the movement is also very jarring in a handheld way. It’s meant to evoke a feeling of suffocation,” Yoo says.

Like his father, Hajoon struggles to fit into the context of a new world, away from Korea and without his mother. Notably, Sonny’s perspective closes in from the sides of the screen, and Hajoon’s from the top and bottom, indicating the subtle differences in their inward battles, as both cope with the gravity of their losses in their own ways.

In the film’s final chapter, which captures Hana’s perspective, the aspect ratio expands to fill the entirety of the screen. It is a liberating effect after the condensed nature of both Sonny and Hajoon’s chapters.

“Everything’s captured wider to bring in a lot more of the world around her, so that we can see a girl in a natural habitat, with this naive lens of how she looks at the world optimistically,” Yoo explains.

Mongrels‘ toggling of aspect ratios effectively places the audience in the mindframe of each character. The technique is a result of the combined talent of Yoo and Vancouver-based cinematographer Jaryl Lim. Together, the two develop a very strong visual narrative throughout the film.

Notably, Mongrels often takes on a very surreal and atmospheric feeling throughout, with soft colors, blurred edges, and moments of stillness creating a sort of daydream effect. Each chapter has a unique feel to differentiate the character’s individual struggles, but this surreal aspect that underlies the entire film works to unite their separate parts in the same hazy sense of unreality inspired by deep loss.

“The visual language — whether aspect ratio, character focused chapters, and surrealism — was all intentional to paint each character’s unique experiences and world,” Yoo says. “I can only hope that it served each character well and did its job in allowing the audience to connect deeper and intimately with these characters.”

Explorations on Identity

Yoo often centers his works around Korean culture, placing an emphasis on the question of identity in relation to one’s background. Mongrels is no exception, as the characters work to understand their newfound identities as Korean-Canadians – an experience not too different from one that Yoo faced growing up as a member of the Korean diaspora in Canada.

“Growing up, I really wanted to know what it was like to be Korean, or what it would have been like if I grew up in Korea…” Yoo explains. “I’ve just used filmmaking as a vehicle to explore these ideas and thoughts.”

In Mongrels, Yoo takes us through the different manifestations of what embracing a new identity might look like. Sonny doesn’t wish to assimilate at all, Hajoon desperately tries to, and Hana does so without really realizing what’s happening. Each of them presents a different answer to the question of identity, while simultaneously pointing to the fact that there might not really be one right answer. What is clear, though, is that identity is a complex thing, woven deeply within the personal — especially for Yoo, who admits to having embedded much of himself into the heart of this film.

“[There’s] little pieces of me in every single character,” Yoo says. “[I had] the realization that I needed to put something so personal into a film of mine before I can move on to something that’s completely separate.”

Whether one resonates most with the film’s meditations on identity, or comes away with a better understanding of how to parse through the complex emotion of grief, Mongrels holds a lesson for anyone looking to understand how our emotions connect us to one another, and how this connection is one of the most valuable ones we may come by in our lives.

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Khu.éex”s new album, Red Cedar in the Hour of Chaos, is self-professed as “a journey through a world where colonization ever-repeats its’ own chaos and Native people ever-strategize tactical resiliency.” Well-stated! How does “We Pray” fit into this larger concept, and why did you choose this track to be one of the singles?

Sondra Segundo (Vocalist & Singer, Haida): On a road trip home from a gig in Oregon, we discussed which songs to release as singles, and “We Pray” was chosen because our audience has expressed how much they love this song.

Praying is like breathing. Indigenous spirituality is very different from colonial religions and is often misunderstood because it doesn’t fit into a box. We have personal relationships with Creator and Creation. We see the earth as our mama and all forms of life as our siblings… even the flowers and trees. Lately, I personally have been actively trying to imagine and live more in this world without the influences of man-made religions.

Captain Raab (Guitarist & Band Arena Director, Siksika): From my perspective, “We Pray” is about self-care as well as working for the wellness of our relatives, community, world, etc. Colonization attacks our communities, cultures, interconnection, and spirituality in repeating waves. Bison kill-offs became dams, the boarding school system became the child welfare system, crack became fentanyl, rations became cheap bags of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos…

Air Jazz (Rapper & Vocalist, Tlingit): Agreed on both Sondra and Rob’s themes. “We Pray” is a manifestation of our people’s peaceful practice. Breathing. Being one with the cedar while in the midst of drastic change. To be one with the planet.

Can you tell me a little bit about how you all shared the workflow for this music video, since you all filmed it in different places?

Sondra Segundo (Haida): Our guitar player and producer of the “We Pray” music video, Captain Raab, shared his vision for the video and asked us to record ourselves singing our parts with a white background. It took me a few tries. Raab sent me examples of Arias’ [Air Jazz] video, which helped me to get more into character.

Captain Raab (Siksika) I had Sondra and Arias record their lipsynching sections against white backgrounds on their cell phones and send the raw clips over to me through Messenger… Sondra and Arias also provided Haida and Tlingit language translations for me to create segments with (I also used Siksika language in the segment).

Air Jazz (Tlingit): Yes, Raab told me to find a white backdrop for the video, and hilariously, my workplace worked just fine (Ace Hardware). Used a white wall near the exit doors.

What type of footage did you incorporate, and what kind of stylistic ethos did you bring into editing it?

Sondra Segundo (Vocalist & Singer, Haida): I’m in awe at how [Captain Raab] produced the whole video on his Android! I love how his brain works in bringing together all the images and raising awareness and being able to capture our thoughts and experiences as Natives, individuals, and a band.

Captain Raab (Siksika): With the exception of Sondra and Arias’ lip-syncing cellphone clips (which were done on their iPhones), every part of the video was animated, constructed, and edited on my 2018 [Android cellphone] with a free video editing app. I animated a lot of our bassist Preston [Singletary]’s art pieces, compiled photos from studio sessions, shows, and photos from important places to us ranging from Alaska to Oklahoma, and references ranging from Public Enemy to Vine Deloria Jr.

I wanted to take a different approach than we used on our prior music video, and this time focused on use of still photos [or] images (influenced by the beginning credits of “Law & Order” and Spike Lee’s “Clockers”).

We’ve wanted what we do as a group to connect multiple disciplines, and intersect music, language revitalization, reporting what’s happening in our communities, visual art, etc., in a way that reflects the reality that we know.

Some interesting news headlines are incorporated into the music video. How did you decide on those specific themes?

Captain Raab (Siksika): The use of newspaper clips is an homage to classic Public Enemy videos, stylistically. I absorbed Sondra and Arias’ lyrics and started going down rabbit holes of how those themes apply to real world events. That connected with themes like prohibition on cultural and spiritual practices, attacks on freshwater ecosystems, and the fentanyl epidemic we’re in the midst of (which feels like a repeat of the 1980’s crack epidemic and drug war): all things that appear to be in a spinning repeat/re-run.

What are you all praying for in this world of chaos that is right now and to come?

Sondra Segundo (Haida): Pray for wisdom for our leaders, healing for our people, protection for our children, pray we bring honor and love to creation.

Captain Raab (Siksika): People who are trying to stay human, the younger and older generations, those getting trafficked on the I-5 corridor, those trying to get through trauma every day, families dealing with the child welfare system.

Air Jazz (Tlingit): Agreed 100%. I hope the nation sees a rewrite. People put in charge of cracking down on human traffickers, the support systems for all are restored (suicide hotlines, domestic violence hotlines, MMIWG reports), and all people put in power get a real background check. No fraud, no misconduct, no exploitation allowed in a place of government.

Is there anything else you would like to add? Interesting stories or anecdotes about the music video or the album that you would like to share?

Captain Raab (Siksika): Red Cedar In the Hour of Chaos is coming out soon. Its pieces focus on resilience amidst chaos and the role that culture plays in supporting our contemporary resiliency and survival. Cedar survives harsh times with internal rings; we survive chaos with internal scars, and cedar is there for us to lean on, supporting us through it.

It was an interesting experience pushing the limitations of the low-end technology… It was a slow process, and I had to figure out ways to work around the limitations or use them to my advantage. It made me have to think in ways like how early hip-hop producers got around samplers’ limitations on sample time by using sped-up records and then using the sample at half-speed (arriving at the song’s original speed). You learn a lot about yourself through how you respond to limitations and obstacles.

Sondra Segundo (Haida): Raab sent me a soulful guitar riff one day, [over] which I added a simple overdub lyric, “We pray.” I still have that recording and enjoy listening to it. It’s so cool to look back at the root of each song. And I really hope this song brings people as much joy as it has brought me. I’m very thankful to be a part of it all.

Khu.éex’ – “We Pray” Music Video

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BLKNWS: Terms & Conditions

(Kahlil Joseph, 2025, United States, Narrative, 113 minutes, in English)
Sunday, May 18 @ SIFF Cinema Downtown @ 6:30pm
Monday, May 19 @ SIFF Cinema Downtown @ 4:00pm
Not Streaming Virtually

With BLKNWS: Terms & Conditions, indie-legendary filmmaker Kahlil Joseph — originally from Seattle — builds once again upon his BLKNEWS art and film series with a new installment. This time, expect personal family narratives mixed in with non-linear Afrofuturist narratives, and plenty of archival footage.

Director Kahlil Joseph scheduled to attend.

Deaf

(Eva Libertad, 2025, Spain, Narrative, 99 minutes, in Spanish)
Saturday, May 17: SIFF Cinema Uptown @ 5:00pm
Sunday, May 18: SIFF Cinema Uptown @ 3:00pm
Monday, May 26 to Sunday, June 1: Streaming Virtually

High-stakes drama becomes the norm after a couple in love bears a daughter and discovers that her presence raises tensions between their differing sensory realities, given the fact that the wife is Deaf and the husband is hearing. When the truth is confirmed that their daughter has the ability to hear, both parents must navigate the difficulties of how that relates to how they will raise their daughter as well as how each of them will relate to her.

Free Leonard Peltier

(Jesse Short Bull [Oglala Sioux] & David France, United States, 2025, Documentary, 110 minutes, in English)
Saturday, May 17: SIFF Cinema Uptown @ 8:30pm
Sunday, May 18: SIFF Cinema Uptown @ 11:15am
Monday, May 26 to Sunday, June 1: Streaming Virtually

With President Joe Biden’s recent presidential pardon of Indigenous activist Leonard Peltier, Free Leonard Peltier, though clearly long in the works, suddenly became primetime viewing material. Peltier, who was involved with the American Indian Movement (AIM), was sentenced to two consecutive life sentences after he was accused of shooting two FBI agents on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation in South Dakota. The tale of his eventual liberation and the fight leading up to it is all the more potent, given the role of AIM in the Seattle area, which eventually led to the current-day formation of Daybreak Star Indian Cultural Center.

Producer Jhane Myers scheduled to attend.

Hanami

(Denise Fernandes, 2024, Switzerland, Narrative, 96 minutes, in Cape Verdean Creole, English, Japanese, and French)
Friday, May 16: SIFF Cinema Uptown @ 3:30pm
Wednesday, May 21: SIFF Cinema Uptown @ 9:00pm
Not Streaming Virtually

Hanami is a visual delight set on a beautiful volcanic landscape, where nature is a character and the residents are heart-filled. Presented in a format that at times feels rooted in reality and at times feels like one has stepped into a tableau from a Solange video, Hanami tells the story of Nana, whose mother left her shortly after birth. As she grows up, Nana must decide whether she wants to stay on the island of Cape Verde, where opportunities are few and many that she knows emigrate for opportunity.

Khartoum

(Anas Saeed, Rawia Alhag, Brahim Snoopy, Timeea Mohamed Ahmed, Phil Cox, 2025, Sudan, Documentary, 80 minutes, in Arabic)
Monday, May 19: AMC Pacific Place @ 9:30pm
Wednesday, May 21: AMC Pacific Place @ 1:30pm
Not Streaming Virtually

Sudan: land of beauty, culture, and ongoing pains from the Sudanese Civil War. Khartoum, named after the major city of the same name in which much conflict has taken place, is a documentary that brutally and honestly reflects on the stories of five survivors and uses greenscreen technologies to reenact some of their memories while juxtaposing those memories with real-life footage.

Luz

(Flora Lau, 2025, Hong Kong, Narrative, 102 minutes, in Mandarin, French, and English)
Tuesday, May 20: SIFF Cinema Uptown @ 1:00pm
Thursday, May 22: AMC Pacific Place @ 6:30pm
Not Streaming Virtually

A truly bold vision that crosses continents and languages with ease, Luz uses the backdrop of a massive multiplayer game to connect two pairs of disparate, disconnected family members with one another. In China, a father attempts to reconnect with his camgirl daughter; in Hong Kong, a gallery owner tries to reach out to her distant stepmother in France. Along the way, viewers step in and out of virtual worlds into shiny cityscapes, in awe every step of the way by director Flora Lau’s expansive vision of future technologies.

Mongrels

(Jerome Yoo, 2024, Canada, Narrative, 110 minutes, in English and Korean)
Friday, May 16: SIFF CInema Uptown @ 8:30pm
Saturday, May 17: AMC Pacific Place @ 10:45am
Not Streaming Virtually

In Korean-Canadian filmmaker Jerome Yoo’s debut narrative feature film, Mongrels, Yoo depicts a family attempting to put back the pieces of their broken lives. Building invisible walls between one another, the Lee family’s desperate need for connection battles with the isolating effect of grief, which results in this spiraling tale that explores the depth and impact of love, loss, and, eventually, hope.

“I never wrote the film imagining grief would become such a central theme. I understood loss was a mutual experience that the family was undergoing, but wanted to focus more on each character’s unique situations, perspectives, trials and tribulations,” Yoo says, in an interview he did with Anna Brunner for REDEFINE magazine. “Later, I realized that grief actually further drives them into their own worlds of isolation, as they all need to cope in different ways apart from one another.”

Director Jerome Yoo scheduled to attend.

Remaining Native

(Paige Bethmann [Haudenosaunee], 2025, United States, Documentary, 87 minutes, in English)
Saturday, May 17: SIFF Cinema Uptown @ 2:30pm
Monday, May 18: SIFF Cinema Uptown @ 5:00pm
Monday, May 26 to Sunday, June 1: Streaming Virtually

Ku Stevens, an aspiring Paiute runner, desires to pursue his love for the sport but must contend with the reality that his beloved hometown may not hold the future that he desires. Along the way, his family and community support him despite their own struggles with Ku’s dreams of leaving. Remaining Native uses plenty of Ku’s own reflections to tell his own story of growth, but also makes front and center the harmful legacy of Native American boarding schools through the story of Ku’s grandfather, who had escaped from running away from them three times.

Director Paige Bethmann, producer Jessica Epstein, subject Ku Stevens, and executive producer Billy Mills (Olympic Gold Medalist) scheduled to attend.

Sons

(Gustav Möller, 2024, Denmark, Narrative, 99 minutes, in Danish)
Friday, May 23: SIFF Cinema Uptown @ 9:15pm
Sunday, May 25: SIFF Cinema Downtown @ 1:45pm
Not Streaming Virtually

After a seemingly kind female prison guard asks to be transferred to a maximum-security prison, one learns that she has positioned herself there to confront a young man from her past. Sons looks at the multiple sides of humanity — or lack thereof — from within prison walls, in a gripping, bitterly petty manner.

Sudden Outbursts of Emotions

(Paula Korva, 2024, Finland, Narrative, 97 minutes, in Finnish)
Sunday, May 18: SIFF Cinema Uptown @ 8:00pm
Monday, May 19: SIFF Cinema Uptown @ 3:30pm
Not Streaming Virtually

A realistic look into the life of a Finnish couple that becomes interested in opening up their relationship, Sudden Outbursts of Emotions is about the unpredictability of interpersonal dynamics once potential new romances are introduced into the mix. Playful, painful, and all of the above, the film certainly doesn’t have place judgments or have any answers — but it certainly captures an extended moment that many couples are facing in the modern age.

Writer/Director Paula Korva scheduled to attend.

The Things You Kill

(Alireza Khatami, 2025, Canada, Narrative, 113 minutes, in Turkish)
Sunday, May 18: SIFF Cinema Uptown @ 8:00pm
Monday, May 19: SIFF Cinema Uptown @ 3:30pm
Not Streaming Virtually

A dramatic psychological thriller set in Turkey, The Things You Kill is hair-raising, violent, and shows a family struggling to deal with an unexpected tragedy. When answers are distant, secrets are buried, and some would rather not know the truth, the line blurs easily between fiction and reality.

Tinā

(Miki Magasiva [Samoan], 2024, Aotearoa New Zealand, 124 minutes, in English)
Sunday, May 18: SIFF Cinema Uptown @ 2:30pm
Monday, May 19: SIFF Cinema Uptown @ 6:00pm
Not Streaming Virtually

A feel-good tale about a Samoan teacher who finds meaning in starting a choir at a school full of rich kids that come from a different world of New Zealand, Tinā exemplifies the power of culture and of art, when merged together in authentic but unpredictable ways.

Unclickable

Babis Makridis, 2024, Greece, Documentary, 74 minutes, in English and Portuguese)
Sunday, May 18: SIFF Cinema Uptown @ 2:30pm
Monday, May 19: SIFF Cinema Uptown @ 6:00pm
Not Streaming Virtually

Digital advertising fraud is something that has undoubtedly touched everyone’s lives, but few know or pay attention to how the “industry” works. Unclickable is a documentary that dives deep into the web, social media platforms such as Google and Facebook, and the millions or billions of dollars that drives it all. Most interestingly, the filmmakers take it upon themselves to make their own fraudulent networks in order to drive the story forward.

Director Miki Magasiva and subject Beulah Koale scheduled to attend.

Waves

(Jiří Mádl, 2024, Czech Republic, Narrative, 131 minutes, in Czech)
Wednesday, May 21: Shoreline Community College @ 8:30pm
Saturday, May 24: SIFF Cinema Downtown @ 9:00pm
Monday, May 26 to Sunday, June 1: Streaming Virtually (in WA State Only)

With freedom of press increasingly under threat throughout the world, Waves dramatically shows what happens in Czechoslovakia in 1967 when Soviets decide to attempt to censor the country’s most well-known radio station. What emerges are a series of personal decisions that get to the heart of how humanity might behave when under personal and collective threats.

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