MWFF 2021 FESTIVAL DIARY: PART 1
by Jessica Zheng
Panel: The Future of Screen Work
Although I am based on Gadigal land in Sydney, the trip to the Melbourne Women in Film Festival’s Panel, ‘The Future of Screen Work’, lasted a matter of seconds. Held on Zoom, the Panel heard insights from moderator Denise Eriksen (Co-Founder of Media Mentors) and panellists Rachel Okine (Managing Director of Aquarius Films), Jenevieve Chang (Development Executive at Screen Australia) and Ineke Majoor (VFX Producer at Method Studios). With such a colourful medley of roles that the panellists inhabit in the screen industry, the thrust of the discussion – the evolving mechanics of the screen industry, as well as how to forge a path in it going forward – naturally led to a lively wellspring of observations and ideas.
The topic of ‘the future of screen work’ began in more familiar territory – namely, the past. As each panellist shared their experiences and respective career paths, what became immediately clear was that abstracted ‘path’ in the screen industry had much elasticity to it, with the panellists having started out in teaching, performing, and temping outside the screen industry. Interestingly, all three panellists corroborated the essential, unglamorous work of junior positions; the need to put oneself ‘out there’ and prove oneself. Somewhat hard to hear in mid-pandemic circumstances, the panellists’ career paths also reflected the value of travel, particularly when overseas experience is brought back to the Australian roost.
Of course, this prompted the topic of how to enter an already evolving screen industry that was currently being affected by COVID-19. It was pointed out by the panellists that the situation was ambivalent – aside from certain obvious physical limitations, Okine also considered that certain opportunities (especially in relation to the funding of feature films) had already shrunk in the last couple of years, but that COVID was unfortunately shrinking opportunities further. On the other hand, the heightened interest in overseas productions seeking out locations for filming in Australia (with many mentions of Marvel on this front) provided a silver lining. As Majoor emphasised, these productions require a range of work to support them, and thus it may well be said that opportunities to work on the ground were expanding. One particularly significant point was the criticality of the virtual world in moulding the future of the screen industry – not only from a logistical standpoint, where studios can operate remotely, but also from a creative standpoint, with Eriksen mentioning the possibilities in ‘virtual filmmaking’.
Still, with such uncertainty in mind, there remain tactics for navigating into the screen industry. With physical distance the norm, leaning upon social networks has gained particular importance. Okine also attested to the merit of the occasional, politely worded cold email sent to an executive of an organisation of specific interest. Moreover, even in times of uncertainty, there were mainstay tactics that had not been throttled by the industry’s development. In an industry that is strongly relationship-driven, one was the value of finding a champion – someone to help activate and expand your networks. Above all, however, Chang noted the unmatchable significance of making stuff, not only as a matter of self-development but also as a matter of self-representation and having a ‘calling card’ that can be pointed to. Even with the physical restrictions imposed by the pandemic, there is no curb on creativity.
Art, Life & The Future: Documentary Shorts
To this, the Festival’s ‘Art, Life & The Future: Documentary Shorts’ answer the call of creativity. With curdled pain and sanguine optimism, they fossilise the prevailing capacity for making art of our surroundings.
Two films, Marie Thong’s Keeping Time and Sofie McClure’s 19, take the unprecedented warp in life during lockdown as their subject, bearing its fruits of grief and cautious faith alike – a curious, but now familiar, blend. In Keeping Time, Thong puts forth a compelling tableau of everyday life that strings together the rituals of lockdown: the trials of home cooking, reading in dappled afternoon shade, hot tea. Small bliss. Certainly, these are moments of a particular privilege, but if they are so available, Keeping Time is an ode to their momentousness in a period of mundanity. 19 proffers a similar thesis with an international ambit, featuring a bricolage of recordings from six different countries in lockdown. It captures the changed rhythms of the day that resonate with international tenderness. One particularly fascinating series of shots layers footage atop of one another, making perceptible the change in the rhythms of the day where walking matches a vehicular pace. Riding on the coattails of verity, these are not sights unseen or sounds unheard but rather, a looking glass into the painfully known – from the specific terrors of online learning to the abstracted swells of uncertainty as to the future. Keeping Time and 19 swim in the sludge of emotional confusion that defines lockdown, and pick from it slivers of hushed, unadorned splendour.
It is perhaps worth noting that though these films feature people apart, the very fact of their existence demonstrates how community is forged in alternative spaces – namely, the virtual space. Whilst it is in the gauntlet of virtuality that these connections are forged in Keeping Time and 19, the more sinister underbelly of this space is carefully prodded at in Kristina Kraskov’s mysterious The King of Frankston. Kraskov’s mysterious documentary unpicks the local legend of the Melbournian suburb of Frankston. Despite being popularly titled the eponymous ‘King of Frankston’, even his name is not known with certainty – he’s Jacob or Joseph, Brendan or ‘Mr Hot Pants’. Seamlessly interlacing the physical and virtual spaces, The King of Frankston takes an eccentric legend as its conduit for electrifying a surprisingly dark interrogation into how social media configures our notion of reality.
Perhaps the most curious phenomenon of watching the documentary shorts, however, was the incredible sense of nostalgia that bubbled to the fore of those films that were not directed towards the current pandemic at all. From a family gathering at Christmas in Gianni Aro-Reid’s Koro’s Hāngi to the more idiosyncratic act of cutting of another person’s hair for a doll in Kerri Roggio’s Edith Gibson has 3000 Dolls, glimpses of human connection on screen possess a novelty that is newfound and nostalgic. These documentaries evoke the many ways in which we have created rituals for ourselves that demand community. Watching these documentaries is a stinging reminder of what has been lost in the pandemic, from the most casual exchanges to time-honoured traditions. More painfully still, as Rendah Haj’s Hayat shows with quiet profundity, it is the resulting sense of disconnect that had already marred the lifeways of immigrant households. Together, these films paint portraits of human connection with delicate sensitivity and a powerful sense of restraint, allowing their subjects to present their stories without gaudy embellishment or limiting bridles.
In all, it was a great honour to be able to view this year’s documentary shorts. The illuminating work in the documentary medium evidences that if there is something certain to be known from these very much uncertain times, it is this: that there will always be an impulse to make art of our surroundings, to document in roving detail its labours and loves, and to share it with spirited enthusiasm.
Art, Life & the Future: Documentary Shorts is available to watch 17th-24th February via ACMI Cinema 3 in the Art, Life & the Future bundle. Tickets here.