Illustration by Ashley Floréal
In Zacharias Kunuk’s cinematic world, gigantic trolls snatch children off the frozen Arctic tundra, evil shamans manipulate the fates of innocents and romantic passions run as deep as the 24-hour daylight burns bright. Filmed on location in Igloolik, Nunavut, the Canadian filmmaker’s bold new fantasy Uiksaringitara (Wrong Husband) traces the arranged marriage of Kaujak (Theresia Kappianaq) and Sapa (Haiden Angutimarik), a potential union which slowly turns into a nightmarish odyssey of jealousy, death and the ineffable whims of the spiritual world – all set centuries ago, in 2000 BC.
The feature, which will enjoy its world premiere at the Berlinale film festival this weekend, marks Kunuk’s latest experimentation in form and genre almost a quarter-century after the director burst onto the international cinema scene with 2001’s Atanarjuat: The Fast Runner, widely considered to be one of the best Canadian films ever made. Ahead of Uiksaringitara’s Berlin premiere, Kunuk spoke with The Globe and Mail from his office in Igloolik about a career that is still breaking ground.
This project developed out of a conversation you had with elders 15 years ago, in 2007. What was the development process like?
When I have a story that I want to film, I get elders to talk with me for about a week. This story, arranged marriages were around when I was born, but they’re not followed any more. So I got elders who went through the system. But then, when I got the story, there was something missing. I asked myself, “Why are the characters doing this?” So that’s when we got the shamans involved, and I started playing with the good spirit, the bad spirit and the troll. I remember hearing that story when I was growing up – don’t wander too far from the camp or the troll will get you. [Laughs]
You shot this film during 24-hour daylight. What kind of challenges did that present?
The sun is low in the night, at like 2 o’clock in the morning – it’s beautiful. So we’re shooting then, and the advantage is that it’s just right, and we can take advantage of that.
You wrote this film with Samuel Cohn-Cousineau, son of your long-time producing partner, Norman Cohn. What is that generational connection like between the two of your families?
Sam is actually named after my late brother, so I call him brother. When we made Atanarjuat, he was six years old, just a naughty little kid. He grew up after his family left to Montreal, but we kept in contact. And now we’re working together, and he’s growing up to be a producer.
Because of where it is that you work, your cast is mostly newcomers – they’ve never acted before. Is there a benefit to working with untested performers – the opportunity to craft their first chance at acting?
When we were casting for Atanarjuat, I did an open casting – I thought maybe, I’ll get one or two to show up, and I wouldn’t have that much choice. But then I put the call out on our local radio station, and 30 young men showed up. So after Atanarjuat, children saw the film and saw what we could do, and we had more young people interested and encouraged. People want to act. I mean, we’re trying to show our culture. That’s the main thing. We’re trying to show our culture, and how it was before we all got influenced with iPhones. And it’s fun.
Over the past two decades since you’ve made Atanarjuat, have you found it easier to make your films the way you want to make them and where you want to make them, perhaps with the advent of technology?
I could say that it’s been easier, but every time you make a film, it’s a big challenge. And we’re getting old. We have so many stories out there that we haven’t made yet, all the ones that we heard as children.
You’ve said that you hope that this new film inspires a new generation of artists and filmmakers in the North. How optimistic are you about just who will come after you – who will carry on your legacy?
In my area, we have these stories that we’ve been trying to produce, but there are other regions, different dialects, that I’m not going to touch. I’m the typical kind of director where I don’t want to have too many different dialects in my movie, I’ll just stick with one. But there are others with different dialects, different ways of doing things, different shamans and different shaman stories, too. I hope that there are others who will tell their stories.
There are the technical and logistical challenges that come with filming in the North, but how has the landscape changed in terms of resources? Since the launch of the Indigenous Screen Office in 2015, have you found that the funds are easier to come by?
My producers would have a better answer for you [laughs]. But the screen office helps, and there are a lot of Aboriginal people dipping into that pool. Whenever you make a film, you want to make a big splash. You try to get into festivals. You try to get into bigger festivals. But I’ve never thought about the money much more than just making a film. Before you get the money, you have to have a good story to put that money into. I just wanted to make films so that people could see our culture. That is what we are trying to do.
This interview has been edited and condensed.
Uiksaringitara (Wrong Husband) makes its world premiere at the Berlinale on Sunday.
