Elle-Máijá Tailfeathers and Kathleen Hepburn’s 2019 movie The Body Remembers When the World Broke Open begins with Áila, a white-Blackfoot woman, encountering a Kwakwakaʼwakw teenager named Rosie. Rosie’s clothes are tattered, her feet bare, and her right cheek bruised. This scene exemplifies an emerging framework in contemporary filmmaking: centering on the lived experiences of Indigenous women.

Despite the strong influence of Indigenous cinema in Canadian filmmaking, stories of socially displaced Indigenous women remain fragmented throughout history. Indigenous women are disproportionately affected by physical and sexual violence, with nearly six in 10 experiencing physical abuse, and half reported in sexual assault cases. While Indigenous cinema has a storied history of addressing the disparities between Indigenous communities and the social systems that perpetuate their marginalization, the releases of The Body Remembers and Sonia Boileau’s Rustic Oracle (2019) mark a pivotal moment for women filmmakers to share their unique perspectives on these issues.

Class, race, and belonging in The Body Remembers

The Body Remembers centres on two complete strangers separated by socio-economic circumstances. To Rosie, Áila represents a symbol of class and racial disparity. Áila insists on sheltering Rosie at a safe house on Pandora Street — its name is a purposeful reference to the Greek word for ‘gift’ — but Rosie perceives this gesture of goodwill as a kind of social insensitivity that she fears permeates all such institutions. Having spent her life searching for belonging, Rosie views her placement in a safe house as a threat to the little agency she has left. 

The Body Remembers lacks a traditional soundtrack, instead sparingly using diegetic music to create a distinct social world for Rosie to retreat into amidst her hardship. For instance, Rosie uses Áila’s record player to drown out Áila’s constant phone calls to the safe house. 

A song’s reference to “signing papers in your family name” takes on new meaning as Rosie’s perception of Áila fluctuates. When they console each other over their shared experience of being reduced to their reproductive potential in a patriarchal social landscape, Rosie fabricates a story, presenting Áila as her biological sister in rehab while speaking to a cab driver. When Áila chastises Rosie for selling off her antidepressants for drug money, Rosie renounces Áila as a “dumb white bitch.” The filmmakers emphasize that Áila can never truly understand the unique circumstances faced by someone of Rosie’s status. Though Áila is partially Indigenous, her whiteness transcends identity, functioning as a marker of privilege. 

On systematic neglect

In Boileau’s Rustic Oracle, Ivy and Suzie —a Mohawk child and mother, respectively— navigate a morally uncertain landscape following the disappearance of Ivy’s older sister, Heather. The reserve’s police are incompetent and unwilling to engage with anyone connected to the case, merely repeating the uncertainty of Heather’s whereabouts, much to Suzie’s frustration. Even in Québec, the police officers’ social prejudice looms over the pair as one officer jokes that he “doesn’t speak Indian.” Ivy relives nightmares of her sister’s captor, an unscrupulous smuggler who hires vulnerable Indigenous girls for prostitution. Civilians cover Heather’s search posters with advertisements, and the bulletin board of missing persons at Ottawa’s station barely acknowledges people of colour, let alone Indigenous people. 

Conversely, Ivy’s recollection of details unbeknownst to Suzie — such as the colour of Heather’s clothing when she was last seen, or the fact that all of the perpetrator’s accomplices had matching snake-shaped tattoos — highlights the authorities’ indifference. This serves as a critique not only of the police but also of society’s conscious refusal to act when Indigenous lives are at stake. 

A critique of apathy

The Body Remembers exposes a harsh truth about Indigenous women living in hostile domestic environments. The shelter’s staff prioritize the safety of Rosie’s baby over her guardianship, reflecting the saviour complex of white-dominated social services in their treatment of racialized children. Rosie rejects their hospitality, believing being close to her baby is more important than allowing others to impose a new identity onto them. Heather is never reunited with Ivy and Suzie, becoming one of over 4,000 Indigenous women lost to such incidents over the past 40 years. However, Suzie and Ivy’s joint effort leads to the recovery of numerous other victims, as the police maintain their complacency. 

As an adult, Ivy currently takes pride in her daughter inheriting her mother’s indomitable spirit and her sister’s compassion. Both films refrain from sanitizing the burden placed on these characters, acknowledging their subjection to the reality of whether reclaiming their agency is an uphill battle. However, their deliberately ambiguous endings celebrate female Indigeneity, leaving the proverbial door open for Rosie to find her way back into the shelter, and for Heather to be reunited with her family. 

The filmmakers in these narratives urge us to examine our privilege and set it aside as we recognize the shared human experience with those who lack such privilege. Furthermore, they encourage conversations about how the more fortunate can reprioritize the doubly marginalized, challenging us to move from “if” to “now” in responding to persistent calls to action.