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La Cartomancie de Territoire (Foretelling the Land) is a documentary that is one part video essay in contrast to images of the natural landscape of First Nation reservations, as the documentary interviews members of the First Nations as they try to reconcile with the past and look towards their future. This is what makes this documentary powerful and poetic at the same time, with an emotional grip that will hold the audience. Arising from several stays in First Nations and Inuit communities, the film examines our connection to both Indigenous and natural reserves, exploring themes of colonization, land and thought. Through testimonies gathered during a long, snow-covered road trip, La cartomancie du territoire (Foretelling the Land) raises a fundamental question: how can the history of First Nations help us reinvent our paradigms, as individuals and as a society, in light of the responsibilities we bear toward our land and shared destiny?

Remi from At The Movies had a chance to chat with film director Philippe Ducros about his documentary.

Remi: Thank you for your time today, and congratulations on the movie. I guess we can start at the beginning. What pushed you or inspired you in your life to get started on this documentary project, and how did you envision it at the beginning? Was it the same vision you wanted to get at the very end, or did you discover something more?

Philippe Ducros: We live in Quebec on plundered land. The First Nations and Inuit live in third-world conditions in this Canada that is cited as an example of human rights. And the ethnocide is almost complete. We French Quebeckers, descendants of settlers who were in turn conquered, take refuge in a narrative of victim identity. We tell ourselves that others perpetrated the massacres, in another era. But what is the situation today, with this cultural and economic pillaging of the First Peoples? With this violence? 

Systemic racism is rife in Quebec and unfortunately, its repercussions often prove fatal. For reconciliation to be possible, these truths must be unearthed and exposed. I felt the need for some introspection about the heritage we carry.

I am a playwriter. I had done a whole cycle around the occupation of Palestine for which I travelled to the region on six different occasions, including three trips to Israel and occupied Palestine. I did another one on the implications of the mining industry in the conflict in the Democratic Republic of Congo, the conflict with the highest death rate since WW2. Again to write, I climbed aboard a UN flight to the war zone in eastern Congo.

I had written about colonialism. For my work to be honest, I had to look at the colonialism made on the land where I live, Québec.

So I did the same. I went to visit certain First Nations communities in Quebec, just as I had done in occupied Palestine, Israel, the Democratic Republic of Congo and elsewhere for my other projects. Foretelling the Land (La cartomancie du territoire) is the result of this research. Composed of testimonies by Indigenous people and texts ranging from intimate thoughts to geopolitical reflections, it takes the form of a road trip on routes 132 and 138, which border the St. Lawrence River.

I had no perceived ideas on how things would turn out… When in Palestine or Israel, or in Congo, as a Canadian, I have an image of neutrality. Obviously, it is a lie, there is a bird sanctuary called The Stephen J. Harper Hula Valley Bird Sanctuary Visitor & Education Centre. We are not neutral. But we still carry the peaceful good country image of Canada. That is not possible in the First Nation communities. I am not the pedophile priest of the residential school. But the system of oppression built by them still favours me. So some doors remained closed, but others opened.

The issues addressed in the movie are delicate and fragile. Numerous ethical challenges marked the creation of this project and dictated its form. Putting myself at the heart of this journey allows me to situate my position: I am a white man seeking another way to see the world, a way that flows out of the land we live on. I am not a member of a First Nation, but colonization is a trademark of my culture. This is not a film about the First Nations, rather, it is about the colonialism specific to Western culture. It is a work of introspection that I believe is necessary.

The script was written following continuous work in various communities, based on respect and with the desire to listen. The text, taken from testimonies, was read and approved by the people interviewed. The result is a film with a mixed aesthetic, influenced by these cultural exchanges. It conveys a desire for contemplation and places emphasis on oral traditions, including an Indigenous language, presents the land as a character in its own right, shows the journey of the author as he seeks to understand and listen, and above all, ensures the presence of First Nations artists within the production team.

Remi: This documentary highlights some of the beauties of the natural landscape but also how barren some of the land has become, juxtaposed to interviews that can be seen as a video essay component that becomes very powerful and the emotional centre point of the film. Explain to us how both through the filming of the natural landscapes and the emotional testimonies as the video essay component create the voice or the dialogue of the film. Do you want audiences to have this same dialogue and in the hopes get emotionally invested in the film?

Philippe Ducros: In various encounters in the communities, while writing the scenario, many residential school survivors told me that healing would require a return to the land and a reappropriation of their language. Through their words, through the vision of the world and the imagination that they carry, and through the traditions linked to the land, dignity takes on new life and meaning. It gives shape to the very identity of these nations. The land and the language therefore serve as an axis for the aesthetics of the film.

Always in the foreground, the images of the land immerse the spectators in the northern landscape, allowing us to see the land as a character in its own right. The words are largely delivered in voice-over, in introspective mode. It thus serves as a powerful counterweight to the contemplative aspect of the images: we follow the interior journey of the character, who is tiny in the immensity of the land.

I wanted the land to become a character in itself; I wanted to see what it had to say on its own. There are not a lot of Indigenous people in the images of this land; it is to the image of the reality. Genocide has occurred. But they remain… They survived. So they are there in flesh and dignity at the very end.

Remi: As this documentary was started in 2015 do you feel that there is still a long way to go for the reconciliation towards the First Nations and their communities? If so must steps must we take and what do you feel that we should do on an environmental level to protect the land of the reservations?

Philippe Ducros: We talked a lot about the Truth and Reconciliation Commission… But before there is reconciliation, truth has to be common knowledge shared between all Canadians. Yet we are not there. The Canadian Liberal government admitted systemic racism. But didn’t do much… There are more than 600 First Nations communities in Canada, and around 200 of them still have problems accessing drinkable water.

As for the land, the same government purchased the Trans Mountain pipeline for $4.7 billion, even though it runs through unceded Indigenous land, even though we need a radical shift in our relationship with fossil energy. The whole country’s economy is built of laws still rooted in the dominion, all favouring extraction. We have this illusion that the country is an ocean of trees that goes endlessly. But it's really an industrial worksite, right up to the 52nd parallel. And again, Canada is a legal haven for the mining industry in the same way some countries are tax havens. Alain Deneault wrote tons about this.

Remi: Our show highlights the scores and the soundtracks to cinema. What was the process like of collaborating with Florent Vollant and Larsen Lupin when it came to the score and or soundtrack to the film?

Philippe Ducros: Florent composed the music for the documentary Le temps d’une chasse directed by Eli Laliberté, our DOP, except for the last music, « Nenantuapmanan », written by Florent Vollant and André Lachance (featuring Shauit). Larsen Lupin had access to all the tracks, of all the different instruments, and moved them around to fit the images.

Remi: Thank you so much for your time today. Our final question is since we are nearing the end of the year which film have you seen this year that has left an emotional impact on your life, new or old, that you must tell everyone to seek out?

Philippe Ducros: The first film that comes to my mind is The salt of the Earth by Wim Wenders and Juliano Ribeiro Salgado around the works of Salgado's father, the Brazilian photographer Sebastião Salgado. Salgado is an incredible artist. And as I did, he struck a wall in the Great Lake’s region of Africa. Him it was Rwanda, me Congo. But He managed to change his life to overcome this breakdown, transforming land into hope. I don't want to spoil the end but it is just fabulous.

Upcoming special English-language screening:

·         Cinéma du Musée – Montreal: December 6 (7:00 PM)
This screening includes subtitles for an English-speaking audience, offering a wider public the chance to experience this deeply resonant and essential film. The screening will be followed by a Q&A session with the director, Philippe Ducros.

Upcoming screenings in the original French version:

·         Cinéma Public – Montreal: November 24 (1:00 PM), November 29 (4:00 PM)

·         Cinéma du Musée – Montreal: Starting December 7

·         Cinéma Moderne – Montreal: December 7 (4:30 PM)

·         La maison du cinéma – Sherbrooke: December 15 (12:30 PM)

Further screenings to be announced soon.

Zoe, DJ and host of Something for the Mood, sat down for the show's first-ever interview with Montreal-based indie-jazz artist Jonah Yano. The two discuss touring, inspirations for his latest record Jonah Yano and the Heavy Loop, Morgan Wallen, and more. Yano is playing La Sala Rossa Wednesday, December 4th. 

Zoe is the host of Something for the Mood, Wednesdays 2pm-3pm on CJLO 1690AM

Have you ever had an experience that felt like a higher power pushing you towards something? Around a year ago, while walking down Rue St. Denis in a truly horrendous snowstorm, I was treated to a wonderful experience, which I now think can only be described as fate. As I walked past the bustling subterranean mecca that is Bar L’Escogriffe, a call came out to me: “Hey you! Do you like The Strokes?” Standing in the dark doorway of L’Esco was a group of 5, bundled to holy hell, beckoning me to come over to them. “There’s a Strokes cover band playing in 5 minutes, and our friend can’t make it. Do you want to take his ticket?” A free concert, and a chance to escape the slushy mess of St Denis? How could anyone possibly say no? I do believe this moment was fate, as it led me to discover Ontario’s premiere Strokes cover band, The Brokes, a group of guys who, in their words, have “accidentally stumbled upon greatness.” And I for one couldn't agree more.

Now, as I sit in the green room of Foufounes Electroniques, I am reminded of that first L’Esco show; heartier moshpits than I’ve seen at some punk shows, a triple encore, and an intense commitment to nailing the source material are all now components of your average Brokes show. While I can proudly confirm that Montreal shows up for the band like few other cities, more and more stops seem to be bringing the ruckus to The Brokes. This absolutely irks me, and it’s something that The Brokes have had to mull over themselves. “I think it's because it validates something in Strokes heads,” says guitarist Tony Traub, taking a break from plucking Strokes riffs on his white Stratocaster to answer my question. “It just shows that [the music] is a thing, and it’s worth paying respect to, and these guys spent the time to do it.” “It’s less of a show and more of a celebration of The Strokes and their aesthetic, and we can be a kind of conduit for that celebration” chimes in singer Marlon Chaplin, mounted atop a window sill in a very Julian Casablancas-esque pose. It also doesn’t hurt that the band plays Strokes songs the band themselves has never played live before. “Blur your eyes a little and you can say you saw The Strokes do “Happy Ending” encourages Chaplin, garnering a laugh from everyone.

It can however be a little tricky to please a crowd of die-hard Strokes fans, who show up toting decades-old merch, and even a few tattoos. “The whole point of [the audience] coming to see us is for them to hear the parts played perfectly,” says guitarist-turned-bassist Dan Bedard. “People will actively sing the parts out to us, so they have to be spot on.” This is no exaggeration either, as even over the sound of 4 instrumentalists packed onto the Foufounes stage, one can clearly hear 200 half-drunk Quebecois scream out the opening riff to “Reptilia”. Thankfully, The Brokes seem wholeheartedly unaffected by this pressure, proudly claiming to have 54 Strokes jams perfected under their belt. While fans herald this dedication to source material, it’s garnered the attention of some pretty big names as well, with the most prominent being Gordon Raphael, producer for both Is This It and Room On Fire. “He said it was weird seeing how much attention we paid to these little idiosyncrasies on the record, these little moments of feedback, or a guitar hit, that were never planned,” says Chaplin, with a hint of pride. 

While there’s no official confirmation of recognition from any Strokes members, most Brokes fans seem to think it's only a matter of time. “I can see why they wouldn’t want to come to a show,” Chaplin states, “but so many things have happened with this band that really none of us foresaw.” This statement seems to be mirrored by the rest of the band, and really by most Brokes fans themselves. “We originally were only ever meant to play a Halloween show in Toronto” recounts Bedard, “Then there were two, and those both sold out, and then it was one out of town, and then we went to the states, and it all kind of snowballed.” “Snowballing, really,” adds guitarist Brandon Wall. “We didn't have the New York Times on our radar a year ago, but here we are” (In reference to their piece in the NYT from back in July). Where the snowball stops rolling, nobody really knows, says drummer Connor MacArthur. “We seem to be doing this at the right time, with the right spirit and organization,” he says, going on to recount how, in combination with TicketMaster “ruining the market”, The Brokes have come to pass during a perfect storm for cover bands. The trend cycle is quickly brought up by Chaplin, as he states that “even The Strokes themselves are in a bit of a renaissance, with The New Abnormal back in 2020, and the rumours of new music on the horizon. Everything seems to be coming together at a perfect time.” It seems like all The Brokes need are a Yeah Yeah Yeah’s cover band and a Kimya Dawson figure to tour with, and it’s 2001 New York all over again. 

Though, on the floor of Foufounes, it's almost impossible to tell that it isn't. The crowd looks like they’ve been pulled directly from a scene in Meet Me In The Bathroom, only with baggier jeans and newer phones. The excitement in the air is palpable as The Brokes take the stage, and over the next hour and a half, I am subject to a set that any Arlene’s crowd would be jealous of. Barely a song goes by without the audience screaming out lyrics (and guitar lines), and by the end, the moshpit has grown into a hivemind mass, with crowd surfers and stage jumpers to match. An encore comes and goes, egged on by a hearty round of Olé’s and applause. As the crowd begins to pour out, slipping on the beer/sweat-stained floor, I take a second to appreciate what makes The Brokes special, and why I decided to do this piece in the first place: a cover band being this successful, this beloved, is weird. But in a time like now, where the state of the future is worryingly uncertain, why not embrace the weird? Why not embrace The Brokes? I talk a lot about fate in this article, and while it’s not a construct I’d bet my life on, there is a definitive right-place-right-time phenomenon going on with these guys, and I urge you to take part. 

Go catch The Brokes live at The Phoenix in Toronto on Dec. 13th, and take in the spectacle for yourself. There’s magic in the air around this band that one has to experience live, it’s just a little Hard To Explain (sorry, had to).

Sam Kitch is the editor for the CJLO magazine, and the host of I Think You  Might Like This, a high-concept hip-hop showcase on air every Tuesday at 2pm.

Dan Snaith of Dundas, Ontario has been consistently pumping out ever-changing electronic sounds for over twenty years. Under the name Manitoba, he started out making shifty, sample-heavy dance music in the vein of Four Tet’s early work. After a lawsuit in 2005 (from one Richard “Handsome Dick” Manitoba), he took up the pseudonym Caribou and moved towards the indie dance sound he’s now known for. 

His latest record Honey keeps up with the times, turning his sound towards glitzy, almost hyper-pop adjacent vocal bits and fast-paced drumbeats. It marks another step on his way to being a bigger, cleaner artist, a path he has been on since his 2010 album Swim won him all kinds of awards with its sweet minimal dance pop. 

The show was booked for the Olympia Theatre, and with a lineup out the door, I was prepared to share a room with over a thousand people. Inside it was dark and crowded. Irish garage artist Yunè Pinku was opening on stage in front of heavily psychedelic visuals of dark forests full of twisting tree trunks. It was just her alone up there working a sampler and keyboard. The thumping drum lines she sang over brought a flow to her set, unlike most openers I’ve seen. Her set was astonishingly short as well, hardly giving everybody enough time to show up and start dancing. Only the very front rows had started to move their bodies, I hoped there’d be more dancing to come.

The demographic at the show was one of the most varied I’d ever seen. The people who’d followed Dan’s music since the early days are parents now, and many families with kids lined the crowd’s contour. There were also several groups of younger folks, much more down to dance, spread out evenly across the large, terraced floor. The Olympia is a venue that is hostile to dancing, as most of the floor consists of large stairs downwards to the stage. The chance of tripping and creating a human domino catastrophe was higher than anywhere else in the city. My hopes for a boogie night were shrinking. 

The main act stepped out and I was positively surprised to see more than one person. Caribou tours with a band providing live electric drums, bass and guitar over Dan’s synth pads and vocals. The light shows onstage made me feel like a kid in a candy store. The constant minimal patterns of shapes and contrasting colours complemented the more stripped-back sounds of Caribou’s music. The screen was a constant stream of overlapping, hypnotizing patterns with colliding movements that would speed up and slow down. The band stood as silhouettes in front of it all and looked ethereal when blasts of colour would light up the whole stage from behind. 

Most of the songs they played were off the newest album and older cuts only threw back as far as the 2010 Swim album. To me, this further marks Swim as the turning point in their career towards the simple. I am personally a much bigger fan of their more mind-bending work pre-2007 and was left a little disappointed by the setlist because of that. Shows aren’t tailored for me, however, and this kind of music was still a joy I could shut my mind off to and let the rhythm invade. 

The rhythm could only do so much given the unfortunate venue, and the dancing continued to be reserved for people at the front of the crowd, separated from me by several stairs and whole conglomerates of folks of all kinds. I stood near the center back, with my arms crossed and my neck bouncing to the beat.

They followed the electronic artist trend of playing in 3-5 song bursts with pauses in between. In these pauses they’d let the overhead lights shine on the band, finally showing us their faces. Dan himself kept shaking his hands together as if to say thank you to the crowd. His fortunate smile was straight out of nowhere Ontario, as I’d hoped for. There was some genuine connection to be felt that this artist was himself Canadian and the cheering made that clear.

It felt like no time at all had passed when the lights came on for the last time and he said he had one more song for us. Both the opener and main act delivered bizarrely short performances. In this way, the show did feel a little tailored to me, a lesser fan of this new era of Caribou. Despite my longing for the old days that I’ll never really know, it's enlightening to see the passion of an Ontarian come to such heights, and Dan Snaith is clearly a very grateful man who may never lose the spark to keep redefining his sound.