Animiki See Distribution and the Power of Alternatives
Jean LaRose predicts 2024 to be a turnaround year.
The former CEO of the Aboriginal Peoples Television Network has been in this business a long time. As President of Dadan Sivunivut Inc. today, he guides a portfolio of media subsidiaries that create, promote, and share exclusively Indigenous content.
And a branch of his organisation, Animiki See Distribution (ASD), is the distributor responsible for hit TV series like ‘Blackstone’ and ‘Mohawk Girls.’ Their shows stream on APTN lumi and the All Nations Network via Comcast, bringing Indigenous-focused stories across the U.S.
In his view, the Indigenous storytelling potential is only starting to be realised.
“We’re [entering] an Indigenous decade,” says LaRose, citing The Permanent Forum of the United Nations, which dedicated 2022 - 2032 to Indigenous languages. “There is a growing interest in traditional knowledge around the world.”
While he calls ASD’s offerings “very niche,” the company has reorganised itself after difficult pandemic years to delve beyond North American audiences, moving into European and Asia-Pacific markets, keen on expanding in New Zealand and Australia.
“There are strong Indigenous communities in those regions [and] a lot of interest in exchanging or selling programming,” LaRose says, adding that ASD is looking at the possibilities of acquiring international Indigenous programming to distribute as well.
The plan is to get back on the festival circuit — in Banff, London, New Zealand — and finally shake some hands to expand their global reach.
“Attending markets, meeting buyers, finding new opportunities for our producers [was] severely curtailed, and even cancelled, for literally two years,” LaRose says. “We’ve had to recalibrate.”
An Indigenous approach
LaRose acknowledges the ASD “calling card” gives his distribution company a particular shine: “We’re pitching content that is truly unique: the original stories, the original knowledge, the original cultures, from the original peoples.”
And while it’s a specific and exclusive approach to story development, he says Indigenous content manages to resonate beyond the communities that are being represented on screen and behind-the-scenes.
“Streamers and broadcasters have realised that their subscribers [and] viewers [are] interested in learning about this,” LaRose explains. “[Indigenous knowledge is] of interest because it allows people to view [the world] with a different lens, to understand [how] to better interact with our natural environment, Mother Earth, and the planet.”
ASD’s original content — a catalogue of 500+ hours of scripted and unscripted programs that include documentaries, comedies, children’s programming, and dramatic series — presents a distinct Indigenous perspective from the mainstream.
LaRose notes that the appeal lies not only in what is pitched but also in showcasing Indigenous peoples in ways “that are not shaded by any outside influence, or by misconceptions or misunderstandings.”
Being an Indigenous distribution company “allows us to present a true picture of our communities. And that I think also makes relationship building, in some ways, more interesting and easier, because there's a personal element that often comes into play.”
And that perspective is attractive, especially to streamers.
While the most recent UCLA Hollywood Diversity Report found that racial, ethnic, and gender diversity among actors, directors, and writers for theatrical release backslid to 2019 levels, it noted that streamers continue to lean into new voices and projects, representing more women and racialized persons than the movies.
This tracks for Indigenous distributors. Witnessing the “death by a thousand cuts” to cable and theatrical releases means focusing on, and adapting to, the demands of streamers, LaRose explains.
But the main challenge he encounters as a distributor in this era has less to do with whether a production is Indigenous-made or not, and more about larger audience viewing trends.
There was a period, for example, when he noticed streamers were focused on acquiring police series, and a wave of interest in shows that were ‘paranormal.’ Today, he observes, the streaming platforms are looking for true crime.
“It’s not a matter of [broadcasters] saying our content is of no interest, it’s just not what they are focusing on. That’s the big difference,” he says.
“In my early years, [broadcasters] would say “That’s Indian stuff. It’s for your people” and I’m not hearing that anymore.
“That is a huge change in attitude because it doesn’t compartmentalise us into a little ghetto where Indigenous people only talk to Indigenous people. They are interested in our content — if it fits with [the genres] they are looking for.”
Looking back at where the Indigenous content creators and distributors were 20 years ago compared to today, LaRose says the growth has been phenomenal. He points to the recent historic win for actor Lily Gladstone at the Golden Globes: the Indigenous mark on mainstream movie culture today is significant, he says, and undeniable.
“Years ago, I don’t think [her win] would have happened,” he says. “[The industry] has allowed our communities to really start achieving. They haven’t fully achieved yet but they are starting to reach their full potential.”
Killers of the Flower Moon-calibre content will be created by an Indigenous producer in his lifetime, he believes. “Some of it has already been done but it’s not recognised at that level. That’s changing.”
Looking forward, LaRose says the challenge for alternative content creators and distributors in the next decade will be about “working together to ensure we don’t go back in time… to ensure we don’t lose what we’ve gained and work together to at least maintain our ground.”
“That’s a fear,” he acknowledges. “But the gains we have made to date, in my view, will not be reversed.”
