Visitors to TIFF: The Market’s inaugural Innovation Hub can experience how extended reality (XR) is helping artists Laakkuluk Williamson Bathory and James Monkman share Indigenous culture in a way that goes beyond traditional film and art.

Multidisciplinary artist Laakkuluk Williamson Bathory thinks back to 2018, the first time she saw a virtual reality (VR) film. Biidaaban: First Light, from Indigenous filmmaker Lisa Jackson, depicted a downtown Toronto reclaimed by nature. “It really blew me away how she immersed you into the poetry of the world,” she says.

Williamson Bathory, who has Greenlandic, Canadian and Inuit roots, already had an extensive background in theatre, poetry and short art films when she decided to wade into VR, one component of extended reality (XR), which also includes augmented reality (AR) and mixed reality (MR).

A political satire performance piece she’d written based on her own fictional story, We Are a Nation of Lovers, inspired the plot, which centres on the flamboyant woman president of a fictionalized version of Tartupaluk, the real 1.2-square-kilometre island that lies between Greenland and Nunavut and is also known as Hans Island after the Greenlandic Inuk explorer Hans Hendrik. In Williamson Bathory’s tale, the president invites lovers from various nations that have laid claim to Tartupaluk to join together and create a utopian republic.

"My co-producers and I cooked up the idea of making it into a VR film,” explains Williamson Bathory. “So, it is really a cross-section of theatre and film and an immersive environment.”

The production began as an eight-minute prototype titled Tartupaluk which, in 2023, exhibited at the Venice Film Festival, Arctic Arts Summit, imagineNATIVE Film + Media Arts Festival and Berlinale. “It got a lot of foot traffic at the Berlinale,” Williamson Bathory recalls. “They’d never had so many people come to the exhibition space ever, so we knew we were on to something.”

From there, Williamson Bathory and her team of co-creators went to work. Montreal-based film and XR studio Scintilla, Greenlandic-Danish production company Ánorâk Film, Montreal animation studio E.D.FILMS, and Khora, a VR and AR studio in Copenhagen, combined their talents to create the 360-degree environment of Tartupaluk. The eight-minute prototype became the first of six chapters in the 31-minute piece, which audience members experience by wearing a VR headset with headphones.

Learning to think a different way

Williamson Bathory admits there was a learning curve to grasping a new, technology-forward medium. “When we first started having meetings, I felt like I had to open up my cranium when they were asking me creative questions,” she says. “But I got the hang of it.”

The bulk of live-action filming took place in the summer of 2025 in Iqaluit, where Williamson Bathory is based. Filming in Northern Canada came with challenges — less infrastructure and higher costs, to name a few — but it was a must for Williamson Bathory. “The city and the land and the community give us such a creative edge that what we create here isn’t possible anywhere else,” she explains.

One potential hurdle came with their plan to film on an island accessible only by an hour-long boat ride from Iqaluit. “The sea ice stayed in place until the day before we were due to go filming,” Williamson Bathory recounts. “My co-producers said we needed to have a Plan B and C but, sure enough, the ice broke and we were the first boat to get out onto the water. We had an absolutely gorgeous day filming on the island.”

After live-action filming was complete, the production team went to work layering animation, music and other technologies onto the film to create an immersive, interactive experience. In one chapter, the Northern Lights surround the island. “You’re given the choice of making the Northern Lights come closer to the ground or getting them to lift up back into the sky,” says Williamson Bathory. They also transformed footage of Iqaluit-based actors into figures animated within the Northern Lights.

Ceremony as art

Designer/storyteller James Monkman is also discovering how immersive art can be used to share his Cree roots. While his background is in art direction, in film, TV, animation and visual FX, Monkman discovered immersive art when working with Indigenous architect Douglas Cardinal on the installation UNCEDED: Voices of the Land for the 2018 Venice Biennale. “I really got excited about how we could share Indigenous stories and ways of knowing in an immersive context,” Monkman says.

During the pandemic, Monkman worked as the artistic director on filmmaker Ahnahktsipiitaa’s VR piece This is Not a Ceremony. Monkman and his partner in both work and life, Renée Kwan Monkman, who studied Cree cosmology, theology and philosophy, thought about how they could turn a VR headset experience into something shared with others. “We could create this immersive environment that you could have in virtual reality, but in a communal way,” Monkman says.

Making interactive installations mobile and modular

Mekwâc: “Now Is Good” is a VR installation directed by Monkman and written and produced by Kwan Monkman, inspired by traditional Indigenous ceremony and deliberately designed to be mobile and modular. “We started thinking about form and Indigenous ways of knowing and how the circle is so important,” Monkman explains. That resulted in the creation of a 24-foot-wide circular theatre for a 360-degree experience that could be set up almost anywhere. “All we really need is a plug, a 30-foot-by-30-foot room and 12-foot ceilings,” he explains.

The installation, based on Kwan Monkman’s PhD thesis, takes visitors through four stages of life. They begin in the womb, are born into an underwater world teeming with sea creatures, move to adolescence in a forest with bears, wolves and eagles, adulthood is a prairie with buffalo, then they drop back into the earth in a web of mycelium and enter the spirit world to return to the womb. The whole cycle lasts 23 minutes, but it’s designed to be looped so audience members can enter and exit at any point.

Mekwâc’s interactivity is important. Alongside 11 projectors, there are four LiDAR (light detecting and ranging) sensors that respond to participants. For example, stepping on various rocks in the forest world makes different animals appear. And in the spirit world, mycelial fibres react and move toward participants. “You get to experience the piece more when you’re with someone else,” notes Kwan Monkman. “You see how they’re acting and how the space reacts to them.”

The installation debuted in the summer of 2025 at Collision Gallery in Toronto’s Financial District.

Growing awareness of XR art

Monkman says it was a challenge, at first, to explain his immersive projects. “When you start saying it’s an Indigenous experience that uses multi-projection, people can kind of glaze over until you show them something,” he says. But awareness is growing. This year, both Mekwâc and Tartupaluk will be part of TIFF: The Market’s inaugural Innovation Hub, which is being presented in partnership with the Canada Media Fund.

Monkman says more distinct funding and distribution pathways for immersive art can help the medium succeed. “Most of the funding strategies are still geared towards film and TV,” he says. “So anything that’s deemed immersive is put in this giant pool of other things that are very different from each other, and that can be a diluting factor.”

Ultimately, for both Monkman and Williamson Bathory, XR is a unique way to share Indigenous stories with the world beyond traditional film, TV and art. And if the success of their work is any indication, the demand is out there. “I think there's a real appetite for immersive stories,” Monkman says. “I think people are really hungry for authenticity right now, and people want rich, dynamic, authentic experiences.”

The post Immersive storytelling: How two Indigenous creators are exploring the XR landscape appeared first on Canada Media Fund.

We catch up with the creators and stars of the hit comedy North of North and find out what to expect in the second season, including a trip south, and why they think their Inuit-led series resonates with viewers worldwide.

Sitting across from North of North’s showrunners, Alethea Arnaquq-Baril and Stacey Aglok MacDonald, and executive producer Miranda de Pencier, you see three grateful women.

The first season of their uplifting comedy set in the fictional Inuit community of Ice Cove charmed audiences and critics alike. Airing on CBC Gem, APTN and Netflix (the latter reported the show cracked its top 10 in 33 countries and earned almost 9 million global views in its first few months), North of North earned a coveted 100 percent fresh score from critics on Rotten Tomatoes.

A few hours after finishing this interview, the team won Best Comedy Series at this year’s Canadian Screen Awards, one of nine wins from among their 20 nominations.

But, right now, North of North’s cast and creators are here at this downtown Toronto hotel to talk to the press about what happens next.

Season two hits small screens in September, starting with APTN+ on September 1, followed by CBC TV, CBC Gem and APTN TV on September 8.

One wonders if the team is feeling the pressure of high expectations.

“I felt so much pressure season one, making a brand-new thing and not knowing how our community would react to it, or whether the world would even care,” says Arnaquq-Baril.

“Well, the one pressure is we got that 100 percent Rotten Tomatoes critics’ score in season one, so now it’s ‘aaahhh,’” adds de Pencier with a laugh.

“This season was a lot more fun and easier,” continues Arnaquq-Baril. “Not that it was easy, but we felt like we were going to die in season one [laughs]. This season we were really able to enjoy the process. To know who we were working with and how much they care about the show and care about the vision we have to try and make it what it is.”

“We are still leading with comedy and heart,” adds Aglok MacDonald. “I think a major thing for us is, as much as we love to laugh, we love to feel things and explore things that are real in our lives that aren’t just fun and antics but have real stakes to them. So that’s something we are maintaining in tone throughout season two.”

Moving beyond Ice Cove

Filmed in Iqaluit, Nunavut, the series follows irrepressible Siaja (Anna Lambe), a young wife and mother who makes the bold decision to leave her self-obsessed husband Ting (Kelly William) to carve out her own path in the world. Juggling childcare, the opinions of her harsh mother Neevee (Maika Harper) and working for the community she loves, Siaja is a combination of beloved TV characters Leslie Knope and Lucy Ricardo — a well-meaning community leader who gets herself into sticky situations.

The new season [SPOILER ALERT!] sees Siaja leave Ice Cove and head south in search of the sister she never knew she had.

For lead actors Lambe and Harper, the secret-sister plot development (revealed in the first season’s final episode) surprised them as much as it did viewers. The pair was on hand for the press day, not knowing they, too, would walk away as winners at the Canadian Screen Awards later that night. Lambe earned the prize for Best Lead Performer (Comedy) and Harper picked up the Best Supporting Performer (Comedy) award.

“So much of the plot was kept under wraps and you would find out as you went along with the scripts,” says Lambe. “So finding out about the sister reveal I was crying and shaking, and I remember texting Stacey and Alethea and Miranda and saying, ‘Guys, whaaa! Oh my god.’”

“It was so much fun to learn about that big revelation because we really didn’t know what was going to happen, as we were reading scripts as we went,” adds Harper. “And I think we were also learning our tone as well; we weren't quite sure about the tone yet, so all of it was a learning curve.”

One of the show’s strongest elements is the relationship between Siaja and Neevee. Siaja wants her mother to open up emotionally while Neevee purposely holds back her feelings. Theirs is a complicated mother-daughter relationship, giving the actors so much to work with and explore together.

“Siaja and Neevee are so different, such different characters, such different people,” says Lambe. “But the vibration they operate at is so similar in intensity and emotion. And they are so bound by love, and they just express it so differently. I feel us showing up always ready to match each other’s energy with complete and full trust in one another makes working together so easy.”

“I think our two characters are so vulnerable together, so whenever we work together we’re ready to play ball,” adds Harper.

Season two ranges from melodrama to “clownlike comedy”

Siaja and Neevee’s journeys will undoubtedly take twists and turns this season. We wonder what new avenues the actors were most excited to explore.

“I think you really get to see where Siaja gets her clumsiness from,” Harper says with a smile.

“I was really excited that I got to lean so much into the drama,” reveals Lambe. “Drama is my bread and butter. I love it. It’s what started my career and one of the things I really enjoy diving into.

“I know some people find it so lame, but I love melodrama, I think it’s great,” she continues. “So, getting to lean so heavily into the emotions of this season and having so much space for it, and then also doing the intense, almost clownlike comedy of it all. There’s so much range.”

Range is exactly what we’re seeing with the breadth of high-quality series being produced by Canadian creators at the moment. Shows such as North of North, Heated Rivalry, Empathie and others raise the bar for the shows that follow.

So, what is the secret sauce being poured into our shows that’s making them so good?

“I think Canada’s good at being funny and making people feel feelings and caring about each other,” says Arnaquq-Baril. “Canada invests in its culture, too. We have a publicly funded arts system, and I think that is why we punch above our weight on the global stage.”

The post ‘North of North’ heads south appeared first on Canada Media Fund.

Far from big Canadian cities, the audiovisual industry in Canada’s East navigates with limited financing, training and distribution infrastructure. But the region’s creators persist by relying on their communities, festivals, international co-productions and, above all, their proud, singular voices.

The Atlantic provinces certainly don’t want for talent. Take the film Sk+te'kmujue'katik (At the Place of Ghosts), directed by bretten hannam, a Nova Scotia filmmaker. After its world premiere at the Toronto International Film Festival (TIFF) in September 2025, the Canada/Belgium co-production, which explores Mi’kmaq and Two-Spirit realities, screened at the Atlantic International Film Festival (AIFF) in Halifax, where it received the Gordon Parsons Award for Best Atlantic Feature.

This achievement wasn’t easy, as the region’s creators have limited resources compared to the country’s large urban centres. International co-productions, as was the case for this film, can sometimes mitigate this scarcity. Such co-productions provide larger budgets, new audiences and wider visibility.

Chrissy King-Lopes, industry programs director at AIFF and leader of the AIFF Partners (the festival’s co-productions market), is very familiar with this situation. “Co-productions are what we specialize in,” she says. “Our festival allows the folks that are looking for these co-production partners to meet and talk about their projects.”

We met with King-Lopes, as well as other filmmakers and thought leaders from Atlantic Canada’s screen industry, at three of the region’s notable festivals last fall — AIFF, Lunenburg Doc Fest, and the Festival international du cinéma francophone en Acadie (FICFA) — to understand how the industry survives, despite facing such strong headwinds.

Related: Our video series, East Coast in Focus

Swimming upstream

Like everywhere, the Maritime region is subject to rising production costs and the surge in streaming platforms, as well as a scarcity of greenlights for their projects. But these factors only add to other long-existing pressures.

Educational, provincial broadcasters are absent in the region, in contrast to Quebec, Ontario or British Columbia, where Télé-Québec, TVO, TFO and the Knowledge Network can be counted on. “This lack is particularly felt for the documentarists,” says Julian Carrington, executive director of the Documentary Organization of Canada (DOC), who was attending the Lunenburg Doc Fest for the first time.

“These broadcasters are key players in the documentary space elsewhere in the country,” continues Carrington. “So it raises the question, how do we address that gap and ensure that creators in the Atlantic region are able to work with broadcasters that can help them build the budgets that they need to tell these stories?”

The inequity is also felt by francophone communities outside Quebec, like in New Brunswick.

“We don’t have all the financial structures to support a budget as we would in Quebec because there’s no equivalent of the Society for the Development of Cultural Enterprises [SODEC],” says director/screenwriter Julien Cadieux at FICFA in Moncton. “Even the regional institutions are less expensive.”

He does welcome the agreement signed by Telefilm Canada in 2025, which promises to allocate five percent of its francophone-content budget to productions outside Quebec.

While in Moncton, we also met with Acadian filmmaker Phil Comeau at his home. Sitting in his kitchen, he talked about how few feature films have been made in Acadia over the past 50 years. “I feel like the financial backers are now realizing that we, too, have enough actors to tell good stories,” he says.

Comeau is concerned, however, by the lack of provincial financing, which slows the industry’s development in the region and pushes creators to leave New Brunswick in the slower months due to lack of work.

Festivals as regional pillars

Though opportunities to meet financial backers and distributors are rare in the region, local festivals offer access to representatives of organizations like Radio-Canada or the Canada Media Fund. And, in contrast to larger festivals like TIFF, these events are intimate, and so better for this type of meeting.

“It's important for the Atlantic-Canadian filmmakers to gather, because it's a diverse and spread-out region,” says Walter Forsyth, festival director at Nova Scotia’s Lunenburg Doc Fest.

Certain festivals, like FICFA, also serve as a learning ground for emerging filmmakers. “There’s no francophone training program in cinema at a college or university level in the New Brunswick region,” says Mélanie Clériot, FICFA’s director. “And so we serve as some sort of a solution by offering development opportunities, programs, producing projects, etc.”

Thanks to FICFA’s Short Film Assistance Program, Haqq Brice Adéoyé, a multidisciplinary artist based in Moncton, was able to adapt one of his slam poems for the big screen. His film C’est La Nature! La Solution (Nature is the Solution!) screened at the festival this year. “The audiovisual dimension develops the story of the slam further, and adds to its impact,” says Adéoyé. “That’s why I gravitated towards film, to better share my point of view.”

Building a network differently

Creative communities on the East Coast may be smaller or more spread out than those in the big cities, but they are unified.

During a chat at the Halifax Public Gardens during the AIFF, Nova Scotia filmmaker Stephanie Joline talks of less competition, more mutual aid, and an honest desire to celebrate each other’s success. “That's how I started in the industry; working for free on my friends’ short films, and they worked for free on mine,” she says. “And then we all developed those skills together.”

Erica Meus-Saunders, filmmaker and executive director at the Atlantic Filmmakers Cooperative (AFCOOP), an inclusive community organization that supports emerging creators, agrees. “Because it’s a smaller community people are so much more invested and invested in you. Once people get to know you, and see that you’re serious and invested in community, everybody comes forward,” she says.

More than regional voices

The creators we spoke with think the region’s geographic position contributes to the uniqueness of its stories. But when it comes to funding, they’re still coming up against significant barriers.

“Our point of view on the world is perhaps not as popular, because we fit into a ‘regional content’ box for a distributor. However, as Acadians, we can also have our point of view on the world,” says Cadieux.

“It’s important for me to show many versions of Acadia,” the filmmaker says. “Yes, you have to protect the Acadian language and culture, but it’s seeing how we can reimagine Acadia. What is the Acadia of tomorrow?”

The Atlantic Canada of tomorrow

New voices are being heard, including that of Shayne Michael, screenwriter from the Madawaska Maliseet First Nation, who’s behind Enfant de méduse, Wolastoqey, a Tou.tv series that explores identity, racism and homophobia. “I never saw a series that was both Wolastoqey and Acadian. I said to myself, finally, we’ve made one,” says Michael, a few hours before his series premieres at FICFA.

Provincial support is crucial to produce more films and series like Michael’s, but it remains scarce in the region.

Newfoundland and Labrador seem to be an exception. “We generate and attract about $100 million in production annually, with a population of just 500,000,” says Laura Churchill, CEO of PictureNL, the province’s official film office.

Related: For St. John’s, good things come in threes

Thanks to industry support programs in Newfoundland and Labrador, including a tax credit that covers 40 percent of eligible production fees, the province also attracts projects from elsewhere.

It’s a model other Atlantic provinces are watching from afar, waiting for their own governments to follow suit.

The post Despite strong headwinds and rough seas, the Atlantic provinces continue to create appeared first on Canada Media Fund.

To stay relevant to teens, Télé-Québec is evolving its MAMMOUTH brand — previously known for broadcasting specials to young audiences — for a new era. With MAMMOUTH: le studio, Quebec’s public broadcaster is abandoning televised galas in favour of social media content. We look at how and why they made the shift.

On YouTube and TikTok, MAMMOUTH: le studio’s shorts are gradually becoming a regular part of Quebec teens’ digital habits. In one, young Noura takes a trip to a clothing store and comments on outfits as she tries them on between aisles. In another, Ryad shares five tips for taking part in sports while on a five-kilometre run.

Previously, the MAMMOUTH brand was best known for the year-end gala La Soirée MAMMOUTH, an annual show for young people that ran on Télé-Québec, Quebec’s public educational broadcaster, from 2017 to 2024 and celebrated the events and issues of that year with sketches, parodies and musical performances.

Since March, the new Télé-Québec project MAMMOUTH: le studio has instead provided an incubator for 10 young people, including Noura and Ryad, to take their first digital steps while learning from industry professionals. Together, they form the first cohort of MAMMOUTH: le studio.

Selected through a competition launched in collaboration with Quebec-based media group URBANIA, these budding content creators share their perspectives on YouTube and TikTok, platforms they’re already using daily. Over the course of a year, they will explore diverse themes — from humour to history to cooking — using language and references specific to their generation.

The goal is to reach 13- to 17-year-olds with content that emphasizes interaction and an exchange of ideas.

“The MAMMOUTH brand has existed since 2017,” explains Marysol Charbonneau, director of youth and family programming for Télé-Québec. “It’s known different iterations over the years, including La Soirée MAMMOUTH and the Bal MAMMOUTH [a virtual prom broadcast for high school grads during COVID]. Although we’ve had success with these televised gatherings, they were mostly reaching families and young adults. To reach teens, we had to reinvent the brand without abandoning MAMMOUTH’s core values, which are about developing civic awareness.”

Teens are abandoning traditional media

MAMMOUTH’s repositioning is part of a larger transformation in the industry — teenagers are mostly abandoning traditional media in favour of digital platforms. According to a 2024 study from the University of Laval, 80 percent of Quebecers aged 13 to 17 watch videos online, and 81 percent have at least one social media account.

“Young people love social media because it gives them a feeling of control and independence; they can choose when, where, with whom and how they consume content,” says Nina Duque, a lecturer in the Department of Social and Public Communication at the University of Quebec in Montreal, and a researcher of adolescents’ digital practices.

“That’s where they test out their choices and construct their identity at a stage in their lives where they want to detach themselves from the family unit,” she says.

Another reason young people rarely watch linear television is that they no longer recognize themselves in it, says Duque. “Why would young people want to suddenly swap their cellphone for a TV that doesn’t move,” she asks. “The content is now integrated [into their digital universe], and that’s never going away.”

What teens want to hear

What are young people looking for on social media that they don’t find elsewhere? Spontaneous content that doesn’t seem staged or overly dramatic, says Duque.

“Teenagers don’t want to feel there’s an adult behind the words, and even less an adult trying to grab their attention with a line like, ‘Hey, you, kid!’” she says. “Instead, they want to hear something more confessional like, ‘Have you heard what happened to me today? It was completely crazy…’”

In response to these generational differences, MAMMOUTH: le studio focuses on accessible, spontaneous videos that relate to teenagers’ daily lives. “These are young people talking to other young people, so we don’t want to sterilize their messages or correct their mistakes in French,” says Charbonneau. “Anglicisms are part of their identity because the French language evolves according to immigration and the influences of globalization.”

The recruits also have a lot of freedom in the editorial process and their subject matter, though they are advised by a producer, called “nounou” (“nanny”), and a content manager from Télé-Québec.

“We don’t want to decide for them what interests them, concerns them, and makes them laugh,” says David Ostigny, director of editorial and social content at Télé-Québec. “If we impose our vision of what young people should like we risk making a mistake.”

And, contrary to popular belief, teenagers do like to learn and understand. Duque insists they are perfectly capable of watching long videos on YouTube, especially in the evenings, in their rooms, when they find a video that fits their needs. During the day, they tend toward a more fragmented, rapid consumption of content on social media, especially TikTok, a platform where 40 percent of Quebecers between the ages of six and 17 have an account, according to a joint investigation conducted by federal and provincial commissions for the protection of private life that was launched in 2023.

A new network logic

Traditionally, public broadcasters provided content on a fixed schedule hoping to attract viewers to their channels. Today, they have to be where their audiences are, on diverse platforms, at the right moment, and with relevant content.

In this diffuse model where everyone consumes and shares information, Duque says a broadcaster’s goal isn’t to reach all teenagers, it’s more about reaching influential teenagers who are capable of circulating content widely amongst their community.

Ostigny says that, since its launch, MAMMOUTH: le studio has reached its target audience.

The proof is in the comments from young consumers and the number of views, which surpass 100,000 for some TikTok videos. The next steps are aimed at increasing the project’s visibility and developing a loyal audience by using recurring personalities.

“There will be a second cohort of content creators next year, with the possible return of some previous ones. But it’s not our only conversation with 13- to 17-year-olds; other new initiatives will follow,” says Ostigny, without being able to elaborate at this time.

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Adam Paradis writes, directs, produces and stars in short films and vertical videos destined for YouTube, TikTok and Instagram, and — at just 20 years old — makes a living doing it. Now with financial support from the Canada Media Fund’s Digital Creators Pilot Program, he’s getting some help with his next project.

Adam Paradis was just 10 when he used his father’s camera to film his first video. Like all his friends, the young Quebecer dreamed of becoming a YouTube star.

“I was born in the 2000s. I grew up with YouTube much more than other media like TV,” says the content creator who, to be precise, was born in 2005.

Unlike his friends, Adam created his own channel and made consistency his trademark. To this day, he maintains a strict production schedule, creating a short film of about 10 to 20 minutes every two months and regularly posting short clips of about two minutes each on TikTok and YouTube. He does all of this under the slightly modified moniker Adam Paradisio, rather than Paradis.

A true one-man band, Paradis writes the films, shoots them, plays the main characters, and often does the editing.

Raising awareness and sharing his message

Paradis’ films frequently draw on dramatic techniques while tackling social issues like bullying, homelessness, war and the environment in a way that’s both serious and imaginative. At this year’s Gala Influence Création, which celebrates Quebec’s digital content creators, he won Video of the Year (Long Format) for Le Soldat (The Soldier), a 37-minute film that reflects on the cruelty and absurdity of war. He also took home the Francophone International Influence award at the show.

Paradis has nearly 2 million subscribers on YouTube, and more than 680,000 on Instagram. On TikTok, 3.7 million people follow him. His business is going so well he launched a second YouTube channel in June, simply called “Paradisio,” where he shares his more daring short films.

“I don’t use the social-network format to make inferior films,” says the young director. “I use the format to tell stories in a different way.”

Paradis received financial support from the Canada Media Fund (CMF)’s Digital Creators Pilot Program (DCPP) at the beginning of this year. These funds will allow him, for the first time, to hire a filming/editing team and rent professional equipment.

The film he plans to make with the funds is inspired by one of his previous vertical videos on TikTok, in which three soldiers from different time periods (all played by Paradis, a device he often employs) have a conversation. Shooting is scheduled to start this summer.

Vertical versus horizontal

Vertical videos, also called microseries or microdramas, are increasingly popular with viewers who watch on their phones. In spring 2026, Télé-Québec jumped on the bandwagon by releasing La mascotte du chaos, an 18-episode vertical microseries for teens on TikTok.

“It’s a way of looking at the phone that comes so naturally, it’s not going to change unless we invent a triangular telephone,” jokes Paradis.

Rarely exceeding two minutes, vertical videos are filmed specifically for cellphones in a 9:16 format. Paradis frequently shoots them for his TikTok channel and says the format lets him compose tight, static shots that emphasize the dialogue.

• Read more: Verticals on the rise

“I find there’s a style to static shots,” he says. “The eye isn’t drawn elsewhere as much. It’s already so stimulating to be in vertical with subtitles and constantly changing shots, so you really focus more on the character, on what’s being said.”

Paradis hasn’t completely abandoned the wide shots associated with television. He uses them for his longer short films and says vertical and horizontal modes can work nicely together.

“We have to stop thinking that one is going to take the other’s place,” he says. “I think people will always appreciate watching a long story shot horizontally for 30 minutes, an hour, or even two hours, but the fact remains that while they’re on the go, people will continue to appreciate a shorter format.”

Making a living from social media

After having spent more than half his life as a YouTuber, Paradis considers it to be “like any other job.” His revenue comes from YouTube views and ads for products on his channel. Last year, he says, he made $70,000. Not bad for a self-taught creator with a high school diploma.

Paradis reinvests almost all the money he makes into his video production. For his next short film, he’ll continue to invest his own money combined with the financing from the CMF. The difference is this time he’ll be able to concentrate on writing, directing and his performances, and leave the rest of the production side to his team.

“I want to be able to produce something more ambitious than usual as I’m also going to finance part of it,” says the content creator. He estimates it costs close to $20,000 to make a short film.

Paradis is proof that social networks are no longer just a springboard to traditional media. Some content creators are happy right where they are.

The post Why social media is the perfect fit for Adam Paradis’ short films appeared first on Canada Media Fund.

The Toronto International Film Festival is changing the way it does business with the introduction of TIFF: The Market. It’s a bold, large-scale initiative that brings together industry types from around the globe. We chat with the head of TIFF: The Market, Charles Tremblay, and TIFF’s chief programming officer, Anita Lee, about The Market’s offerings and why it was time for TIFF to go big.

If you build it, they will come.

Okay, that’s not the exact line from Field of Dreams (insert he for they), but it’s a perfect mantra for the team responsible for this year’s inaugural TIFF: The Market.

Running for seven days (September 10-16) during the Toronto International Film Festival (TIFF), TIFF: The Market brings the global film, series and innovation industries together in one location in the heart of downtown Toronto.

“The most important ingredients for making The Market work are to create a cost-effective and efficient platform for key players in the global industry to do business,” says Charles Tremblay, the event’s head of market, via email.

“The footprint, the programming, the events, all of the main aspects must be structured in a way that maximizes opportunities for buyers, sellers, creators and industry professionals to connect, generate exposure for multi-format projects, and acquire diverse content that appeals to audiences at home and abroad.”

And the entertainment world is responding.

“We listened to the sellers, who told us that having a broad base of buyers is a crucial value add for them, so we invited 200 buyers from every major region who have never been to TIFF before or haven’t attended in a while,” says Tremblay. “Thanks to recommendations from some of the industry’s leading sales agencies and national funding bodies in the world, we compiled a great list and had confirmations from more than 130 of these buyers from 49 countries by early June.”

Responding to the post-pandemic landscape

A few years ago, it became clear to TIFF’s chief programming officer, Anita Lee, that the entertainment industry had changed post-pandemic, and TIFF had an opportunity to change with it.

“The landscape had shifted significantly coming back after COVID,” she explains on the phone from Toronto. “The reality is that costs are so much more expensive, and the industry at large has to be much more efficient in the way it conducts its business. How much value does each market, or attending each festival, bring?

“What became apparent is TIFF, getting onto almost 50 years at that point, was already a festival that had a significant industry, or business, component.”

And no other North American film festival — Sundance, New York, Telluride — offers an official market.

“I always believed it was a missed opportunity to not have an official market attached to the largest public film festival in the world,” says Tremblay. “Many in the industry feel the same way, especially since there’s an eight-month gap between the Cannes and Berlin markets and both take place in Europe. With no major markets affiliated with a major festival in the fall and none in the Americas, there’s a significant void in both time and space.”

What the market includes

Creating the market was a huge undertaking. The team put together various offerings, including a Pitch Stage, where market-ready projects are presented.

There’s an IP Exchange, where “individuals and companies with intellectual property across publishing, brands, gaming and immersive media meet with film and series production companies and studios to option their stories,” explains Tremblay.

There’s a Talent Development Lab that will feature 50 percent Canadian producers and 50 percent International producers. The Summit presents conversations with influential leaders, including Warner Bros. co-chairs and CEOs Pam Abdy and Mike De Luca.

Tremblay is particularly excited about the innovative Market Screenings, which allow participants to customize their audience.

“These are a game changer for creators and producers,” Tremblay says. “It gives them the opportunity to get real-time feedback from both buyers and select audiences that include the demographics they are specifically targeting with their content. This feedback is an invaluable way to validate or refine their stories since the screenings can feature finished projects or works in progress.”

Advice for Canadian creators

TIFF: The Market offers Canadian creators the rare opportunity to present, sell, buy and develop their works here at home without travelling abroad. But navigating the programs can feel daunting, so Lee offers some advice.

“If you're going to apply to a program, do the research about the program. Make sure that you prepare your project and know what it is that you want to happen to the project. Ask yourself, are you looking for an investor? Are you looking for a co-producer? Are you looking for a distributor?

“This is such a relationship business. It may not be something that you can accomplish in one year. So, think further, look at your whole slate. Do you have a project that will need financing next year? Ask yourself, what are the key things that you can accomplish that are essentially going to ladder up your project.”

Tremblay couldn’t agree more.

“If a creator has a project they’re pitching, formally or informally, they should have premium materials and be able to explain their story in a clear and concise way. At The Market, creators should focus on relationship-building, which is different from simply mingling or networking. It’s about actively listening and having genuine conversations that help them secure follow-up meetings or calls.”

What is especially gratifying to The Market’s team is the fact that Canada’s entertainment industry is having its moment. The success of our series in particular — Heated Rivalry, Empathie, North of North — gives The Market added cachet.

“With the current global politics, and with our neighbour to the south, there is a little bit of a silver lining,” notes Lee. “Canada has a great reputation and there's significant trust in Canada right now. Our prime minister is very appealing to the world, and we are hearing from the Americans, who are a huge presence at the film festival, that timing-wise it could not be better that TIFF is hosting a new inaugural market because people are very interested in Canada as a trusted and open partner.”

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The post Introducing TIFF: The Market appeared first on Canada Media Fund.

You’re watching a movie and a character throws his apple core in the compost bin before grabbing a reusable water bottle and hopping on his bike. Some screenwriters feel showing such actions on TV or in the movies can make a difference in the climate fight, and they think it’s possible to go even further.

“I like to call it planet placement, instead of product placement,” says Maureen Mondin. She’s talking about slipping good environmental habits into TV and cinema in a subtle way.

“Dialogue like, ‘Oh, it’s hot!’ ‘Oh yes, damn climate change!’ That’s not going to work, we can all agree,” she says, laughing.

The script editor and content producer offer training on environmentally friendly approaches to filmmaking, starting with the screenwriting stage. The sessions are organized by Rolling Green, the program that supports audiovisual production with its ecological transition. Since November, Mondin has trained 26 industry professionals in Montreal, and two more sessions are planned for the coming months.

She points to both subtle and more overt approaches screenwriters have used to speak green. On the one hand, there’s Florence Longpré’s Empathie, with its protagonist who uses bike-sharing, carpools and has a menstrual cup. On the other hand, there are films like Anne Émond’s Amour Apocalypse (Peak Everything), about a man who suffers from climate anxiety, that place the environmental crisis at the heart of the story.

Mondin also talks about the main character in Sophie Deraspe’s Bergers (Shepherds), who is disillusioned with his life in advertising and wants a different path. “His search for meaning is subtly mentioned but not stressed,” she says.

Author and screenwriter India Desjardins is part of this green wave. A devoted ecologist since her teens, she remembers being moved by an article about the lack of environmental content in Québécois TV series, highlighted in a 2022 report by the Conseil québécois des événements écoresponsables (CQEER).

The report analyzed 20 episodes from Québécois series. Several items deemed environmentally unfavourable were listed, including 11 SUV appearances and 31 single-use objects (straws, bags, cups, dishes). The CQEER recommended showcasing electric vehicles, active transportation, and reusable objects instead.

In Desjardins’ own film 23 décembre (Two Days Before Christmas), the writer insisted that characters take public transportation and not wear leather or fur. One character even takes the train between Montreal and Quebec.

Desjardins goes even further in the upcoming Hantée (Haunted), a comedic fantasy film that opens October 9. There’s compost on the counter, no meat, they cook tofu for supper. “It’s written into my script. Because if you don’t write it, it won’t necessarily be there. I wrote it so it’s integrated into their daily life, without being moralizing about it,” the writer explains.

Drawing from true stories

Some artists may feel uncomfortable with the practice, fearing their stories will become too preachy and simplistic. Mondin understands. But, in her training, she offers a different perspective. “The world is changing,” she says. “That’s a reality. Our scripts, our stories have to change with it.”

Desjardins was inspired by a true story for a subplot in Hantée. The film is about a family who buys a haunted house, but there’s a side story about a group of kids leading a fight to shrink the teachers’ parking lot in order to create a larger schoolyard. “I read about that in the newspaper and I just fell in love with these young people. I incorporated it into the film, in homage.”

Mondin also cites an episode from the Arctic-set series North of North, in which a funeral is cancelled because of an early ice melt. “It’s not the subject of the episode at all. But we’re in the Far North. That’s part of the characters’ daily life!”

Writers can also inspire audiences to simply do better. “The first step is banning harmful actions,” says screenwriter/producer Mélanie S. Dubois, who has led the Eco-Responsible Film Sets Management training at the Institut national de l’image et du son (INIS) for several years, one part of which is dedicated to eco-friendly practices on screen.

She recalls giving advice to a screenwriter who wanted their character to throw junk-food packaging out a car window. “You’re encouraging that type of action, rather than thinking about how you can display anger in a different way,” says Dubois.

Leading by example

Why show environmentally friendly practices on screen? To normalize it, insist all three women interviewed. “What we see on screen, in our ads, and in our culture, has a huge impact,” says Mondin.

We can draw a parallel to cigarettes. Smoking on screen encourages tobacco consumption in real life. According to a recent study by the American non-profit Truth Initiative, young people most exposed to cigarettes or vapes on screen had almost three times higher intentions to vape or smoke themselves the following year.

Mondin also draws a comparison to Jean-Marc Vallée’s 2005 film C.R.A.Z.Y., which changed attitudes toward homosexuality and, more recently, the series Heated Rivalry, which did the same within the world of professional hockey. She also points to our increased efforts toward diversity on screen over the past decade, saying, “Is it perfect today? No. Have we advanced? Yes.”

Desjardins thinks certain narrative reflexes are starting to feel dated, like the archetype of the annoying eco-friendly person everyone hates, or only mentioning vegetarian food as the butt of a joke. “Creators who are offended, who say it limits their freedom…I think it’s more limiting to do things as they’ve always been done.”

Finding creative solutions

Desjardins doesn’t think all screenwriters have to write environmental solutions into their scripts. She’s choosing to see this quest as a new creative path and is willing to make the additional effort in planning. After all, you can’t book a VIA Rail train car at a moment’s notice.

While everyone agrees the story should never be sacrificed for the sake of the environment, there are always solutions to be found. The film adaptation of the novel La déesse des mouches à feu (Goddess of the Fireflies) comes to mind for Dubois — the rain intensifies throughout the story, breaking into a storm near the end of the film. To waste less water, she explains, director Anaïs Barbeau-Lavalette chose to drop the group scenes and tighten up the shots, the type of decision that can be written right into the script.

Dubois is adamant, the environmental transition concerns everyone, and everyone can find ways to help. “What are the steps? The characters are going to tell us. It’s film by film. It’s scene by scene,” she says.

She’s currently working on the animated film The Legend of Eliak, which follows a girl who’s the last human on Earth as she tries to bring the planet back to life. Dubois promises it won’t end on a depressing note. “I want my viewer to leave the movie theatre and go to bed that night saying, ‘I’m capable of changing the world.’”

The post What if our fictional heroes were more eco-friendly? appeared first on Canada Media Fund.

Although far from major economic centres, Quebec City and Ottawa have become indispensable to the country’s film and TV production. Why the boom? And how can these animation hotspots overcome the challenges rocking the industry?

“They thought I was nuts,” recalls director/producer Nancy Florence Savard. She’s thinking back to 1998, when she decided to found her production company, 10th Ave Productions, in Saint-Augustin-de-Desmaures, in the suburbs of Quebec City, rather than in a major business centre.

“Although 2D animation was going through a difficult period at that time, I wanted to establish myself in Quebec’s capital region because I’m a local girl. And I thought after every crisis something beautiful always emerges. For me, that was the rise of 3D animated films.”

From The Legend of Sarila (2013) to Lydia and the Mist Rider (2026), 10th Ave Productions and its boutique studio 10th Ave Animation — today located on Quebec City’s historic Grande Allée — have become industry leaders in the creation of completely Canadian feature-length animated films.

Other businesses specializing in animation have also made their mark in the region, on screens big and small. Epic Storyworlds and Loomi Animation released the Guiby the Super Baby series, Du Coup Production and Du Coup Animation worked on the film Hola Frida!, and Happy Camper Media is preparing its first feature film, which will be based on the Super Agent Jon Le Bon! series and should hit theatres in October 2027.

“More than ever, we’re sharing our intellectual property in Quebec,” says Savard, who attributes this “veritable effervescence” to the excellent animation schools established in the Old City, the cooperation between studios, and the city’s financial incentives, like filming permits and production services.

Ottawa Joins Quebec City as an Animation Capital

Ottawa is also home to several well-established television production studios. Big Jump Entertainment (Red Ketchup) and Mercury Filmworks (Hilda) work directly with big North American media groups and distributors like Netflix, Disney+ and CBC. Jam Filled Entertainment, best known for the kids’ series Dino Ranch, has seen a dazzling ascent from its beginnings as a start-up in the attic of a pizzeria to a $10 million studio.

“Several measures are helping the sector grow in the region,” explains Kelly Neall, managing director of the Ottawa International Animation Festival (OIAF). “In Ontario, subsidized tax credits are offered to projects shot outside of the Greater Toronto Area,” she explains. These credits are complemented by Ontario Creates’ Intellectual Property (IP) Fund, which helps Ontario companies develop, produce and commercialize screen content.

As for animated films, the OIAF — considered the genre’s largest North American festival — acts as a strong showcase for the local ecosystem.

“The event fosters collaboration, helps people expand their networks and develop their skills through workshops,” says Neall, pointing to two former participants, Jessica Borutski and Nick Cross, who have since gained international recognition as animators and directors.

Highs and Lows

Like the rest of the audiovisual industry, the animation sector is undergoing major changes, including in Ottawa.

“We’re a service industry, so we do a lot of work for the U.S., but there’s actually very little incoming work from there,” says Cory Morrison, president of Big Jump Entertainment. “And with fewer broadcasters to pitch IP to, and declining support from Canadian networks, opportunities to develop projects, produce content or secure service and co-production work in Ontario are now very limited. YouTube has become the new television.”

The Ottawa Business Journal reported that the sector’s revenues reached $60 million during the pandemic, but only $28 million in 2025. This drop is now being felt in the job market. “Every day, I probably get a dozen emails from people looking for work,” says Morrison. “Three to four years ago I wouldn’t have received [any] for weeks because everybody was employed. People were being recruited straight out of college.”

In Quebec, the situation is a little different, while still far from perfect. “The decrease in tax credits [from the provincial government in 2024] harmed the industry, especially in Montreal, which does more work for foreign clients,” says Savard. “Here, as we principally produce original projects, rather than do service work, we have more or less the same understanding of what to do with more limited budgets. Let’s say we know how to be creative.”

Looking to the Future

If activity doesn’t pick up significantly in Ottawa and elsewhere in the country, several industry players may have to rethink their business plans.

“We’re entering a moment where independent creators and studios will increasingly build content from scratch, often through platforms like Kickstarter or Patreon,” says Morrison. “The most successful creators will be those who know how to build and engage communities, then turn that attention into sustainable revenue while continuing to offer real value and a sense of shared creation with their audiences.”

Could artificial intelligence be part of the solution?

Big Jump’s Morrison says it could certainly help to automate technical tasks and accelerate workflows. “There has to be an ethical way of moving forward with AI that not only benefits the artist and the creator but benefits the bottom line of production. In a perfect world, instead of having a crew of 200 people for one production, you would have a crew of 200 people for five productions.”

Savard, however, is cautious. “AI could be useful to us, but it shouldn’t compromise copyright. We still want humans telling stories and bringing characters to life.”

The industry will continue to seek a balance between technological innovation and artistic identity, and to evolve without losing its strength — its creative talent.

The post Quebec City and Ottawa: where animation comes to life appeared first on Canada Media Fund.

As podcast consumption increases, online platforms like Netflix and Crave are getting in on the action by streaming video podcasts. The increased production needs of so-called vodcasts puts more financial pressure on indie podcasters who previously relied on low-budget, audio-first sets. But resources like the Canada Media Fund’s Digital Creators Pilot Program are helping to support podcast creators venturing into video.

It was in the early 2010s that Kattie Laur first got into podcasts.

After growing up with public radio and “being obsessed with the CBC,” Laur studied TV and radio production at Ryerson University, since renamed Toronto Metropolitan University, graduating in 2014. Following stints in radio and TV production, she became a freelance podcast producer in 2018, working on podcasts for publications like BetaKit, which covers Canada’s digital economy.

In 2022, during the pandemic, Laur started the newsletter Pod the North as a community resource for Canadian podcasts. It now has 2,000 subscribers. In 2024, she launched a podcast called Canardian, which invites guests to gossip about their hometowns. A year later, in April 2025, she started posting Canardian video podcasts on YouTube.

Audio Meets Video

Laur says the pandemic acted as a catalyst for the podcast industry and its crossover to a rapidly growing format — video. “All of a sudden remote recording was way easier,” she says. “We had access to these Zoom-style recordings of people. That gave us all this extra footage to use and produce and put out into the world.”

According to Laur, the growth of these “vodcasts” is helping to fuel the increased popularity of podcasts.

A 2025 survey from Signal Hill Insights titled Canadian Podcast Listener shows that podcast consumption in Canada has grown steadily since 2017. In 2025, 46 percent of Canadians listened to podcasts at least once a month, up from 39 percent in 2024 and 24 percent in 2017. In addition, 14 percent of Canadians listened to a podcast every day, up from nine percent in 2024 and four percent in 2017. Of podcast consumers, 51 percent say they both listen to and watch podcasts, compared to 25 percent who only listen to podcasts and 24 percent who only watch podcasts. The survey also showed that 40 percent of podcast consumers chose YouTube as their platform of choice, while 26 percent opted for Spotify.

“Podcasts have become more than just an audio listening experience,” Laur says. “They are something that you're consuming in short-form video on Instagram, on TikTok and on YouTube Shorts. They've become full-on talk shows.”

Broadcasters and Streamers Launch Vodcasting

Major streamers are also getting on board. In January 2026, Netflix began streaming video podcasts. By the end of March, 13 percent of Netflix-viewing households had watched a podcast on the platform. And Canadian streamer Crave just launched podcast video streaming at the end of May.

Laur is also seeing traditional broadcasters embrace the new medium. “I was at the gym the other day and there was a Sportsnet podcast on the TV,” she says. “Even these massive corporations are starting to use podcast content as both television content and as a podcast. That’s where this is going. You make something that can be consumed in any format that people choose.”

Finding Financing for Video

Laur cautions that adding video production puts increased financial pressure on podcasters. “The new standard is for these set designs and talk shows that take place in studios,” Laur explains. “We're talking a three-camera setup, three-point lighting, it's going to be tough for Canadians to compete because we don't have resources.”

While many successful international podcasts have sponsors and advertisers, especially in the U.S., Laur says Canadian advertisers are “super risk-averse.”

“With all the indie podcasters that I talked to, very few of them are getting sponsorship, especially from Canadian brands,” she says. As a result, talented indie podcasters are decamping for the more lucrative U.S. market (“a lot of Canadian producers are behind one of the most popular podcasts out there, called 99% Invisible,” says Laur), working on branded productions funded by companies with bigger budgets, like financial institutions, or vying for limited positions at broadcasters like the CBC.

But there are reasons to be hopeful about financial support.

The Canada Media Fund’s (CMF) Digital Creators Pilot Program (DCPP), now in its fourth year, announced that its 2026/2027 funding year will be open to video podcast creators for the first time. “In recent years, with the increased attention and focus on video podcasting, we really saw it as an opportunity for continued growth that fits within CMF’s mandate, which is audio-visual content,” explains Janine Steele, the director of interactive, digital and emerging media for the CMF. “We really saw an increased desire for consistent government support to be directed towards the industry.”

The DCPP is open to mid-career podcasters who have been in operation for at least a year, have produced and released at least three episodes of a podcast in the past year and previously produced and released at least one season of a podcast series for which they are the primary owner. English podcasters will also need an average of 1,000 downloads per episode, while French podcasters will need an average of 500 downloads per episode. Creators also need to have podcasts available on at least one of the major platforms: Spotify, YouTube, Apple Podcasts or, in the case of French podcasters, Radio-Canada’s OHdio. The program opens for applications on September 15 and closes on October 1, 2026.

“We're really looking to support podcasters that have either already been working a bit in the video podcast space and want to expand and solidify what they're doing,” explains Steele, “or it can be for podcasters who have just been working in audio and want to make the transition to video.”

Steele says the DCPP is less concerned about content creation as it is with how a podcaster’s business can be developed. “We want to support them in activities like hiring staff, whether that’s accountants, lawyers or social media managers, to purchase equipment or to travel,” she explains. “If they need to attend conferences in order to gather more business contacts or to sign deals, those are some of the activities they can cover with us.”

Fostering Homegrown Podcasters for the Future

By supporting mid-level Canadian podcasters through the DCPP, Steele hopes indie podcasters can grow their platforms and audiences. “We have the opportunity to build made-in-Canada stories and share experiences that contribute to the fabric of our cultural society, how we see ourselves and how we understand each other,” she explains. “This is in light of an industry that is largely global and dealing with content that's coming from all over the world, but especially south of the border.”

For Laur, supporting indie podcasters, especially underrepresented perspectives from women, women of colour and Indigenous people, is imperative to the growth and success of the industry as a whole. “It's really important that we see ourselves in the media that we consume,” she says.

The post Podcasts are the new talk shows appeared first on Canada Media Fund.

A musical drama from Quebec took a risk by placing a trans teenager at the heart of a young adult series. Here, FEM’s director Marianne Farley and producer Patrick Bilodeau discuss telling this story in the current climate, and the challenges of reaching a young audience.

In 2024, FEM did something very few young adult series had dared. It placed a trans teenager’s emancipation at the centre of its story.

Television has certainly featured some noteworthy trans characters in recent years — especially in Euphoria — but few series have offered a role as central as Zav, a 16-year-old Franco-Ontarian musician who dreams of attending the Conservatory of Music while secretly exploring his female identity. Created in Quebec, the series is currently streaming on TV5+ (formerly Unis TV) and Netflix (season one at the moment).

FEM director Marianne Farley says that since a significant percentage of the population is LGBTQ+ there should be no question about shows like FEM getting made. "We have a right to our own content too, to make projects that are for us."

While the subject matter was already daring in 2024, series producer Patrick Bilodeau says it’s even more so today, given the rising intolerance toward trans identity and the LGBTQ+ community. “It’s changed internationally in the past two years,” he says. “People are fearful, they know this will provoke a reaction, it will make people talk. They don’t really want to go there.”

None of this has discouraged Bilodeau or FEM's production company, UGO Média, even though Bilodeau admits focusing on more conventional projects would be easier. Instead, UGO Média went ahead with a second season of FEM, which can now be watched for free on TV5+.

The Rhythm of Trans Identity

In the show’s second season, which, like the first season, was created and co-written by Maxime Beauchamp, Zav (played by actor/singer/songwriter Lennikim) is now a young trans woman who has come out of the closet and is trying to find her place in the music industry. Zav has left the small Franco-Ontarian town of Lanark for the Montreal scene, and left her real friends for the big personalities who populate the city’s performing arts and nightlife.

Many viewers found the first season particularly moving, sending enthusiastic and often touching messages to FEM’s creative team.

“We really saw season two as chapter two. Now we’re in a different place. We’re out in the nightlife, at musical performances, in clubs, and exploring the expression of femininity,” Bilodeau says.

Over 10 episodes, Zav questions what kind of woman she is, and what being a woman represents for her, even if that means losing herself in her search for identity. The music, which accompanies her exploration of gender identity, becomes another character in this story.

“We wanted to go darker,” Farley says. “The music is very urban; it’s more techno. We used influences that were more hip-hop and trip-hop.”

Streaming on Netflix

After the release of FEM’s first season, Netflix reached out to UGO Média about acquiring the show. Finding an international streaming service was essential for the Quebec production studio since Canadians were the only ones who could access the show on TV5+.

“It definitely gives you a nice pat on the back, it gives credibility to the project,” Bilodeau says. “And you say, ‘Dang, that means something!’”

Netflix has the ability to make the series discoverable to young adults who often shun local platforms and content in favour of the American heavyweights. According to the Observatoire de la culture et des communications du Québec (OCCQ), in 2024, 64 percent of Quebecers aged 15 to 29 primarily watched content from outside of Quebec.

“Not only are they not on Quebecois platforms, but they don’t even know about them,” laments Bilodeau.

So how do you get young adults to be interested in series made here? For director Farley, one way is through the content you’re offering.

“You have to take risks,” Farley says. “I think you shouldn’t be paternalistic, shouldn’t try to teach them how to be adults. Young adult series should be about what interests young people and not what adults think would interest young people. I think that’s what makes FEM so strong, as well. We stay close to the characters, who experience real-life dramas.”

No Third Season

The second season of FEM will be its last. The creative trio, composed of creator and showrunner Beauchamp, director Farley, and producer Bilodeau, are not done working together, however. They’re working on a new series that’s currently in predevelopment.

“We’re eager to take on a new project,” says Bilodeau. “We’re maintaining a certain continuity, as this will also be a really unique series bursting with plot twists, but in a completely different universe.”

He describes the series as a fake reality-TV show in which couples compete to win a revolutionary fertility treatment that allows anyone to conceive a baby with their own DNA. Once again, the new project will proudly showcase the LGBTQ+ community, regardless of any pushback.

The post ‘FEM’ creators offer a fresh take on the trans experience appeared first on Canada Media Fund.

It took more than a village to create Julián. Filmmakers from Ireland, Luxembourg, Denmark and Canada lent their talents and expertise to this animated feature about a boy who learns to embrace his inner mermaid. We talked with producer Anthony Leo, chairman of Canadian production company Aircraft Pictures, about his team’s pivotal role in getting this project off the ground.

When managing a co-production like Julián, an animated feature that employed more than 150 artists around the world, experience matters.

Having worked on youth-oriented projects like the feature film Youngblood, hit Netflix series Geek Girl, CBC Gem’s Gangnam Project and the Oscar-nominated animated feature The Breadwinner, producer Anthony Leo and the team at Toronto-based Aircraft Pictures could offer that experience in areas like getting funding and working on distribution.

Based on Jessica Love’s bestselling children’s picture book Julián is a Mermaid, the film tells the story of a young boy who spends a summer learning to express himself, ultimately deciding to dress as a mermaid for Coney Island’s annual Mermaid Parade.

Julián is rendered in gorgeous, hand-drawn 2D animation by an army of artists from studios including Cartoon Saloon (Ireland), Melusine Studio (Luxembourg), Sun Creature (Denmark) and Canada’s own Guru Studio. An interesting note, in January of this year Leo became CEO of Cartoon Saloon while maintaining a role as chairman of Aircraft Pictures.

The film — which received funding through the Canada Media Fund’s Distributor Program (now the Distributor Envelope Program) — has its world premiere this month at the Annecy Animation Festival. Leo was in France, where the festival takes place, when we met by Zoom to chat about making Julián, joining forces with actor Zoe Saldaña, and why he thinks animation can survive AI.

Julián is Aircraft Pictures’ first animated feature since 2017’s The Breadwinner. What brought you back to animation?

Right. About 10 years ago we approached Irish animation studio Cartoon Saloon about a project that we had developed called The Breadwinner as a co-production and it went really well, getting a lot of acclaim and awards. In that instance we had optioned the book and adapted it and took it to them.

This time around they had a book that they were adapting and they came to us and said, “Hey, let's see if we can capture lightning in a bottle again, and would you guys be interested in co-producing with us?” We were immediately in because it was a great book, and we love working with those guys.

Can you give us a quick synopsis of the film?

Julián is a young boy who goes to stay with his grandmother for the summer in Brooklyn and he doesn't really know her that well. He discovers that every summer there's a parade called The Mermaid Parade. This is a real event. And he meets these three girls who treat it like it’s the epitome of their summer, planning what they're going to wear. So he decides that he wants to become a mermaid too.

Over the course of the summer he encounters some challenges, but it's really a chance for him to discover what it is to express himself, and in turn helps his Abuela [grandmother] express herself as well.

The film’s directors are Ireland’s Louise Bagnall and Mark Mullery, as well as Guadeloupe-born Guillaume Lorin. Why the need for three directors?

Louise Bagnall, who is the lead director, this is her first feature film and so we wanted to surround her with as much support as possible. She’s an Academy Award-nominated director for her short Late Afternoon, so she didn't need that much help. However, because this is a story about a young boy of Dominican descent, and although Julián is not necessarily LGBTQ, we wanted Guillaume Lorin to be involved because he is from that part of the world and is queer himself. And then Mark Mullery has a lot of experience as an assistant director on some high-end Cartoon Saloon projects, so it was great to have him for the technical side of things.

How did Zoe Saldaña and her production company Cinestar Pictures get involved?

We’d started conversations very early on with them. Zoe and her sisters, Cisely and Mariel, are mostly from the Dominican Republic, heritage-wise, and Zoe Saldaña has also been very supportive of the LGBTQ community, specifically in support of her nephew who is non-binary. As soon as we put it in front of them they automatically took to the material and loved the way we were telling the story and just wanted to do whatever they could to help get the message out there.

Did you have any trepidation about collaborating with them in that they could exert some influence on the project?

We’d worked with Angelina Jolie on The Breadwinner and people at this level of their career, this level of celebrity, they have their choice of projects that they could get involved in. So it must be something that's aligned with what they want to do, and in this case, it ticked all the boxes. It took a long time to get them to focus on the project because they have so many things in their lives that are pulling them in all directions. But once they read it, and saw an early cut of the film, they were into it immediately.

What’s the state of animation now in terms of creating and selling projects?

I think globally we're in a bit of a correction. It’s definitely slowed down after the boom that started with COVID when all this animation was happening. Then on top of that you have the rise of AI-generated content, so it is a challenging time. But I think we're very fortunate to be collaborating with people at the top of their field so there's always going to be a demand for very high-quality animation.

Does the emergence of AI in the animation space keep you up at night?

What I'm encouraged by is what seems to be happening especially with Gen Z. There’s a bit of a backlash against AI-generated content, especially with young people. It feels like it’s a bit of a novelty, but I believe that flooding YouTube and the airwaves with AI-generated content is going to get old very quickly and people are savvy.

Yes, it’s going to become higher in quality the more people invest in it — and it’s not going away — but people are not going to ingest more content for the sake of content. It has to be something special for people to spend their valuable watch time on.

The Breadwinner focused on a young girl in war-torn Afghanistan and with Julián we spend time with a boy who struggles with feelings that he’s different. How important is it for Aircraft Pictures to create meaningful films for children?

Very. It’s interesting with a project like Julián, we have come across some distributors internationally who say, “I love the movie, but I can't show this to my seven-year-old, or I can’t show this to my nine-year-old.” You are going to run into people who feel that way. But I know from my own experience…in some ways I am Julián. There were no movies when I was a kid saying, “Hey, don’t worry that you are a little loud, different, it's okay to go through this.”

We need kids who are like that, who are expressive. We need somewhere for them to go

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The horror video game Dead by Daylight celebrates its 10th anniversary this month. Since its creation, the title has amassed more than 70 million players, and Behaviour Interactive, the Montreal studio that developed it, has seen its team grow from 300 to 1,260 employees.

A little more than 10 years ago, the Canada Media Fund financed a video game called Dead by Daylight. At the time, Montreal developer Behaviour Interactive, creator of the asymmetrical horror game that pits one player, the killer, against four other participants, had no idea it would become a global success.

To explore the game’s history and achievements, Now & Next interviewed Behaviour Interactive’s CEO, Rémi Racine, and two of Dead by Daylight’s original developers, Dave Richard, creative director, and Mathieu Côté, director of partnerships.

Let’s go back in time. Tell us about the beginning of Dead by Daylight.

Mathieu Côté: Dead by Daylight started as a love letter to horror films from the ’70s and ’80s. We were a really small team, just about 35 people [working on this specific title]. To give you an idea, we now have nearly 400 people working on the game.

Rémi Racine: We presented the game at the Game Developers Conference (GDC) in March 2015, a little more than a year before its launch, after about six months of production. We were looking for a publisher, and we got more than a dozen offers. We chose Starbreeze, which was the smallest of the group, because, at the time, I wanted to develop our publishing services internally, and they were the only ones who would allow us to do it. When we released the game in June 2016 we didn’t have a big machine behind it.

How did the public respond back then?

Dave Richard: It was incredible. We were surprised. We knew we had something interesting on our hands, but not to that extent.

MC: There were indications it could really take off, though. Right before the release, at the PAX video game conference, our booth was next to Twitch’s, the streaming service. Content creators who walked by tried our game and we saw it was a perfect genre for them — an infinite source of thrills and jump scares. It quickly got a lot of buzz.

RR: We made good on our investment very fast. In two weeks we’d sold 400,000 copies, which allowed us to earn a small profit.

You didn’t expect Dead by Daylight to stick around for such a long time. How did the game become what it is today?

MC: It’s true. At the time, our goal was to release the game, maybe offer downloadable content the following fall, then move on to the next project. But when we saw the response we changed our plans. We kept the team, grew it, and started to build around the existing game.

RR: One part of the team was working to correct bugs, because the game had some, and another was already working on new content. Very quickly we understood we had to provide continuing support for the game.

DR: And now, Dead by Daylight is a franchise. Our universe is extremely interesting, and we want it to reach as many people as possible, beyond the game itself. For example, we released The Casting of Frank Stone, a game in a completely different genre, but within Dead by Daylight’s universe. There are graphic novels; we’re in the process of shooting a film. For the next 10 years and beyond, Dead by Daylight will keep growing and expanding beyond the original game.

Dead by Daylight is known for crossovers with other horror franchises, like Halloween, Alien and Evil Dead. Why did you choose these partnerships?

MC: It was pretty natural to want to include famous horror characters in a genre game, I would say. We were lucky; the first character we were able to get was Michael Myers, the villain in Halloween. It’s difficult to imagine someone more iconic. After that, conversations with other rights-holders were easier.

DR: Plus, we were used to working with partners because the DNA of the studio was to produce games for other brands. We simply applied that expertise to Dead by Daylight.

RR: Starbreeze, our partner at the time, was also familiar with this model, and so that helped structure our approach.

How did the success of Dead by Daylight change Behaviour Interactive?

RR: In the beginning, we were just developers who thought about making games. The success of Dead by Daylight allowed us to go further. Today, there are whole teams supporting our projects — analytic, player engagement, product management. All these teams bring information to the creators, who can then make more informed decisions. The creative side is still there, but when we have an idea, we have the means and the time to consider it more deeply.

DR: To the players’ benefit!

RR: Financially, it also gives us a certain independence. For the last seven or eight years, Dead by Daylight has allowed us to be more selective in the projects we do for others.

MC: What’s funny is that, in the beginning, it was more the work-for-hire piece of Behaviour that allowed us to have time to develop the Dead by Daylight game. Today, the game’s popularity offers us other possibilities, like helping other studios.

Obviously, the company has also grown a lot. When Dead by Daylight was released, the Behaviour Interactive team had around 300 to 350 employees. Today, we have 1,260.

What advice would you give to studios that are just getting started in the field?

MC: We gave a presentation at the Game Developers Conference recently, and a lot of the audience’s questions were about how to make a game as a service [a model of monetizing games via subscriptions, microtransactions, etc.]. But that’s not what we did. We made a game, then we continued to maintain it, adding content and developing a service around it. Elements like the store were added later, once the players were invested.

RR: You have to make a game that people will like. Then you can see if it can become a service. But the game, first and foremost, has to have a clientele that plays it regularly. That creates some retention.

MC: What’s also important is to listen to the players and learn along the way. It’s an exercise in humility, but the players can be a part of the team, in some ways.

Behaviour Interactive will host a celebration for fans at the Grand Quay of the Port of Montreal on June 14. Several announcements about the future of the franchise will be shared at the event.

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