Ninan Auassat: We, the Children
(Canada, 93 min.)
Dir. Kim O’Bomsawin
“We can’t afford to lose our culture, but it is a big responsibility to learn every little thing,” says Monique Benjamin Hervieux in Ninan Auassat: We, the Children. “My dad says that when I have kids, I’ll realize the importance of our culture.”
Monique, or Pelash to friends, doesn’t appear until roughly a third of the way through this touching documentary by Kim O’Bomsawin (Call My Human). But she becomes a thoughtfully introspective voice amid the observational vignettes that chronicle the daily lives of Indigenous youths. Her direct address observations join a handful of other youths who aren’t necessarily among the “stars” of O’Bomsawin’s film, but the chorus adds their thoughts to complement and enrich the diversity of experiences that this NFB documentary captures.
Ninan Auassat, which closes the 2024 edition of RIDM after winning Best Canadian Documentary at the Vancouver International Film Festival earlier this year, offers a welcome addition to portraits of Indigenous life. O’Bomsawin lets the younger generation speak for itself here. Kids, teens, and voices only entering young adulthood are the eyes through which this humanist portrait conveys reality.
The film unfolds over the course of several years. Free-flowing observational cinematography captures kids being kids. They ride their bikes, nosh on cucumbers and cheese after school, and just hang out. They stroll by the beach, do some fishing, and experiment with make-up.
O’Bomsawin’s approach is refreshingly simple and ordinary. She doesn’t define these youths’ lives by trauma, statistics, or history. It’s firmly in the present. Yes, the circumstances and contexts are all there—the participants talk about family history and troubles sparingly to inform the conversation—but the focus is on the day to day.
Ninan Auassat mostly follows three groups of young people from the Atikamekw, Eeyou Cree, and Innu First Nations. One thread observes four young women in a Cree family from Whapmagoostui. Saige (22), Jade (20), Rain (14), and Legend (7) look out for each other. The bond of sisterhood is strong, especially as the elder siblings serve not simply as friends for the younger Legend, but also as teachers and protectors. They draw from the experiences of their upbringing to ensure that she’s well cared for and looked after.
Legend proves something of a scene-stealer as the film checks in with the family over the years. But behind her infectious smile are silent struggles that we only learn about in the latter act of the film. Early on, however, Jade observes a difference between Legend and the kids down south in urban centres. She knows the best future for her sister comes through living in her community, staying connected to her roots, and enjoying freedom with other Cree kids.
That sense of freedom is breezily conveyed as Ninan Auassat glides through the summer nights with Matapew, Isaac, and Zachary of the Atikamekw First Nation. The boys, ranging from age 11-12 when we first meet them, enjoy carefree nights in Manawan. The boys ride their bikes and jam in a band. They share thoughts about the future with some ambitious plans. Matapew wants to be an oncologist, while Isaac dreams of being a LEGO architect. They also relish fishing and hunting using some of the skills their elders taught them and look forward to passing them down, although, like Monique, they feel the burden of responsibility.
Meanwhile, in Pessamit, 17-year-old Innu Alyssa, shares her thoughts on coming from a family of seven. She wants to be a mother too, but focuses on her studies. Alyssa is one of Monique’s friends and, like the other kids in the film, they spend their days and nights strolling around the community just doing what young people do. They goof off, have some smokes, and kill time between the hours when school’s out and dinner’s on the table.
Filmed over six years, Ninan Auassat includes an inevitable pause for the COVID-19 pandemic, but the impact of the lockdown years isn’t a big deal. It’s just another bump in life that the kids deal with. The longitudinal nature of the project, moreover, gives the break a natural flow within the chronology. We just see the kids—now adults, mostly—as they’ve gotten on in years. The boys still play as a band—and have become pretty good, actually!—while one of the young women is now a mother, adding a new generation to the story. A turn of events brings the story down south when Legend needs to see a specialist, but the change in scenery reinforces the values of life back home.
There aren’t any big moments or grand revelations in Ninan Auassat, but perhaps that’s the point. O’Bomsawin lets these young people be agents of their own stories. She draws upon a collective of experiences, reflecting a range of perspectives connected by an embrace of roots, culture, and community. The three townships offer characters themselves as the crisp cinematography by Hugo Gendron observes with a natural eye the environments that inform these kids’ identities. It’s a refreshingly chill slice-of-life portrait that lets young people share their perspectives through their own terms. They gamely embrace that responsibility too.
