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“It’s Punk Rock to Be Hopeful These Days”: Harley Chamandy on His Self-Distributed Feature Debut Allen Sunshine
Allen Sunshine The somber existence of a reclusive electronic musician is the focus of Allen Sunshine, the feature debut of 25-year-old Harley Chamandy. The eponymous character (played by Vincent Leclerc) resides in a charming lakeside cabin in Quebec, yet the idyllic nature of his surroundings is tempered by inconsolable grief over his wife’s recent death. As a big-name musical talent in her own right, the solitary Allen is pained by the fact that his grief is not just his own; though he deeply adored her and produced most of her music, it’s clear that fans, both rabid and casual alike, feel equally entitled to a piece of their relationship. The only people who seem to genuinely care about Allen’s wellbeing—and don’t simply hope to gain insight into his collaboration with the late, beloved artist—are a kindly grocer (Joseph Whitebird) and two 10-year-old boys (Miles Phoenix Foley and Liam Quiring-Nkindi). Of course, there’s also the comforting presence of his ambient music-as-therapy as well as his loyal Great Dane, who, like the aforementioned players, makes his on-screen debut here.
There is an overtly meditative quality to Allen Sunshine, the output from Allen’s vintage, warbling synths notwithstanding. Chamandy establishes a sense of naturalism that entrances the viewer, the same way that gentle waves upon a shore can lull one into an endless gaze. Yet as the film goes on, moments of action begin to punctuate—haphazard fireworks, unrequited romantic tensions, an otherworldly fresh catch—and seemingly call into question the version of reality that these characters inhabit.
Born in Montreal and based in New York City, the young filmmaker has managed to build quite the resume for himself. After directing semi-professional, if endearingly amateurish, short films during his adolescence, the opportunity of a lifetime presented itself when Chamandy was selected to participate in a filmmaking workshop with German auteur Werner Herzog while he was still in high school. Almost exactly five years later, after a period of feeling somewhat abandoned by his would-be mentor, the young talent was awarded with the Werner Herzog Film Prize after Allen Sunshine‘s premiere at the Munich Film Festival back in June. Roughly six months after receiving the award, Chamandy will present the film in Munich this December, which will reunite the former student and instructor during a post-screening Q&A.
Chamandy and I had a conversation in Union Square park a few weeks before Allen Sunshine’s New York City premiere on November 13 at the Village East. Below, read his insight on the power of artistic optimism, working closely with his mother as a producer and Canadian indie cinema’s current landscape.
Filmmaker: You might hate this, but I stalked your Vimeo and watched Mirage, the short film you made when you were 16. Honestly, it’s pretty impressive for such a nascent talent. You say that you don’t feel inspired by a lot of other filmmakers, but I wonder what reference points you were working with as a teenager? How did you acquaint yourself with the visual language of cinema in general?
Chamandy: I had made a lot of films prior, but this was my first real attempt at bringing it all together. It was done on Blackmagic, and I remember the DP had no idea how to use the camera. It was that vibe. Honestly, looking back on it, I don’t even understand how I knew where to put the camera. I wasn’t thinking about those things at all.
So, this is how the idea [for Mirage] stemmed: I was at a Drake concert, and I saw a father and son that looked exactly like [these characters]. In Quebec, there’s a strong aesthetic—and I’m not speaking badly about it—of white trash. I saw this dad literally getting hammered on beer at a Drake concert with his son, who seemed to be so uncomfortable. His dad had these gold chains and I was just like, “Damn, what’s going on there?” I was just excited to write a script about it.
At the time, I started to open up to arthouse cinema. A lot of my friends were out partying, and I vividly remember locking myself in my room and watching Amour by Michel Haneke. Enter the Void may have been the first real arthouse film that I saw. Those inspirations were definitely poking through. I kind of wanted to rile people up. I grew up in a place where everyone’s the same, so I thought my first short film should do some shit that’s kind of crazy and also be in French. My mom is from Egypt and French-speaking, but since I’m an anglophone from Montreal, even doing a movie entirely in Quebecois was a bit of a provocation.
I met this actor, Alain Boucher [who plays the dad in Mirage and was also in my 2017 short film] The Final Act of Joey Jumbler. To go full-circle for a minute, the name Allen Sunshine literally comes from [the actor’s] email address. After I did Joey Jumbler, he disappeared. He told me, “It’s time for you to move on as a filmmaker. If you want to grow, don’t speak to me anymore.” I don’t know where he went, it’s a long story and there’s a lot of weird lore. My way of reaching out to him was calling the film Allen Sunshine, because that was his email handle. I literally haven’t spoken to him since I was 17. I’ve looked everywhere for him. If he’s reading this, hopefully he reaches out.
Filmmaker: Wow. As you said, that is lore. But it doesn’t surprise me that three years after making Mirage, you became the youngest participant to be invited to the Black Factory Cinema Workshop, which was hosted that year in Cuba by Werner Herzog. I want to know more about that experience.
Chamandy: [When I applied], I was still in high school. I thought, “There’s no freaking way I could ever get in, but it’s worth applying, right?” I remember writing something that was so passionate and deep, like, “I know I’m only 17, but I live for this shit.” I submitted the short and then got an email that I was selected. I show up in Cuba in this town of 12,000 people, and I don’t speak any Spanish. I look around and everyone there is in their 30s. My roommate was like, “Oh, I just had my feature shown at Locarno.” And I’m just like, “What the fuck am I doing here?”
I’ll never forget making the short film in that village. [Herzog’s brother, Lucki] came up to me in the bathroom while I was peeing and reached out to shake my hand. He was like, “You did it! You really proved yourself.” I made a short that was on the same level as the other people there. Obviously, it’s still a short that I made in five days ,and I don’t speak any Spanish, but it was an amazing experience that I’ll never forget. I was sitting with Herzog, having a beer, and he looked into my eyes and said, “I’m not worried about you.” Then he said, “Whatever you do, don’t go to film school or I’ll hunt you down with a hatchet.”
At the time, I had already decided that I was going to go to Pratt. I went there for one semester, and then I transferred immediately. When I got back from Cuba, I applied to NYU for liberal arts. I learned Italian. I really took [Herzog’s] words to heart. But after Cuba, he wanted nothing to do with me. I tried so hard to reach out. We did a Zoom call and he said, “Harley, you need to leave Cuba alone and you need to leave me alone. You’re your own person.” I was like, “I’ve looked up to this guy my whole life and he’s telling me to fuck off.” I honestly felt pretty lousy. Then when my film was world premiering at Munich this year, I got an email from his brother out of the blue, just saying that he was coming to see my film. After the screening, I got another email from Lucki saying that I was going to get an email from his brother in the next few days. Two days later, I got an email from Werner Herzog awarding me [with the Werner Herzog Film Prize]. It was a huge shock because he had seemed to want nothing to do with me. I asked him, “Would you help me by putting your name as a producer [on Allen Sunshine]?” He was like, “No, I hate that shit.”
Filmmaker: I’m glad you also touched upon the award, because I was going to ask you about that full-circle moment. I also really love your shorts Where It’s Beautiful When It Rains and The Final Act of Joey Tumbler. I think that Allen Sunshine feels like such a natural progression from these works. You often talk about how your films focus on hope and optimism, but there’s also such a potent melancholy in all of your work.
Chamandy: I think I’m just very big on always finding the silver lining in life. Just having faith in something will make your day better. I’ve always had that perspective deep down. I read this quote from Pieces Every Step by Thich Nhat Hanh, a Vietnamese monk, when I was super young. He said, “Happiness is a habit.” Subconsciously, I think that’s always been my philosophy. Even with Joey Jumbler, no matter how shitty his job is, the beauty in his day is that his daughter is still alive and he gets to dance with her. I feel like if everyone in life was more grateful for the smaller things, we’d be a happier society. Sometimes these themes seem so elementary, like, “Oh, optimism and hope? That’s cute.” But I almost feel like it’s punk rock to be hopeful these days.
Filmmaker: You were trying to get Allen Sunshine made for a long time, and when you eventually made it you were only 22. How did the idea for the film evolve as you did—in terms of your NYU studies, coming of age and its relocation from NYC to Quebec?
Chamandy: I wrote the film when I was 19. I wanted to approach cinema as if I was painting a canvas. I was always jealous of musicians and painters, who can have an idea and immediately [execute] it. With film, you have this great idea and then it gets lost or diluted in five years’ time. I was very interested in this image of this man by a lake with the juxtaposition of electronic music. I also just wanted to make a film that felt nice and very beautiful. Obviously, there were also all these themes that I wanted to explore. A big question for me is: are we all bound to our own realities? With every scene, I wanted to create this world with nuance.
The most important thing I learned when I was working in New York is that it’s not about how talented the people that you’re working with are, it’s about how good the vibes are. I know that sounds so simple, but that’s what I learned. [At first], I was working with these people that were talented and had all these cool accolades, but it wasn’t a vibe. I had this instinct telling me that if it wasn’t working in New York, it was a sign that I needed to go back home to Montreal. The casting director I worked with [on Allen Sunshine] cast me when I was a child actor. Then I was blessed to meet my DP, Kenny [Suleimanagich], at Metropolis Post through John Rizzo. I called him one day and asked him who his favorite DP in New York is. He gave me Kenny’s name, and he ended up becoming one of my best friends. It just became this beautiful thing where it was me and my friends making this film. My girlfriend did the costume design and my mom is my producer. I’d actually love to talk about my mom [Chantal Chamandy].
Filmmaker: Yes, my next question was going to be about your collaboration.
Chamandy: A lot of people ask how I was able to make a film so young, and it is definitely having a mother who never said “no” to me. She immigrated to Canada from Egypt when she was 10 years old, got signed to Sony [Music] by Tommy Mattola, who also signed Mariah Carey. But she saw how seriously I was taking film as a young kid. She was like my soccer mom but for acting. She’d drive me to acting classes and auditions. As I was getting behind the camera, she decided to help me on my first film. When I was 14, I did this movie called Youth that she helped me with. She would drive the actress to the train station!
Joey Jumbler was the first movie that she encouraged me to do really seriously. My dad also told me to just reach out to my favorite DP. I was like, “I’m 17, no one’s going to answer me.” I reached out to Stéphanie Weber Biron, who did Xavier Dolan’s first two films. She told me that if she liked my script, she’d do it for 500 bucks. So the first DP I ever worked with did Guy Maddin’s The Forbidden Room. She’s a baller, she taught me a lot about what it’s like to work with a serious cinematographer. She really fucked with the fact that I was this young, hungry person.
But nothing would have been capable without my mom. She edited Allen Sunshine, produced the film and was my first AD, replacing someone who we fired the second day of shooting because it just wasn’t working out. My mom’s never AD’d in her life! She was like, “Fuck it, I’m gonna go into the trenches with my manicure, looking for fish in this lake.” When you work with someone that loves you, there’s so much more that’s capable.
Filmmaker: You’re allowed to be…maybe not reckless per se, but inclined to experiment.
Chamandy: Exactly. I have a second producer, Laurent [Allaire], who’s her partner. He was like, “You can’t do this, you can’t do that.” But my mom was always like, “We’re gonna make it happen.” We figured out working with fireworks, the dog. There was only one black Great Dane in all of Quebec! We finessed getting it. Instead of having it for six days, we had it for four days so we could make it work with the budget. So I’ve had great support, but at the same time it’s a grind.
Filmmaker: The music in the film is amazing, and I know all about your collaboration with composer Ethan Rose, who crafted Allen’s ambient output. I love your obsession with the analog, from the synths you sourced, shooting on 16mm and the retro touches in the film itself. What about these arguably fading machines speak to you, particularly as a young artist?
Chamandy: I always want my films to have this timeless essence. I had a great production designer on set, but I was just so control-oriented that I wanted every prop to be something that could either be from now or from 30 years ago. Every small detail has been really carefully thought of to create this world that could be timeless. People always ask me, “What time period did the film take place in?” I don’t want someone to watch my movie in 10 years and be like, “Oh that shit’s dated.” Obviously the beauty of 16mm is the way that it captures the light. It has this tangible feeling and the image doesn’t hurt your eyes like some digital shit does.
Filmmaker: A lot of “modern-looking” films are preemptively dating themselves, for sure.
Chamandy: Exactly. And I’m using a subject that’s so modern—fame and celebrity—but it’s subtle. If you get too involved with that shit, it becomes uncool. To me it’s important that my films are sick for fashion designers, for visual artists. I don’t really care to please film people too much. I have this one friend who works at a gallery in London, and I’m always asking her, “Why isn’t film viewed like visual art is?” That’s sort of my goal.
Filmmaker: I know we were just saying that films with “modern” touches end up falling short a lot of the time, but someone like Martine Syms, who comes from an art world background, employs that super well in The African Desperate.
Chamandy: For sure, that’s one of the freshest films I’ve seen in a while. Obviously it’s a bit alienating, but it also keeps you really engaged. Even Harmony Korine’s films now with EDGLRD are another example of this. My goal eventually is to get to the mainstream, like Spring Breakers level. That’s my dream.
Filmmaker: I feel that you’re currently situated amid this exciting moment in Canadian independent cinema. This year saw successful indies like Red Rooms, In a Violent Nature, Matt and Mara and Universal Language, to name a few. Have you noticed this and do you have any thoughts?
Chamandy: I also want to shout out this one film called The Maiden by Graham Foy. It hasn’t come out in America yet, but it’s objectively one of the best films of last year. Also The Heirloom by Ben Petrie, who was on the 25 New Faces back in the day. His film premiered at Rotterdam, and I met him in Munich.
There’s a lot coming out of Canada because Telefilm and Canadian grant money are helping a lot of young artists. They’re also creating on a very small budget level, which is maybe why what’s coming out is so creative. I also feel like a lone wolf, though, because being an anglophone from French Canada doesn’t help you. That’s just the way it is.
Filmmaker: Do you think you’ll go back to Canada to make films, then? Or are you trying to entrench yourself in New York or the U.S. in general?
Chamandy: Another project I’m looking at making right now, and maybe my final Canadian one, is about this Native American man named Joseph Whitebird. He’s been a truck driver for 30 years and I street-cast him. We started talking, he told me that his daughter was murdered at 11 years old by his own son. Thirty years later, he went to forgive his son and get him out of jail. It’s the craziest story, and I’ve been interviewing him for the past year and a half. I just sent him the finished script last week, and he wrote to me that it was almost like I knew him and his daughter. One of my dreams has always been to do an American road trip film, but in Canada.
Filmmaker: Finally, I want to talk about Allen Sunshine’s forthcoming NYC premiere. How was this organized and what are your hopes for the film’s future?
Chamandy: I’ve been getting a lot of love from people who really want to see the film, so I decided to get a theater at Village East and do it myself. I’m also very grateful and lucky that the film is going to be shown at Film at Lincoln Center on November 12 for New Wave members, which is for members under 30. It’s going to be sick to have more eyeballs on the film.
I’m self-distributing the film, and I have movie theaters in Halifax, Ontario and London that are down to show the film. The film is also out on Apple TV, Amazon and other platforms on November 12.
