Months after the release of Red Fever, award-winning Cree filmmaker Neil Diamond is back with his latest documentary, So Surreal: Behind the Masks. Co-directed by Joanne Robertson, the film explores the fascinating connection between Indigenous ceremonial masks and the Surrealist art movement of the 1930s and 1940s.
“The Surrealists were interested in dreams in the act of creation,” Diamond told the Nation. “They would try to recreate dreams they had, considering them important, which is the same in Cree culture. I remember my father talking about certain dreams that were messages from who knows where – your mind, the universe?”
In the early stages of filming Red Fever’sdive into pop culture’s stereotypical Indigenous imagery, Diamond heard about a century-old mask selling at a high-end art fair and realized the story deserved its own film. His journey first takes him from New York City to the mask’s origin in Yup’ik territory, Alaska.
Inspired by images shining through the spirit world, shamans wore these masks crafted from wood and feathers during ceremonial dances as portals for transcendence and prayers for abundance. After fulfilling their purpose when the ceremony was finished, they were thrown into the fire to release their spirits.
As masks were integral for several Northwest Coast peoples, Diamond next visits the Kwakwa̱ka̱ʼwakw in Alert Bay, BC, whose traditional masks depicted animals they believed were their ancestors’ original forms. Between potlatch ceremonies, each family’s unique masks would be hidden away in a “box of treasures”.
“It was an archive, this is how our family or clan came to be,” explained Diamond. “They either came from raven, orca or grizzly bear. It was very theatrical. I remember going to the Museum of Anthropology at UBC in Vancouver where a person stood behind this carved pole and narrated the story told during the potlatch.”
While Yup’ik masks were purchased or found on the tundra by collectors, Kwakwa̱ka̱ʼwakw masks were confiscated or sold by the Canadian government after potlatch ceremonies were banned and several leaders were imprisoned in 1921. After the potlatch ban was finally deleted from the Indian Act, the feds only returned the masks when a gallery was built to house them.
“Many don’t know how vile the Indian Act was and is,” Diamond said. “They’ll be shocked to learn people were put in jail for having ceremonies. There was no negative effect of having a potlatch. Somebody gave all their belongings away and started over again – it must have shocked the western mind.”
The documentary follows the gallery’s persistent efforts to repatriate their stolen history from international museums and the homes of rich collectors. George Heye’s massive collection, mostly acquired between 1905 and 1925, ended up in the National Museum of the American Indian and German art dealer Julius Carlebach’s New York antique shop.
European surrealist artists fleeing fascist oppression during the Second World War were thrilled to discover these Indigenous creations in New York City, pooling their money to buy whatever they could. Studying these ceremonial objects obsessively and immersed in their imagination of the Pacific Northwest, they became fundamental inspiration for their subsequent artwork.
André Breton, the author of the Surrealist Manifesto in 1924, who introduced intuitive techniques to unlock the unconscious mind, declared the masks were more surreal than the Surrealists. Upon fulfilling one of his greatest desires by meeting Indigenous peoples, Breton said, “They touched me with their dignity and untouchable genius.”
When Breton’s collection was auctioned off by daughter Aube Elléouët-Breton in 2003, she realized there was a Kwakwa̱ka̱ʼwakw piece and immediately contacted the U’mista Cultural Centre in Alert Bay. Invited to return it in person, she participated in a moving ceremony and later donated money for its preservation – “a poster child for repatriation,” according to the Centre’s director, Sarah Holland.
“Repatriation is a complex beast,” Diamond asserts in the film, which focuses on the Centre’s efforts to track down the elusive Raven Transformation Mask. This mind-blowing mask-within-a-mask would have a spellbinding effect during ceremonial performances, with the raven’s head opening to reveal a carved face at the dance’s dramatic climax.
Collaborating with art dealer Donald Ellis and a private investigator, they plan a letter to the mask’s present owner, the widow of French art connoisseur Georges Duthuit, carefully avoiding the “R-word”. Options provided include donation, sale to a donor or a loan. Holland says they often find these pieces “when they’re ready to come home.”
So Surreal weaves together Indigenous history with insights from contemporary artisans and art experts. Yup’ik storyteller and dancer Chuna McIntyre is a charming character, accompanying Diamond in Paris to reconnect with his community’s masks that have moved from Surrealist collections to institutions like the Louvre.
“For a long time, our works were treated as mere artifacts of the past, gathering dust in museum basements,” Diamond muses in a voice-over. Today they can be found adjacent to some of the world’s most revered masters and regularly sell for millions of dollars. However, Diamond hasn’t found an Indigenous language with a word for “art”.
“My dad used to make his own paddles, canoes, axe handles and even spoons for scooping out fish,” said Diamond. “He designed them to look beautiful. They weren’t just utilitarian, they looked pleasing to the eye.”
While there are increasing examples of successful repatriation, there are no Canadian laws enforcing this practice except for an Alberta law relating to First Nations sacred objects updated in 2016. During his research, Diamond found that Harvard University has numerous Indigenous skeletons in a basement whose origins have likely long been lost.
Revealing in the film that his grandfather and great-grandfather were shamans, Diamond reflected on the pervasive influence of colonialism that outlawed Indigenous ceremonies like the potlatch. In Eeyou Istchee, long-banned traditions like shaking tents are slowly being revived but still face resistance.
“A friend of mine who does counselling and is a traditionalist, recently wanted to have a sweat lodge ceremony outside Waskaganish and this group of people told him he better not,” shared Diamond. “That colonized mentality is still strong, that all these ceremonies we had were evil. Imagine if the Surrealists had discovered shaking tents?”