(This article has been updated since it was originally published in April 2015)
That same year Sumé (“Where”) was formed, a band that would forever change the course of Greenland’s history. In 1973 the foursome released their first LP, Sumut (“Where To?”). It was the first-ever album sung entirely in Greenland’s native language, and it called for a resistance to Danification. Words like “revolution” and “oppression” were added to the local lexicon. To the standard rock setup of guitar, bass and drum kit, Sumé added a traditional frame drum.
A fifth of all Greenlanders bought Sumut, propelling Sumé to cult-hero status. Now, 45 years after the album hit shelves, that legacy lives on in the form of a film, Sumé: The Sound of a Revolution, by local director Inuk Silis Høegh, on the band’s members. The documentary, which chronicles the band’s rise to fame and its effect on Greenland’s politics, was released in 2014 and has since won admirers across the world, and is spearheading a new dawn in Greenlandic cinema. Since its release, the documentary has won awards and been shown at film festivals globally, from New Zealand to Norway, and from Budapest to British Columbia.
Whatever it takes, Greenland has many more stories to tell, and they’re inviting the world to watch.
Some people, especially those in Copenhagen’s ruling classes, denounced Sumé’s open use of radical, anti-colonial imagery. The cover of Sumut, for instance, featured an 1860 woodcut of a mythical Greenlandic beast, Qasapi, cutting the arm off a Norse colonizer. Critics pointed out that Denmark had dropped Greenland’s colony status in 1953 under U.N. pressure. Wasn’t that enough?
For most, no. Greenland remained very much subject to Danish rule during this period. But in 1979, riding a wave of “Greenlandification,” the country won home rule from Denmark. The Greenlandic language has enjoyed a rebirth in local classrooms, restoring its widespread use among the island’s 56,000 people.
Sumé’s old bandmates still play reunion gigs, and the band remains wildly relevant today, argues director Høegh. “The issues they sang about — finding one’s own way, standing up against authority, strengthening Inuit identity and independence — are still very important to discuss,” he says.
Høegh’s movie comes amid a renaissance for Greenlandic cinema. For decades there was nothing. Then, in 2009, Aka Hansen produced Hinnarik Sinnattunilu, a comedy that was the first feature to be produced entirely by native Greenlanders. Then came Inuk, a critically acclaimed film following a young boy’s journey from the south to the north of the island.
In 2012 Ivalo Frank, a Greenland-born Danish filmmaker, founded the Greenland Eye Festival in Berlin, which aims to bring local cinema to a global audience. In 2013 the animated short Tupilaq won awards and a spot at Sundance. What’s great, Frank says, is “growing a community from nothing, but also relating it so intrinsically to the politics of a region.”
Cheaper cameras have also helped, says director Høegh. But in Greenland, one of the costliest places to live on Earth, he’s impressed by what people can make out of minuscule budgets. Whatever it takes, Greenland has many more stories to tell, and they’re inviting the world to watch.
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