Filmmakers often talk about “the grind” of filmmaking as if it were a love language, but not Rose Stiffarm. While she firmly believes in mastering the craft, she also believes in doing the work without sacrificing her well-being, love of the work, or the integrity of her people.
In this interview, Rose Stiffarm speaks plainly about the barriers within the industry that often block people from having a career before they ever get a chance to begin. She also discusses what motivates her to continue working and trying to change the industry by leading Indigenous crews, making space for mentorship, and pushing for a film world where Indigenous technicians are seen at every level.
Q. You’ve shared that your dad put cameras in your hands early on, and from that moment, you were determined to make movies. What do you remember loving most about those early experiments with storytelling?
I remember feeling like it was magic in my hands, and that it was fun to capture what I was seeing. My dad told me it wasn’t a toy and that it was worth a lot of money, so he was hesitant to let me record with it. He had always bought me still cameras and told me to be sure to take lots of pictures. It’s funny, my job is to take 24 frames per second now, or more!
Q. How do you decide which projects are worth your time and energy, especially in an industry that often pushes urgency over intention?
Lately, I have been saying no to jobs that don’t align with my long-term goals. I am working towards joining the camera union and, eventually, becoming a member of the American Society of Cinematographers and the Canadian Society of Cinematographers. I have met people who told me this is too lofty a goal for me; both of my Cinematography teachers from Film School were in both the ASC and CSC, and both had vastly different career paths to get there. I’m just the right kind of delusional to work towards that.
Q. What part of your creative process feels the most challenging right now, and what part feels the most rewarding?
There are many challenges to being a cinematographer, but one of the most frustrating is when I get hired and can’t recommend the crew I love working with. It’s usually expected of any other Cinematographer, but for me, the producers want to hire whoever they want. Another difficult thing is getting hired in the first place, as misogyny is pervasive in the industry and independent scene and beyond. However, it is indeed rewarding when I get to bring on teammates with whom I have an excellent rapport, as I usually ask people to step into a role higher than they have worked before. It’s very rewarding for me to prioritize time for self-care, smudging, and introductions, and to add shots while still leaving earlier than everyone might expect. And yes, it’s extremely validating to hear the director say, “This is exactly how I saw it.”
Attending my 10-year reunion for film school was especially rewarding. Being able to say I just shot a kid’s show with three cameras, and that it will screen on television, has been its own reward. Unfortunately, it’s been a brutal few years for the industry, with COVID, strikes, and the state of the world. Still, I’m immensely grateful for this opportunity to lead a team of mostly Indigenous technicians on such an incredible show that highlights Cree language and culture. I’m not Cree myself, but it was important to me to get some Cree technicians on board to bring this story to life. All of the crew I brought on who were Cree mentioned it was especially magical to be part of, because they’re often overlooked for hiring on projects. Still, the Indigenous film scene can be especially clique-y, too. I hired people who told me they were thinking of leaving the industry because of how brutal it’s been the past few years, but after working on the show with me, they have renewed purpose and perspective for being in film.
Also, there are numerous times I have been on camera union sets for a daycall and been told I’m not worth the time to train because I’m just there for a day. Whereas with me, if I only have a day with someone, I ask myself how much I can teach them. It is wildly rewarding to realize that when I refer people, if I taught them one thing, the folks hiring them will want to know, “What else did Rose teach you?” because odds are I taught them some things I wish I had learned earlier in my career. It means so much to me to see the people I have mentored shine.
One of the youth I mentored when I was a teen has won an Emmy, and yes, they have also hired me to run their camera. It was rewarding to see that the students I have worked with have been strong in who they are and in their confidence in themselves to carry on. I can’t take all the credit, but it does make me want to continue sharing what I have learned with others. If I’m not actively sharing this knowledge, I’m hoarding it. I want this next generation of filmmakers to shine because I want to hire them and know they can do what I need them to.
Q. Are there moments in your career where you had to trust your instincts over outside expectations, especially when your individual perspective and experience weren’t fully understood or valued?
While filming Kokom and Dot, a continuity error occurred, so we had to reshoot an entire episode. The entire team was convinced we would all be there for 17 hours. I knew none of us wanted to be there for that long, and I kept telling people, “Don’t say that!! We’re not getting paid past 12, so I’m not keeping anyone past 12 hours.” They kept saying, “If it were a student set, we would be there for 17 hours to get that reshoot,” and I told them, “This isn’t a student set; this is Rose Stiffarm’s set, and I graduated from film school 10 years ago.” We’re not going to be here for more than 12 hours. I guarantee you that.” Nobody believed me, but thanks to the hustle of the team, and clear communication on what was actually important to get, and all the time we had added in our schedule to add shots should we feel inspired, and also ample time to set up and pack it all up, we were able to make our 12 hour day with 10 minutes to spare. I am immensely proud of the team for all of their hard work. I’m grateful we had three Arri Alexas to film with; it definitely made it possible for us to film our day.
Q. As you continue to grow as an artist and scholar, what kind of conversations and change do you hope your work opens within Indigenous communities and the broader film industry?
I hope others will realize there are Indigenous technicians at all levels. Yes, many of us are filmmakers and wear many hats, but there are also those like myself who specialize. There is a lot of confusion between Cinematography and Videography, and many people need a videographer and want to hire me, but that is not the role I’m interested in, as it doesn’t align with my long-term goals.
I also hope that we can recognize the misogyny that is perpetuated by only ever hiring male cinematographers. I wish more women directors would hire women cinematographers, but unfortunately, there are still implicit biases to overcome. Even Barbie was shot by a man. Yes, it was Greta as director, but I would have enjoyed the film more if I’d known that equity was also employed behind the camera.
I’m also hoping that Indigenous people will not just be afterthoughts or tokens; there are plenty of us to be able to thrive in the industry, but unfortunately, many in the unions are scared of equity and us “taking their jobs”. The unions will be safer places for us if more of us join, but I also dream of us starting our own unions and production companies. All too often, I see white or non-native producers applying for Indigenous funding and only hiring us in below-the-line roles. And it’s disappointing that funders are more likely to give more money if we have non-Natives producing Native work, but I’m hoping that changes. Our stories are better, more authentic, more real when we are the ones writing, directing, producing, and, yes, being the cinematographer.
Q. You’ve worked on both independent projects and larger industry productions in Canada and the U.S. From your perspective, where do you see real progress for Indigenous filmmakers, and where do you still see resistance or limitations?
Yes, I love working on productions in the US and Canada, and I see a lot of progress for Indigenous filmmakers, as we are finally getting into mainstream movies and TV shows. However, we still have to battle with funders, producers, and yes, even our own team for vision and creative control. There are also sensitive things like ceremonies that sometimes non-Native people want to show, and as Native people, we know not to. It may be that we know it’s wrong, but how do we articulate that to an outsider?
I’m happy that technology is becoming more accessible, so we can buy our own cameras and lights to make our own projects. However, even with that, we might still not get seen because of that clique-y behaviour I mentioned earlier. I was born and raised in Seattle, Washington, and yes. At the same time, I do have family and First Nations status in Canada, but I am NOT Canadian. Yet, I find myself barred from certain larger film festivals and work opportunities because I have heard there is a mentality among Native Americans that First Nations are taking their jobs, funding opportunities, and awards.
Actually, it’s the pretendians that are the problem. Look at Michelle Latimer, Sarain Fox, and Thomas King, they are all known pretendians who uplifted each other, became heads of departments because they said they were Indigenous. I hope that in the future, there will be more vetting to confirm people’s claims to Indigenous identities. I know many have been stolen, adopted out, or have complicated ties to the community; their existence and stories are still valid. Still, I really wish Indigenous people with the lived experience could get the support and the red carpet treatment these pretendians get.
Q. As a Native woman working in film and television, what kinds of barriers have you encountered that don’t always get talked about publicly, and how have you learned to navigate them?
As a Native woman working in film and TV, some of the barriers I have encountered stem from not having a car. I was asked by the camera union in Vancouver to apply for their camera trainee program right after I graduated from film school, and I told them I didn’t want to because I knew I would be rejected. They said not to be negative, but I told them I had read the requirements, which require a valid driver’s license, valid insurance, and a reliable vehicle. I have contemplated many times over whether to leave film entirely for a bit to work on getting the car, but because of my hardworking nature, my name comes up. I’m grateful for the people who choose to work with me despite not having a vehicle.
I’m working towards it, but Vancouver is one of the most expensive cities in the world to live in; it’s a battle to survive and get paid. Also, speaking of getting paid, there have been times when I haven’t been paid for my labour by cheap producers who burn that bridge for me because I will not work with that person again or refer them for work. People remember that kind of treatment.
Something that many might not understand is that I do work outside of film. I work in live events and sometimes as an extra to keep money coming in. This means I don’t need to say yes to every job opportunity that comes my way. In the past, I have said yes to things I wish I had said no to, particularly videography and editing gigs, and it wasn’t my best work, and the ball got dropped.
I’m disinterested in editing; I’m not set up for it. If other Cinematographers are available to take that work on, good for them, but as a freelancer, I have learned that it’s important to have clear boundaries about what I will and won’t do. I really appreciate clear communication, even if there are funding delays or life happens. I still want to make the project happen, even if it’s not me working on it. I am always happy to refer others in my place.
Q. Are there creative risks or directions you haven’t fully explored yet but feel drawn toward as the next chapter of your journey?
I applied to a program tailored to Virtual Production. I recognize this is still “new” technology to many, but I’m looking forward to learning how to work with it and have the lighting look great and realistic. I see potential in learning this technology and sharing it with others. I also have a long-term goal of eventually joining the camera unions.
It could take a while to accomplish these, but I’m looking forward to this knowledge. It could really set me apart from the crowd. I haven’t gotten in yet, but I’m planning for it. It’s going to be expensive, and I’m going to look up scholarships and other awards that could help me. Film school has been a good foundation for my career thus far. I know many say it’s a waste of time and money, but I have walked up to three men on set, all self-taught, and witnessed them struggling with a piece of equipment for minutes, then I walk over and solve it in less than 30 seconds. They ask me how I know that. “First year film school.”
It makes production easier, and it is important to have those fundamentals to communicate with the rest of your team. I love collaboration. I currently dream of writers looking beyond our trauma so that we can make a good rom-com, a good thriller or suspense, or a good horror that’s not rooted in our expected reality. We’re such creative people; I want us to keep telling our stories and making our art. It’s so important we see ourselves on screen.
Something else I’d like to do is put myself in front of the camera more. As someone who has grown up fat and been ridiculed for it, is fat really the worst a person can be? At least I’m not fascist. But I hope to see more diverse genders, more diverse sexualities, and more diverse representations of Indigenous people than just the tall, gangly, skinny, rail-thin types. We also have different shades, hair colors, tattoos, and piercings, which many casting directors shy away from hiring. I’d encourage others to cast more authentically so that the next generation of viewers feels truly respected.
Q. When you think about the next generation of Native women and girls who might be picking up a camera right now, what do you hope they see possible in this industry that maybe wasn’t visible when you were starting your career journey?
When I was starting, I had a lot of people tell me not to wear makeup or clothes that were too provocative or too tight, and I really want us to feel comfortable and empowered to be ourselves. I’ve been told we won’t get taken as seriously, and that it makes us more vulnerable to being assaulted, and I really have an issue with that. Women should be able to wear clothes they feel good and confident in to work in. I know we wear our tech black, but we shouldn’t be made to feel less than for wearing eyeliner and lipstick. I also hope that more women will be leaders of the camera and lighting teams. I know we are typecast too often as being too weak to operate the camera, but that is not an absolute truth. We are strong, and we can make excellent choices to lead our teams safely and creatively.
So, I’m hoping more women are encouraged to be behind the camera. And the more people see me doing the thing, the less impossible it all seems. I have been told many times over that my work inspires others to keep going, which is sometimes just the fuel I need to hear.
Q. When you imagine your life and work five or ten years from now, what feels most important to protect or stay true to as your career continues to grow?
I hope people will continue to reach out to me to be a cinematographer, but I’m also hoping to become better known for my academic teaching. The program I’m looking at for virtual production is a master’s program, so when I complete it, I will be able to teach more film at the university level. When that time comes, I still want to pursue my own projects, but I’m looking forward to mentoring the next generation.
In my ideal year, I will have worked on others’ projects as a cinematographer, on my own artistic projects, whether in Cinematography or another fine art, and also taught youth or university students. I appreciate this balance because, while some work pays better than others, teaching youth fills my spirit, and I want to always make time for that. I know firsthand what it’s like to be deprived of knowledge for lack of time or otherwise, and so I really want this upcoming generation of filmmakers to soar.
But I’d be remiss not to mention the student loans I need to pay and the cost of living in one of the most expensive cities in the world. I love it here, but I do need to survive, and I’m not able to work for a credit and a meal; I do need to have money coming in. But I want to work with people and get stories out there. I love working and want to keep doing the work I love without burning out. This has to be sustainable for myself and others on the production.
Rose Stiffarm is building a career and space within the filmmaking industry that prioritizes clarity, fairness, and long-term sustainability. Her perspectives challenge the film industry to be intentional about who it hires, trains, and listens to. In doing so, she makes space for the next generation of Indigenous filmmakers who will not have to fight the same battles or see their careers end before they have a chance to build them.
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