On March 5, 2021, the Kingston Canadian Film Festival premiered the refreshing and remarkable film entitled How to Fix Radios. Directors Emily Russel and Casper Leonard’s debut feature film stars James Rudden, Dimitri Watson, Willa Crowder, and Hector Jenkins. The movie proved a fresh look at independent cinema and demonstrates the talent that is beginning to swell from the corners of the KFL&A region.
The film follows Evan (Rudden), as he begins an unpleasant summer job alongside Ross (Watson), as they are tormented by Jake (Jenkins) and his friends. The story highlights the often invisible trials queer youth face in rural Ontario right outside the influence of smaller cities, like Kingston, that are outwardly supportive of the LGBTQI2SA+ community.
What was most remarkable about this film was the cinematography. It opens with the quintessential, coming-of-age rural road shots, but it refrains from becoming a cliché. Every shot is dynamic; Russel dutifully plays with depth, colour, natural lighting, and medium to present a visual masterpiece characteristic of the independent genre but with a wise and refined taste demonstrative of a keen and detailed eye. Every scene evokes the warmth of summer; both in its punishing and soothing splendor.
What I found the most compelling with regards to the cinematography, was the repeating sequence of Evan against a vast background. At the beginning and ending of the film, set after his summer with Ross, we see Evan from behind as he looks beyond. Before he meets Ross and before their friendship blooms, we see Evan as he moves toward the camera and, in metaphor, toward the person he becomes because of Ross.
Thanks to Leonard’s editing, the number of small montage sequences towards the middle of the film accentuate the beautiful images. We witness a glimpse into each of the central character’s worlds: Eileen explores a barn in ruins which is a haven for her, Ross catches frogs in the pond on the quarry, Jake and his crew frolic along a small river. Each of the scenes are characteristic of the rural terrain of Ontario. Anyone who has taken the time to venture beyond the cities of the Golden Horseshoe will instantly recognize them. Ross’s statement, “don’t question it, it’s tradition,” is overwhelmingly familiar to those of us who spent our summer in this warm countryside. Through this landscape, they tell the story of late adolescence that is specifically unique to this region. I cannot claim that every Ontarian has lived this experience, but I can acknowledge that this story is profoundly Ontarian.
One of the primary messages is a common one for queer youth everywhere: there are people who enter our lives who act as a transformative entity that push us to grow into ourselves. Ross is this vessel for Evan as his elementary school teacher was for him. What this film does well, is its demonstration of the unfortunate yet characteristic truth of self-hatred among queer youth; particularly those who grow up outside of the big city. It often requires someone to tell us we are not ill, but whole, in order to reach a point of self-acceptance strong enough to tune out the bigoted world.
Just before the end credits, the film leaves us with an important, concluding message from Eileen, when Evan confronts her about Ross’s disappearance. She tells him, “sometimes they just have to leave; they just have to,” and she is right. The phenomenon of queer youth who leave behind their hometown with overwhelmingly severed ties is not a mere trope of the queer coming-of-age drama. Instead, it is something a lot of us have to do in order to come into ourselves.
Eileen’s message solidifies itself after the end of the credits, as the line “if things don’t get better, at least they change,” flashes across the screen. To an outsider, this mentality may seem dramatic; things have grown better, stop complaining. Although tides have shifted towards inclusivity over the past several decades, the suffering, absence of stability, and sense of a “parasitic guilt to one’s home,” as Ross puts it, have not disappeared. Critically acclaimed media with queer representation and marriage equality do not eliminate the underbelly of hatred, they merely change the ways in which the lack of belonging for LGBTQI2SA+ people manifests.
Overall, I was impressed by How to Fix Radios, because it serves as a true reminder that as the world continues to change, as it always does, queer people will continue to navigate it. The unfortunate need for liberation from unwelcoming spaces will also continue, even though there may be pain for those left behind. Regardless, the bookend opening and concluding sequences encapsulate a universal message well beyond the years of the cast and crew: to lead a worthwhile life, and we all deserve to find a better place.
