Deep in the archives of the National Film Board of Canada, nearly sixty hand-crafted animation reels lay untouched for more than half a century—until now. In a remarkable project, the film board has digitised and released 41 short films made between 1972 and 1975 by Inuit artists in Kinngait (then Cape Dorset), Nunavut. These films, created during a six-week animation workshop at the Sikusilarmiut Animation Studio, were crafted by 13 Inuit filmmakers and feature stories rooted in Arctic community life and tradition. Only 17 of the nearly 60 reels ever reached audiences beyond the North; now, the full collection is available, and free to stream, via the National Film Board of Canada, with the story first covered in depth by Nunatsiaq News.
This isn’t just archival dust being wiped off. Camilo Martín‑Flórez, the NFB curator who led the restoration, described how rare it is to find both the original films and behind-the-scenes footage showing Inuit artists editing reels by hand. It’s a vivid glimpse into a vibrant, under-recognised moment in Canadian filmmaking history.
Why these films matter right now
These animations are powerful because they were truly Inuit-made. Unlike earlier ethnographic films where outsiders documented Indigenous life, these were created by local artists—carvers, photographers, musicians—learning filmmaking from scratch. Their stop-motion and hand-drawn sequences share stories of daily life, myth, and traditional practices from an insider’s point of view.
One of the standout titles, Animation from Cape Dorset, actually screened at Cannes in 1973 and won an award at Animafest Zagreb. However, the rest of the collection remained buried until now. Thanks to months of careful digitisation by the NFB, the films are now accessible to Inuit communities and global audiences alike. As Nunatsiaq News reported, the restoration offers an invaluable link between past and present.
For Inuit communities, these films are more than cultural artefacts. They’re part of the broader movement toward self-representation in the arts. They predate landmark Indigenous works like Zacharias Kunuk’s Atanarjuat: The Fast Runner, which won the Camera d’Or at Cannes in 2001 and brought Inuit cinema to international acclaim. Contemporary filmmakers such as Alethea Arnaquq-Baril, whose animated work has explored Inuit identity and resilience, are continuing the tradition these films helped start.
This release is also important for younger generations. As Martín‑Flórez noted, having these films available online means Inuit youth can see work made by their own elders, in their own language, reflecting their own stories. That’s a powerful thing.
What comes next: restoration, education, cultural reclamation
These films aren’t just history. They’re a foundation. Educators and community leaders across Nunavut are already discussing how to use them in classrooms and cultural programming. The release could also reinvigorate local animation efforts, particularly now that digital tools are more accessible.
The NFB’s previous initiative, Unikkausivut: Sharing Our Stories, aimed to make over 100 Inuit films available in Indigenous languages and English. But the current collection predates that effort by decades, providing an even earlier record of Inuit voices shaping their own stories.
Contemporary films such as Angakusajaujuq: The Shaman’s Apprentice, a stop-motion short by Kunuk that screened at TIFF in 2021 and won acclaim for its vivid portrayal of Inuit shamanic healing, are clear descendants of this 1970s work. Its success shows that there’s a global audience for Indigenous-made Arctic cinema.
The newly released collection isn’t just valuable to Inuit communities. It’s a reminder to the rest of the world that Indigenous creativity and storytelling were never lost. They were always there, waiting to be heard.