What does it mean to film a powwow? What does it mean for a powwow to take place now, in the 21st century? 

These are questions provoked by Sky Hopinka’s second feature, Powwow People (2025), which takes us into the heart of a powwow, a contemporary gathering of Native Americans, bringing together different tribes and traditions in a celebration of culture through dance, music, food, and craft.

Viewing this in the context of this year’s Open City Documentary Festival, a programme bursting with experimental films which push the boundaries of form, oftentimes exploring rather cryptic experiences, Powwow People, by contrast, initially feels like a relatively straightforward, understated doc. No flashy camerawork, which often appears as shaky, out of focus, or obscured by powwow goers, and simple editing, which works to distil the three-day festivities into a clean, linear timeline. However, Powwow People is far from the generic documentation of a cultural event and instead quietly subverts and challenges the conventions of ethnographic filmmaking.

Hailing from the Ho-Chunk Nation, Hopinka grew up attending powwows, so he brings an intimate knowledge of the event and many of the people that appear in the film. However, thousands of powwows take place all over the US throughout the summer, and the director states there was debate over whether to document a number of them or just one. The politics of filming culture and communities always feels ethically dubious, no matter how positive the intent of the filmmakers or how “faithful” the representation. Questions of consent and control shaping representations inevitably arise in any instance of documentary practice, but particularly so in the context of marginalised cultures within the US settler-colonial society. And whilst Powwow People does not eliminate these concerns entirely, it does something structurally subversive in tackling the question of the ownership of image; this powwow was organised and staged by the filmmaker, thus allowing community members to opt in for the recording process. Hopinka centres consent and agency of the community whilst simultaneously unsettling the most basic of assumed boundaries between authenticity and staging in documentary.

The redistribution of ownership is a crucial act in this film and mirrors Hopinka’s broader ethos and approach to the distribution of images, as the majority of his filmography is available to view freely on his website. In terms of audiences, Hopinka states that he has worked with impact producers to find ways of circulating Powwow People outside of the usual festival circuit (guilty as charged), stating his distaste for manufactured exclusivity. The film expertly treads the middle ground between making the unfolding of a powwow legible to those with no knowledge of the event without being overly explanatory, and resists expounding the history of specific dance, song or dress in a way that picks it apart as an object of examination. Instead, Hopinka is interested in contemporary Native communities and relationships between members.

Various voice-over interviews with community members that scatter the film dwell on these topics. Notably, the non-binary dancer Jaime John, who reveals that powwows are a tradition born out of the trauma of colonialism, is a direct response to the genocide of peoples and traditions. The dances are not stagnant, they insist. What we see is not some perfectly calcified artefact plucked from the past, but alive, breathing and vibrant, entirely in step with the present and evolving with each generation. John sees the powwow as a place to experiment with dance and movement. There is no denial of contemporaneity here, as the usual ethnographic gaze prescribes, and this is most lightheartedly exemplified in the sequence of toddlers dancing to a Native reworking of Old McDonald.

We are expertly guided through the event by veteran Master of Ceremonies Ruben Littlehead, who takes on the dual status of charismatic MC for the powwow and guiding voice-over for the doc. But this is no Voice of God, as in the typical ethnographic style. Whilst Littlehead certainly serves as an authority on the order of ceremony, as well as being able to name and introduce what seems like almost every person in attendance, his voice is not an abstract, bodiless entity, with the “neutral” (ahem: white, upperclass, male, colonial) tone who all too often provides the context to images. Instead, Littlehead is situated and has tangible relationships with the participants;  he knows who’s who and casually shares anecdotes with the audience as if catching up with old friends, which I suppose he is. Although he speaks into a microphone, aurally dominating the event, his tone is playful and warm, taking moments to teach us Native slang, making an effort to invite all in.

In fact, from start to finish, Littlehead calls out our director straight up. The film opens with a song and performance, to which he exclaims, “Put this in the doc, Sky, this is the one!” His guiding role extends to directing Hopinka and DOP Shaandiin Tome in what they can and cannot film, further exemplifying the collective participation in the shaping of representation.

The film rounds off with a 30-minute-long take of the final competition, in which dancers are eliminated through four consecutive performances before arriving at a champion. Here, the camera is extremely mobile, circling dancers, capturing and embodying the raw energy culminating in the song and dance. Here, the aforementioned shakiness peaks, but the film’s rough edges are endearing rather than hindering, offering a more intimate and involved participation with the dance. The film does not aestheticise; instead, we are keenly aware of Hopinka’s presence with a camera, an effect which resists reducing Native people to visual spectacle against picturesque landscapes.
And another thing: everyone is credited in this film. From each of the dancers, singers, and vendors to the Sacred Riders Motorcycle Club, who provided security for the powwow, each participant is acknowledged, a subtle gesture pointing towards the collective authoring of the powwow and its visual documentation. In Powwow People, Hopinka not only invites us to share this event, but changes the terms under which it is documented.

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Image courtesy of Open City Documentary Festival.