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New Orleans Film Society

by Monique Verdin for South Summit 2021

The South I know best stretches from the bottomland hardwood forests, to the marshes, to the crystal quartz barrier islands found across the coastal territories of the Gulf of Mexico’s northern rim, from Houma, Louisiana to Pensacola, Florida. I’ve been thinking a lot about all the stories that I don’t know; discovering the meanings of names of places I have driven by hundreds of times; learning that these names, these places, Pascagoula, Biloxi, Mobile, are more than the names of places, they are names of forgotten Peoples and of Rivers that feed estuaries, connecting the lands and freshwaters to the…

by Lee Laa Ray Guillory for South Summit 2021

Standing knee deep in murky water, I unravel the tail end of my braid to welcome the water’s embrace. I mark my presence with a deep sigh then inhale the musty scent of the Mississippi river. My breath is stolen by the distant melody of a song I can’t quite discern from the gawking of a pelican loitering near my abandoned sandals. A reverb of metallic whistles strikes my ears, disrupting the rhythm of my breath and inspiring the bird to retreat into the smoke of the Louisiana sky. The sound grows closer and reveals itself as the Steamboat Natchez…

by Michelle Lanier (memory keeper, filmmaker, and folklorist) for South Summit 2021

What are the containers that hold our hearts?

I’ve been asking myself this question a lot these days.

I was taught to know this.

Cherished things went in a King Edward Imperial Cigars box, a massive Columbia Metropolitan Area phone book (with white, blue, pink and yellow pages), the Webster’s dictionary, heavy pots, prayer books, deep freezers, grease cans, rag bags, jewel boxes, pocket books, and lingerie drawers.

Heartstrings were tucked like stray strands of hair into hiding places, saving places, dark-dark places.

Waverly (historic Oasis Space of Columbia, Afro-Carolina) was and is one such heart-shaped box.

She was a…

by Adam Forrester for South Summit 2021

In 2019, on a brisk November evening in New York, I was wearing every piece of winter clothing that I brought with me, yet it wasn’t enough to keep me warm. I was in New York for a film festival and had memorized my route from one part of the festival to another — two long blocks east, five short blocks south — and tried to walk with the confidence and poise that I saw most of the city’s pedestrians display. …

New Orleans Film Society

We produce the Oscar®-qualifying New Orleans Film Festival annually and invest year-round in building a vibrant film culture in the South.

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