Meet the director: Sofia Bohdanowicz

For those that may not know you; Can you introduce yourself?
I’m Sofia Bohdanowicz, a filmmaker from Toronto, Canada. My work explores memory, inheritance, and personal history, blending fiction and documentary to examine how cinema functions as an archival tool. I’m particularly drawn to the stories of elderly matriarchs and the often-overlooked labor of women, using film to preserve and reframe their histories across time.

Your movie Measures for a Funeral has been referred to as your most self-referential and self-contained work. Can you talk us through the process of making this film and the blurred lines of fiction and reality? What inspired you to make this film?

This film came from a very personal place—it started as an exploration of my grandfather's violin mentor, Kathleen Parlow. That mystery led me down a path of research, and, as with many of my films, I wove aspects of my own experience into the narrative.

Measures for a Funeral follows Audrey Benac, a recurring character in my work, as she searches for the missing Opus 28. Audrey has always been a kind of conduit for my own interests—archival research, family legacy, and the act of reconstructing history. While it’s a fictional story, the process was deeply rooted in documentary methods: real research, real historical figures, and an emotional truth drawn from my own life.

I think of fiction and documentary as fluid. Reality is always mediated by perspective, and film allows us to shape that perspective into something new. This film exists in that liminal space—it’s personal, but not a memoir; real, but not at all a documentary.

What inspired you to become a director (and a screenwriter?) Is there any defining moment in your life?

Filmmaking became a way for me to articulate things I couldn’t express otherwise. I struggled with public speaking as a teenager, but through filmmaking, I found a way to communicate. From the age of 12, I started gathering friends and classmates to make films using my father's JVC camcorder and editing tape to tape on VHS. That collaborative process of bringing a story to life became really meaningful to me.

One defining moment was in high school when I had to give a presentation for a world religions class. Instead of speaking in front of the class, I made a short film—a spoof of The Blair Witch Project. That was the first time I realized that cinema could be a space where I felt both comfortable and creatively free.

Later, I studied filmmaking in Toronto, and my work gradually evolved into what it is now—intimate, research-driven, and deeply personal.

Speaking of directors; who is your biggest inspiration when it comes to directing?

I admire filmmakers who approach cinema as an act of excavation—Chantal Akerman, Agnès Varda, Krzysztof Kieślowski, and Robert Bresson, to name a few. Akerman’s ability to capture time and space, Varda’s playful yet deeply personal storytelling, Kieślowski’s poetic use of memory and atmosphere, and Bresson’s stripped-down, deeply spiritual approach to performance and image have all influenced me.

I also take inspiration from contemporary filmmakers like Angela Schanelec, Athina Tsangari, and Pedro Costa, who create work that feels formally rigorous yet strikingly emotional.

What is your "creative bible"?

I don't believe in bibles but I return to certain books and films when I need guidance. Nathaniel Dorsky’s Devotional Cinema is one of them—it’s a poetic meditation on the spiritual and sensory power of film, reminding me of the deeper possibilities of cinematic experience.

In terms of film, Chris Marker’s Sans Soleil and Jonas Mekas’ As I Was Moving Ahead Occasionally I Saw Glimpses of Beauty have always been touchstones for me. Sans Soleil’s fluid, essayistic structure and exploration of memory, time, and subjectivity continue to inspire my approach to filmmaking. Mekas’ film, with its diaristic intimacy and celebration of fleeting moments, reaffirms the beauty of everyday life and the act of recording as a form of remembrance.

In terms of equality, do you feel the movie and film industry are going in the right direction? Why/Why not?

There have been important shifts in the industry in terms of visibility and representation, but there’s still a long way to go. Opportunities for women and non-binary filmmakers are expanding, but access to funding and institutional support remains a significant challenge, especially for those working outside of mainstream narratives.

Gender aside, one of the biggest, yet often overlooked, barriers is economic imbalance. Filmmaking is resource-intensive, and without personal wealth or financial security, it’s difficult to sustain a career. Grants and funding bodies exist, but they’re highly competitive and often favor those who already have industry connections. The class divide in filmmaking—who can afford to take risks, work for free, or self-finance their projects—remains a major issue, yet it’s rarely addressed in conversations about equity.

At the same time, women are constantly asked to answer this question, as if our role is to assess the industry's progress rather than discuss our craft. These conversations are important, but they also take up space that could be spent talking about the work itself—our influences, our artistic choices, our ideas.

The real question is: how do we create lasting change? It’s not just about who gets to make films, but how we sustain artists across their careers—ensuring they have the resources, financial support, and institutional backing to continue creating meaningful work.

Do you have any advice for other aspiring filmmakers?

Make work with what you have. It’s easy to feel like you need permission—funding, recognition, the “right” equipment—but the most important thing is to keep making films. Start small, experiment, and embrace limitations as part of the process.

Find a community of artists who inspire and challenge you. The relationships you build—whether with collaborators, mentors, or peers—will sustain you just as much as your own creative drive.

And finally, trust your instincts. The industry will try to tell you what kind of stories are “marketable” or “relevant,” but the work that resonates most will always be the work that feels personal and urgent to you.