Warren Sulatycky’s first feature film, April in Autumn, is a quiet yet captivating slice of life. It draws you in slowly and subconsciously— so relatable that you don’t even realize you’re falling in love with it. Instead, it feels like the film is falling in love with you. But the film is also likely to make you cry, as there’s something about every character, conversation and plot line that resonates like something you’ve known before.

The film portrays April (Caitlyn Sponheimer) and Sara (Elizabeth Stuart-Morris), two artistic sisters who reconnect in their family home after a long time apart in order to care for their ailing mother (Sandra Pascuzzi). Their mom has a subtle illness that drives the film, yet isn’t necessarily its focal point. The daughters grappling with their mother’s reality in different ways: April discovers a family secret and becomes avidly obsessed with uncovering its meaning, while Sara acts as caregiver and prefers to let the past peacefully sleep. 

As the plot unfolds, unlikely characters are introduced— from a precariously housed stranger-turned-friend, to love interests of past and present. The two sisters’ storylines come to a head at a family dinner, where the themes that had been simmering throughout the film heat up and ignite. 

In what Sponheimer describes as a “humanistic drama,” duality is the string that ties each theme together—juxtaposing life and loss, curiosity and knowledge, memory and the lack thereof, and the variety within a single identify.    

“Duality is true to life, and the point [of the film] was to be true to life. There are so many contrasting things that can live inside someone, or exist in relationships or circumstances,” explains Stuart-Morris. 

“It’s really rooted in honesty and not glossed over with bells and whistles. It’s very real,” says Sponheimer.

The film questions how we see ourselves, and how we see others as who they are or who we hope and expect them to be. It’s patient in its exploration, and comes to a loose but meaningful conclusion, illustrative of life itself. 

“In watching this film, an audience almost expects a certain outcome, but it doesn’t always work out that way,” says Stuart-Morris. “What do we do as people when something doesn’t work out the way we intended? How do we go from there and shape our stories when that happens? It’s overwhelming, the persistence of life. It’s powerful and never-ending.”

April in Autumn is also a portrait of a city and its people, which adds to its feeling of intimacy. It’s filmed in the Parkdale area of Toronto, the home of writer, producer and director Warren Sulatycky. If you know the area, you’ll recognize it instantly. 

Like a real community, the film moves at the gentle, neighbourly pace of a Sunday morning. Some of the most provocative scenes show simple conversations on a city bench, pure moments born of coincidental encounters. 

“We’re so used to Hollywood films with lots of action, quick cuts and loud music. In this film, there is a lot of talking, and it’s a slower pace. Allow yourself to pay attention and immerse in it,” says Sponheimer. 

Sponheimer and Stuart-Morris tell me that behind the scenes, the making of the film felt familial and collaborative. Sponheimer helped write the story, and Stuart-Morris was involved in production and the musical score. Sulatycky’s art is also featured throughout. This organic production style is noticeable throughout the film, which features moments of improvisation and some single shot scenes. 

“In a lot of ways, it was a huge blessing that it was both mine and [Sponheimer’s] first time in leading roles in a feature film,” says Stuart-Morris. “The pressure was off. It was a creative environment, and you had the freedom to just be the character and explore things. That was what was so beautiful about it. We created honest connections on camera which hopefully translates to an honest experience for the audience.”

For this audience member, it certainly did. See for yourself when the film has it’s one-night only Vancouver premiere, December 10 at The Cinematheque.