Crawdaddy (Kassandra Voss, Dan Rocque, 2023, Canada) is a good old-fashioned performance-driven adult comedy, conditioned by COVID-19 restrictions to play out mainly as a house-bound, dialogue heavy menage a quatre. Luckily the script is good, and performances strong, and the ‘adult’ part of it comes from the edgy, quirky script that keeps the audience on its toes in terms of which direction the script will take. Co-director Kassandra Voss (with co-writer, editor, DP Dan Rocque) plays Gwynn, a person in 1960s parlance you would define as a ‘love child,’ or a ‘free spirit’. She is slightly mixed up, a veneer of self-confidence masking deep uncertainty over her purpose in life. She is a blend of love child, love witch and New Age convert, doing performance yoga one minute, cam sex the next (“You Fuck Me Mate”). Using the same cultural reference point, her boyfriend Adam (Nathan Barrett) is a 1960s Californian surfer-type –tall, muscular, blond, and good looking– but not a thinker. Their best friends are couple Lance (Juan Riedinger) and Macy (Naomi Vogt). Compared to Adam, Lance is more introverted and reflective, but as we learn more about him, is somewhat of a frustrated dreamer.  On the surface Macy (Naomi Vogt) is the most conservative of the group, but harbors repressed desires to explore her sexuality. The foursome are a perfectly matched set of contrasts: Gwynn and Adam are blond, beach types; Lance and Macey are dark-haired, office types. Perfect as a pair to set off against each other.

These four actors give honest and brave performances, baring their soul and bodies completely to the camera, including a funny moment where the slightly bonkers Adam plays a tambourine with his penis! Gwynn is the most flamboyant of the group, always wearing outlandish, revealing clothes and makeup. In one of the best moment’s from a purely visuals-tell-all moment Gwynn takes an elaborately staged bath with dozens of colorful fruits, vegetables and flowers floating in the colorful bathwater. I admit this is a fanciful read of the scene, but the bath can be seen as a reflection of the film’s subtext: the need for fantasy (the colorful fruit) and reality (the bathtub) to co-exist. This idea is embodied in a quote by American author Lloyd Alexander we hear several times in the film: “Fantasy is hardly an escape from reality. It’s a way of understanding it.”  The scene, as the film in general, takes full advantage of digital cinema’s potential for exuberant color. The bathroom scene concludes with Gwynn posed holding an artichoke over her sexual parts in a mock parody of Botticelli’s “The Birth of Venus” (does Gwynn see herself as a timeless work of art?).

Nathan Barrett as Adam just may steal the show as the washed up 33 year old actor whose talents are such that even his well-meaning (financially) supportive parents know are non-existent. In a funny moment of self-incrimination Adam beats his chest while imploring that his parents on a Zoom call see him for what he is, an artist. The befuddled parents can hardly muster an affirmation.

Co-director/co-writer’s Voss and Dan Rocque keep the otherwise dialogue-heavy film always interesting visually, with hand-held long takes that are used for many of the dialogue scenes, but give way to more expressively edited moments of Gwynn’s subjective fantasies. Realistic dialogue scenes are broken by Gwynn’s direct address interjections which are heard by the audience but not the other characters in the scene, causing a curious divide between narrative and documentary. The story is divided by red medieval-themed title cards, complete with playful medieval music (I swear that some of the musical motifs seem lifted from Monty Python and the Holy Grail).

The film can be read as an exaggeration of how we all went a little stir crazy during the COVID lockdowns, but also a parable of how people function in a duality of normalcy and delusion, or fantasy and reality. Gwynn wants a life where all the boring parts are cut out. Gwynn is deluded into thinking she can live as a free spirit without the concerns for social decorum and pragmatism. She seems like a person who thrives on human interaction yet gets more sexual satisfaction from masturbation with objects (chairs, her fridge, bathtub, etc.). Adam is deluded in his belief that he is an artist with something important to say. Macey is deluded into thinking she can find fulfilment living a normal life with Lance. While Lance is a delusional fantasist who expects there is more to life than Macey and work.

In a moment of self-therapy Gwynn tearfully admits to Adam that she felt herself to be a special child when she was able to draw within the lines at an earlier stage than her child peers. She saw this a sign of being blessed with something innately special. But maybe it was just a case of peaking early. Then all of her self-therapy spills out as an excuse to admit to Adam that she loves Lance. Or at least the idea of Lance, and then convinces Adam that her sex dreams are a sign that she is destined to save Lance from his life of conservative conformity. How? By drugging, kidnapping him and driving him to Charleston Lake, a beautiful lake and beach area. Once there Lance, Gwynn and Adam roll about the sand while a 1960s Doors-styled song (echoing “Riders in the Storm”) plays in a retro period feel which may be a reference to the infamous desert sex scene in Michelangelo Antonioni’s Zabriskie Point (1970), which is scored with Jerry Garcia’s (of The Grateful Dead) soulful guitar playing. This leads to a playful menage a trois at a local hotel room, which caps out a long section without dialogue. Can sex be a cure-all?

In a satisfying conclusion Gwynn leaves the two men sleeping in the hotel room before they wake up in a desire to stave off the quotidian. She runs into Macey, who surprises her with an acknowledgement of sexual attraction, and leaves her with a lover’s kiss and a gift (‘an upgrade’), which ends up being a joke on the final title card, “The Holy Grail”: the gift is not some priceless chalice but a large, colorful dildo. The dildo plays into the wonderfully evocative final shot of the film, where the theme of fantasy and reality blend together, like the colors of the dildo and the rapturous rainbow lining the background sky behind Gwynn.

Interview with Kassandra Voss (actress, co-writer, co-director, co-Producer, Production Designer) & Dan Rocque (co-writer, co-director, co-Producer, Cinematographer, Editor)

Offscreen: I take it this film was conditioned by the COVID-19 lockdown restrictions. When was the film shot, and did you have to follow the strict COVID guidelines?

Kassandra Voss, Daniel Rocque: Crawdaddy began principal photography in June 2021, right in the thick of the COVID-19 pandemic. That summer in BC, restrictions had eased just enough to make things manageable from a scheduling and logistics perspective. One of our producers doubled as our COVID officer, and we did our very best to follow the public health guidelines – which was easier said than done on a sex comedy starring a radical crew of method actors and artists! Let’s just say the bubble was bound to pop eventually. Luckily, we were a lean operation, with no more than 12 people on set at any given time.

Offscreen: So how did it shape the film? Did the film come out as a response to COVID, or was it written irrespective of COVID?

KV, DR: This film wouldn’t exist without the pandemic. As tragic as that time was, it worked to our benefit as artists. Crawdaddy was born out of feelings of restriction and isolation – and the strange ways we cope with them. That said, we never wanted the pandemic to be the center of the story. A love triangle can unfold in any relationship, in any era – but during a lockdown, the stakes are raised. As writers, this gave us so much more to play with. We leaned into our imaginations during this time because it was all we had… and in the end, it saved us.

Offscreen: Where does the majority of the film take place (where was it shot)? And did the final scene actually take place at Charleston Lake (which is very far from Vancouver, South Eastern Ontario)?

KV, DR: The film was primarily shot in Vancouver, BC, with the ending sequence taking place in and around the Williams Lake area in the central interior of BC. Charleston Lake was the fictitious name given to this location in the film.

Offscreen: It is rare to see a comedy marketed at adults and not at teens. Does that pose a challenge in terms of distribution?

KV, DR: Possibly. But the bigger hurdle is making a film that doesn’t fit neatly into a box. Even at the film festival level, we noticed many programmers shying away from original, offbeat films – especially domestically – in favor of safer, more marketable titles with recognizable names. Like everyone else, festivals took a hit during the pandemic. Now, it feels like many are prioritizing films with commercial appeal and known talent to boost ticket sales and media attention – rather than championing original voices like they did a few decades ago. That’s a whole other interview entirely! But ranting aside, we do feel there is a lack of sex comedies being made, and especially ones that appeal to adult audiences.

Offscreen: That quote from Lloyd Alexander is a perfect summation of the film’s subtext. Did it come first and then the script. Or did you find it after you had written the script?

KV, DR: “Fantasy is hardly an escape from reality. It’s a way of understanding it.” We stumbled across that quote while writing Macy’s epiphany – and it felt like a sign. Between her partner Lance’s affair and her curiosity about Gwynn’s sexuality, we needed a catalyst to shift Macy’s perspective to help her see her world through a new lens. When she visits the sex shop, she realizes she’s not in Kansas anymore – and she likes it. Then she spots the quote, framed atop a glass case filled with chrome dildos like some kind of oracle’s message. That moment bursts her bubble and sets her on an entirely new path, launching her own hero’s journey!
Offscreen: I see you have both original music and source music. One of the motifs I am sure sounds a lot like the score from Monty Python and the Holy Grail, which would make sense given the subject matter. This can’t be a coincidence! Can you confirm that indeed you ‘borrowed’ from that score? Or where you using the same source?

KV, DR: My co-creator, Daniel Rocque, is also a musician, and music is a huge part of our creative process. Given the film’s Arthurian betrayal motifs, the theme music in Crawdaddy was a deliberate homage to Monty Python and The Holy Grail theme, “Homeward Bound,” composed by Jan Stoeckart under the pseudonym Jack Trombey. Daniel collaborated with Grammy Award–winning trumpeter and composer Michael Leonhart on a new piece titled “The March of the Dunes,” intended to evoke the Trombey arrangement. Michael composed the music and brought in members of the Michael Leonhart Orchestra to help shape the adventurous, orchestral sound we were aiming for. The whole piece was recorded at Leonhart’s studio in Manhattan.

Offscrceen: I can see a few other films that may have been an influence on this film. Namely Anna Biller’s The Love Witch and the desert sex scene from Zabriskie Point? Were you influenced by these films? Are there any other films you would like to cite as an influence, and how?

KV, DR: We’ve both seen The Love Witch, but it wasn’t an influence on this film. Many of the “witchy” themes are actually derived from a day in the life of Kassandra Voss – haha! Stylistically, the biggest influence was Husbands and Wives (1991), directed by Woody Allen. The neurotic characters, the verité-inspired camerawork, the raw intensity and emotional intimacy – that’s the kind of filmmaking we gravitate toward. It’s also the kind of film you can pull off on a tight budget. We’ve always loved that run-and-gun approach.
The dunes sequence in Crawdaddy was absolutely channeling Zabriskie Point – Antonioni’s 1970 fever dream of sun, sex, and counterculture. We’re huge fans of those ’60s and ’70s American films that dared to lose the plot in favor of raw emotion and visual poetry. And if you dig deep enough online, you might even find a music video we shot for Dan’s now-defunct band, Kin Kanyon, where I bare all at Zabriskie Point in Death Valley, California. It's not about nudity – it's about shedding something deeper, and letting the landscape bear witness.

Offscreen: One of the few films I can think of that has an actual rainbow in it is The Florida Project. And according to Sean Baker, it was a real rainbow that they rushed to film and was unplanned. You don’t have to give this away if you don’t want to, but was that a real rainbow at the end?

KV, DR: Well, that depends on what your definition of “reality” actually is.. ;) Offscreen: And kudos to that final shot. It is brilliant! Is that a shot that you had in your head from the beginning?

KV, DR: No, the final shot wasn’t in our heads from the beginning – it took shape and evolved as we developed the film and its core themes. That said, the ending is very much the beginning. It’s the moment of choice: to answer the call, or not… to be or not to be. Offscreen: Can you talk a little about the visual style of the film. The use of hand-held camera, the direct address moments, the breaks of fantasy, the period title cards, they all give the film a vibrancy you don’t normal find in dialogue heavy films. Was the style a design of that desire to add a visual flair to the script?

KV, DR: The film’s vibrancy and style are a direct result of our creative process. We draw from both our lived experiences and mythic storytelling – in this case, Ariadne’s thread and the Minotaur in the labyrinth. Layer in Arthurian legend and the Tarot, and you get a melting pot of rich visuals, quirky symbology and fantasy. These references aren’t just for show – they’re anchors. They offer a framework through which we can ground the story, mirror emotional truths, and build a reality that’s heightened yet still relatable. The confessionals and documentary-style approach help bring it all back down to earth. Offscreen: The performances from the four leads are really strong. And pretty demanding in terms of laying yourself bare (literally and figuratively!). Can you talk a little about the way the actors prepared for the roles? Did you rehearse together? I imagine it was a small crew, which helped with some of the more intimate scenes?

KV, DR: If you’re not willing to bare all, don’t even bother. We were fortunate enough to work with talent who trusted us as directors right from the start. The characters felt so alive and were begging to be embodied – so we got very “method” with it all! As a result of the pandemic, our actors had a lot of time on their hands, as other productions were at a standstill. This allowed us to get a lot of rehearsals in. We set boundaries and made pacts with each other that everyone respected and honored. As directors, we pride ourselves on creating a chamber where you can give yourself full permission to play. Surrendering to what the story is asking of you is crucial: but being able to do that in a supportive and creatively nurturing environment on set is when the magic really happens. It’s all very Art You Alive!

Offscreen: You take on a lot in this film: acting, co-writer, co-director, co-editor, Production design, etc. Was this also a condition of COVID? Or a condition of the indie film? Or just a way to save money!

KV, DR: Daniel and I wore a lot of hats on this film – and that’s just the nature of micro-budget filmmaking, especially during a pandemic!

Offscreen: What was the most difficult thing about performing so many roles?

KV, DR: The hardest part of wearing so many hats is getting to sleep at night – knowing when to shut it off and actually rest. It’s harder than it sounds when you’re completely consumed by the work. Making a film is never easy, especially at this stage in our careers, but if we want to get our stories made, this is the only way to do it at this budget level. That said, we’re definitely looking forward to the day when we can hire more crew and focus solely on writing and directing.

Offscreen: How difficult was it to set up and film that ‘fruity’ bathtub scene?

KV, DR: The fruit bath was so much fun to shoot and to shop for! In hindsight, we wished we’d had more produce to really fill the tub, but exotic fruit isn’t cheap. I was in there for a couple of hours, and by the end, I’d developed a pretty intense (and very itchy) rash that just kept getting worse as we rolled. I ended up using that irritability and physical discomfort as fuel for Gwynn’s internal conflict, which was meant to be bubbling under the surface. It became an interesting exercise, especially considering how calm I appear in the scene. Nothing is ever as it seems!

Offscreen: A general question on the Vancouver film scene. Are you working in a bubble (maybe that was implied in the opening park scene!) or are you part of a nurturing film community in Vancouver?

KV, DR: Vancouver is a service town for the film industry. We often feel a bit like outsiders, working in a bubble built for two, especially at the micro-budget level. Most days, it feels like us against the world. That’s not to say there aren’t indie filmmakers here. We worked with some truly great people during our production – but there’s definitely less of an indie “scene,” especially now that we’re living on Vancouver Island. We’re still looking for our people.

Offscreen: I see that the film has been sold to some streaming services (iTunes, Amazon). Was that a product of exposure at film festivals? How many festivals has the film played at? Does the film have a Canadian release?

KV, DR: Crawdaddy did not have a Canadian release, which is truly unfortunate for a Canadian film. We were surprised by the lack of support from Canadian festivals – especially those that had previously screened our short films. That said, we understand the festival market is saturated and the politics are complicated. Sadly, Crawdaddy was overlooked. We believe it comes down to increasingly conservative programming, with many festivals prioritizing bigger indie films that are already gaining traction on the circuit, leaving fewer slots for “cold” submissions. That said, we’re incredibly grateful for our world premiere (and only screening) at the Newport Beach Film Festival in Orange County – now the largest film festival south of LA County. They’ve been longtime supporters of our work, and it was a joy to see Crawdaddy up on the big screen the way it’s meant to be.

As for distribution, we didn’t “sell” the film in the traditional sense, but we were able to partner with a North American distributor who has placed it on various TVOD platforms. Later this summer, we’ll be expanding to subscription-based (SVOD) and ad-supported (AVOD) platforms as well.

Offscreen: I have good friends who made a low budget feature in Montreal and the path to distribution was interminable. They say that digital cinema has made it so much easier and cheaper for filmmakers. But distribution is something else. What has your experience been with the impact of digital technology?

KV, DR: Digital technology has lowered the barrier to entry for becoming a filmmaker. As a result, we’ve seen a massive influx of content – especially over the past 20 years. Filmmaking has become more accessible, which is a great thing, but it’s also led to a “quantity over quality” issue, particularly during the streaming wars of the past decade. It’s a double-edged sword: yes, it allows artists to pursue their vision more easily, but it also creates a lot more noise, making it harder for work to get seen.

Yes, Crawdaddy is currently available on Apple TV, Amazon (USA), Google Play (USA), Fandango, and more… but will anyone actually find it if they’re not specifically searching for it? Will the algorithm be so kind? We don’t think so. But honestly, that doesn’t matter. Filmmaking is all we know how to do in this lifetime. It’s our calling… and our curse.

To view the film on Apple itunes

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Volume 29, Issue 3-5 / May 2025 Film Reviews   Interviews   canadian cinema   independent cinema   low budget cinema   sex comedy