Amy Elliott is a photographer and documentary filmmaker. She has been shooting motion and still editorial assignments for 20 years. Her previous features include 2014’s “Wicker Kittens” and 2010’s “World’s Largest.” She was awarded the American Society of Media Photographers’ Best of 2012 honors for “The War Within,” a major multimedia project for The American Legion, focusing on post-traumatic stress disorder in veterans.

“Salvage” will premiere at the 2019 SXSW Film Festival on March 8.

W&H: Describe the film for us in your own words.

AE: “Salvage” is about the city dump in Yellowknife, Canada, the largest — and one of the last — dumps in North America still open to the public for salvaging. Beloved by locals and a thorn in the side of city bureaucrats, the film chronicles the critical five-year period when it changes from the wild free-for-all it has always been, to a tamed, regulated, and essentially closed landfill.

All sorts of people go there to search for all sorts of things, including home goods, building supplies, and food. That may sound strange, but it makes sense in Yellowknife, the remote capitol of the Northwest Territories. Founded in 1935 as a gold mining town near the Arctic Circle, Yellowknife’s extreme remove isolated it over its short history and fostered a self-reliant frontier culture that is only now fading. Salvaging was born out of necessity, and continues today as an expression of thrift and proud tradition.

The film follows a group of dedicated salvagers who must adjust as the dump evolves. As the city increasingly restricts access, the salvagers and the “Northern values” they personify become increasingly irrelevant. Yellowknife is well on its way to becoming a modern Western city, and the dump is no longer a great attraction. This transformation has profound ramifications for not only this band of residents but also the very character of their hometown.

W&H: What drew you to this story?

AE: I’m fascinated by how geography – literally where we live — shapes how we act. In Yellowknife, there is a tradition of salvaging because it’s so physically isolated and resources can be hard to come by. As the world encroaches it becomes an easier place to live, for sure, but there is also a loss as it starts to feel more and more like everywhere else.

Documenting these unique regional cultures — especially before they vanish — is kind of my beat. My first feature, “World’s Largest,” was about small town and mostly bypassed roadside attractions throughout the United States. My most recent film, “Wicker Kittens,” focused on competitive jigsaw puzzling in Minnesota, a truly analog pastime.

I also wanted to make a film about “stuff,” for lack of a better term. We’re drowning in things right now – there is an abundance of cheap available goods, consumerism is king, and we’re running out of landfill space. I think examining what people throw away and profiling salvagers – who have a core belief that resources, including everyday items, are precious and not to be wasted – is worthwhile.

W&H: What do you want people to think about when they are leaving the theater?

AE: I want audiences leaving “Salvage” to consider if thrift needs to make a comeback. It’s a virtue that has fallen out of favor as an old-fashioned relic of earlier times of privation like the Great Depression or World War II. But it’s a bedrock value for the subjects of the film.

Appreciating objects, maximizing their use, and understanding their potential for future use is crucial to the salvagers, a counterpoint to the mindless consumption of the “throw away culture” that they abhor.

The central question underlying the story of the dump is how to practice thrift in a time of plentitude and almost unlimited access to cheap goods, and is it valuable or even relevant to do so?

W&H: What was the biggest challenge in making the film?

AE: The location. Yellowknife is 3,500 miles away from where I’m based. For an independent documentary filmmaker, having your shooting site that far away is not ideal, especially when it’s a long-term project. However, I didn’t really have a choice.

Most of the dumps here in the U.S. are closed to the public for liability reasons, much like what eventually happened in Yellowknife. The remoteness of the place ended up becoming an integral part of the story, but it cost a lot — in both money and travel time.

W&H: How did you get your film funded? Share some insights into how you got the film made.

AE: “Salvage” is the definition of a labor of love – I’ve been chipping away at it on my own dime for nearly 10 years. My first shoot was my annual “vacation” — a vacation alone at a faraway garbage dump, but a vacation nonetheless. We did end up getting a grant during post from the Lucius and Eva Eastman foundation but most of it was self-funded, with a lot of the principals donating in-kind services.

W&H: What’s the best advice you’ve received?

AE: The best advice I have gotten in my career has really been specific to situations. One example in particular was when I was agonizing over splitting my focus between still photography and video. A trusted mentor told me to focus on where the industry was going and not to overvalue my comfort level with photography, which was my original profession and training.

While stills are still part of my repertoire, most of the magazines I started out shooting for ended up asking for motion or multimedia projects within a few years of me branching out. I guess the big picture takeaway from that piece of advice, and others at similar inflection points in my career, is that it is important to take informed risks and not be afraid to move out of your lane.

W&H: What advice do you have for other female directors?

AE: This career is a marathon. I remember feeling like everything was make or break on “World’s Largest,” my first feature. Ten years later — and at my third SXSW premiere — it is gratifying to see how “Salvage” fits into my body of work and evolution as an artist.

You will spend years developing your skills, judgment, and voice, and with each project you work on you will further refine your approach. It doesn’t all happen — or have to happen — at once. Give yourself a break.

W&H: Name your favorite woman-directed film and why.

AE: Joyce Chopra’s “Smooth Talk.” Seeing it for the first time changed my idea of what movies could be. I stumbled upon it on television when I was 13 years old, which was perfect timing, to say the least. Even though it was in the family room of my childhood home on a beat-up old TV, it was one of the most impactful screening experiences I’ve had, to this day.

Before seeing it, I simply had no idea that a film could reflect my life. The scenes of Laura Dern going to the mall with her friends, the contentious relationship with her mom, just her simply crossing the street – they resonated with me deeply. It’s not an exaggeration to say it’s one of the reasons I felt filmmaking was a viable art form for me and indeed, inspired me to pursue it.

W&H: It’s been a little over a year since the reckoning in Hollywood and the global film industry began. What differences have you noticed since the #MeToo and #TimesUp movements launched?

AE: Aside from a long overdue reckoning with institutionalized tolerance of sexual assault and abuse in the film world, there is definitely a new awareness of and fluency in the issues and barriers that result in the underrepresentation of women in filmmaking.

Has anything fundamental actually changed? I’m not sure. But I do feel a gathering momentum and impatience with the status quo. After decades of being satisfied with incremental advances, it feels like women generally are tired of waiting nicely for their time. I hope we are on the verge of breaking through to actual parity. For the first time in my life, it feels like we may be.