Tag: documentary

The Gleaners and I


The Gleaners and I (2000)
★★★★ / ★★★★

Toward the end of Agnès Varda’s fascinating and compassionate documentary “The Gleaners and I,” we meet a man in the streets of Paris who visits outdoor markets to pick up thrown away food and eats them right there on the spot. He consumes about six to seven apples a day, is a vegetarian, and mindful of his health. Despite his lifestyle of sorting through the trash for food, he is not homeless; in fact, he is educated in Biology and possesses a Master’s degree. He makes a living selling street magazines, and he lives in a shelter that houses immigrants, many of whom are illiterate. So, he takes it upon himself to teach a class for his neighbors. They are taught how to read, write, and speak French—free of charge. This is only one of the many compelling persons in this entertaining and most educational film about second lives—of the people, including the director’s, and the objects they come into contact with.

To watch a Varda film is like being caressed with joyful surprises. In its opening minutes, the word “gleaner” is defined as “pickers,” “those who follow the harvest,” and for a while we go along with this definition as we visit all sorts of farms across France. In one farm, several tons of potatoes are discarded for being too small, too big, too misshapen, too hard—these, we are told, have no commercial value. And so the “odd” ones must be thrown away. I watched wide-eyed and jaw agape as mounds and mounds of potatoes sit on the ground, in the cold left to rot. Later, the poor—adults and children alike—come along to “pick” or “glean” these so-called trash so they and their families can have something to eat. It is not surprising that most of them eventually talk about sharing their harvests with their neighbors. These people are wired to think in a collective way. I wondered about the sorts of recipes they had back home. Sadly, Varda did not follow them for a taste.

The fearless and creative director takes her camera and swims with the potatoes, the grapes, the cabbages, the oysters, the people that society choose to ignore or forget about. She puts the camera so close to potatoes, for example, that we can appreciate the dirt sitting in between the grooves. By using the camera as a magnifying glass, she trains the audience to look at inanimate objects—food, refrigerators, televisions, clocks—from the perspective of what insights or stories these things can tell us. And so when the camera focuses on the people, we look at them through this lens, too. Clearly, Varda wishes for us to 1) understand and empathize with the poor and 2) to recognize our own privilege and acknowledge the waste we create. There is not a second where we feel lectured since her technique is so organic.

Eventually, a woman claims there is a difference between “gleaning” and “picking.” And so the movie evolves. We do not just look at fruits and vegetables. We look at kitchen appliances, electronics, and all sorts of knickknacks. We even get to meet people who take these broken, inedible things—scraps—and create art out of them. There is an older gentleman who loves dolls. His work is towering in a literal sense; his wife claims he is not “just” an artist. As curious as Varda is, at times she is wise in avoiding to ask, “What do you mean by that?” The reason is because there is beauty in the mystery; maybe it is more appropriate for us to provide answers instead of the subjects. In this way, we participate in what is being presented to us. I will not forget about the boot-donning man who has “a job, a salary, and social security number.” For more than ten years he has acquired his food from dumpsters. I loved that he gave us a non-answer (“a matter of ethics”) when asked why.

“Les gleaners et la glaneuse” shows that a hand-held digital camera can be employed and tell a thoroughly captivating story of pickers, psychoanalysts, teachers, lawyers, farmers. And even when Varda is just at home simply showing her hands and suspecting that “the end is near” due to the numerous brown spots on her skin, we watch spellbound because the person behind the camera is full of experience, wisdom, thoughts, and longings. She has a talent for placing whatever technology is in her hand so that we are inspired to look deeply and ask questions. And if there so happens to be no answer to our questions, we are motivated to extrapolate based on what we have seen, felt, imagined.

Honeyland


Honeyland (2019)
★★★★ / ★★★★

One of the beautiful characteristics of Tamara Kotevska and Ljubomir Stefanov’s “Honeyland” is that you wouldn’t know it is a documentary unless you are told it is. That is because it is not a typical documentary: no voice can be heard from behind the camera, the subject does not look at the lens to answer questions, and there is not a single title card meant to provide explanation. We are simply dropped in the mountainous region of the Balkans and we follow a woman named Hatidze trying to make a living by taking care of her bees and selling their honey at the nearest market in Skopje—several hours away from her home should one travel on foot. And she does. Where she lives, there is no car or buses because there is no road, there is no electricity, and there is no running water. It is impossible not to be fascinated by this beekeeper.

The majority of the film is composed of silence—which makes images stand out. We observe closely as Hatidze takes care of her ailing and bed-ridden eighty-five-year-old mother: we are there as Nazife is fed, when she wakes, as she attempts to move her leg upon her daughter’s insistence that she cannot remain in one position for so long. We watch as Nazife is bathed, when her hair is dyed, as the mother and daughter kiss each other good night. In front of us is love at its rawest being captured on film. As Hatidze sits right next to her sleeping mother, we look at her face and a freight train of questions run through our brain. I wondered if she was lonely, if she considered getting married, if she wanted to live somewhere else less isolated. Does she feel anchored because of her mother? What is her opinion of the outside world?

Some of these questions are answered as the picture moves forward. And some are not—which is perfectly all right considering the other rich details the film provides. For instance, it is educational in that, solely through observation, we learn specific tips on how to handle bees. On occasion, Hatidze wears a veil to protect her face from stings, but notice she never wears gloves. Her arms and hands do not appear to have been stung despite a lack of protection. When she handles the honeycombs, she is always calm. She ensures that she takes only half of the honeycombs and leaves the other half for the bees so that more can be made. There is a zen-like quality in her relationship with the bees. We never learn how long she’s been a beekeeper, but it wouldn’t be a surprise to learn if she has handled bees since childhood.

Conflict comes in the form of a family (Hussein Sam, Ljutvie Sam, and their seven children) moving right next to Hatidze’s home. They have cattle but there is barely any grass. There is always commotion due to the energetic children. Hussein decided to start beekeeping for extra income. Hatidze welcomes the changes. Maybe it beats being so silent all the time, being lonely, being bored. There is a beautiful relationship between Hatidze and one of the boys—who absolutely despises working with his father when it comes to handling bees but actually finds it lovely when Hatidze shows him the ropes. Kids are smart. They can easily pick up on the energy, feelings, and mood of a situation.

For example, the boy’s father is financially driven. Handling of the bees must be done quickly. There is often panic when things go wrong. By contrast, Hatidze goes with the flow. She is not afraid to put her face close to the bees and their honeycombs. When bees get stuck in sticky goo or are suffering, she takes notice and knows what to do. She explains how things work and why; the boy is not asked to do anything that may be uncomfortable. Yet the picture does not paint the father as corrupt, evil, or the like. Raising a family, especially a big family, requires money. We understand that and Hatidze does, too. Still, Hatidze has the right to speak up when her own means of making a living is threatened.

But that is not all. Hatidze’s relationship with the Sams is only one aspect of the film. The bigger picture involves our role in the destruction of our environment, the decline of biodiversity, our contribution toward climate change and global warming. “Honeyland” is a terrific documentary for all ages. It is specific, wild, curious, and eye-opening at times. It inspires you to want to take a look inside tree trunks, to look at the organisms hidden amidst soil and grass, to look at the sky and think, “There is a big world out there. I wish to experience more of it. So how can I help to preserve it?”

Family Name


Family Name (1997)
★★★★ / ★★★★

Macky Alston, who is white, was sent by his father, a reverend and a civil rights activist, to an elementary school that was predominantly black. During his time there, Alston noticed a curious detail: many of his black schoolmates shared his last name. Alston, now an adult, goes on a mission to answer why this is—and it is directly related to his ancestors having owned slaves in North Carolina. “Family Name” is a fascinating and revealing documentary. Initially, it is about answering one person’s questions regarding his lineage, but eventually it evolves into an investigation of secrets, memories, and longings that have been brushed under the rug.

Its best moments involve the writer-director asking challenging questions to those who agreed to be interviewed. Black people of various backgrounds and age groups are asked probing questions whether they still feel angry about slavery; how they feel when they walk around plantations where black people were abused, raped, given as gifts; how their lives have been shaped or impacted by having known someone—a great-grandfather, a great-grandmother—who was a slave. Words do not reveal all. For example, Alston’s grandmother provides answers we can hear, but she also gives out answers we can only see. Look closely at the body language when some of the more pointed or surprising questions are brought up.

And then Alston turns his camera on his father. The reverend recalls a specific experience when he was in the Navy that completely changed his thinking, attitude, and treatment toward African-Americans. He used to be racist. But since then he dedicated his life to lift up his community—and making sure that black people get equal rights as whites. Laidback and gentle, it was a struggle for me to picture him before he decided to turn things around. But then he goes on to explain his family background, how he was raised, and what was considered to be acceptable thoughts and behavior when he was growing up in a bubble of an all-white community.

It is interesting that the filmmaker decided to include his thoughts about the project as a whole the deeper he gets into his investigation. He admits that there are times when even he doesn’t know where the film is ultimately heading, that his goal is constantly changing—that maybe it is going this way because he fails to have a complete grasp of the subjects and people he’s exploring. Perhaps his limitation is a result of the divide between cultures and time. He acknowledges his white privilege (without using the exact phrase) and the possibility of that serving as a filter. I found the inclusion of his thoughts to be appropriate because the documentary is first and foremost a personal story.

In the opening lines, Alston reveals to us that he has always felt like the black sheep of the family. He is gay and so he understands that certain things are better off not talked about, swept under the rug like one’s ancestors being one of the largest, if not the largest, slave owners in North Carolina. In his quest, we learn about Alston’s motivations as a white man, as a gay man, and, most importantly, as a journalist whose job is to get the facts and report them. This documentary goes through obituaries, gravestones, census data, family photos, books, and random folders that haven’t been opened for years. It is a small picture, one that takes its time, but its scope is impressive.

“Family Name” is one of those movies that I’m glad exists. It may not be visually polished and the sound can use a bit of sharpening at times, but I was riveted by it nonetheless. I admired that its goal does not involve changing anyone’s minds. It simply stands by the fact that the truth exists, should one bother to look (and listen), and it is up to us to do what we please with it: embrace it, fight it, sweep it under the rug and hope that we forget. In life, that’s just how it is.

Crystal Lake Memories: The Complete History of Friday the 13th


Crystal Lake Memories: The Complete History of Friday the 13th (2013)
★★★★ / ★★★★

Those who consider themselves to be fans of the “Friday the 13th” franchise should make it a priority to watch Daniel Farrands’ “Crystal Lake Memories,” six hours and forty minutes worth of information that touches upon every movie in the series, including the long-awaited matchup “Freddy vs. Jason” and the 2009 reboot/reimagining/Frankenstein’s monster simply called “Friday the 13th.” Despite its intimidating running time, it is highly enjoyable to sit through because actors, makeup artists, producers, writers, and directors from every installment offer insights on not only about their experiences while making specific entries—which the documentary goes through in chronological order—but also acknowledge how and why a character like Jason Voorhees, a “mere” final jump scare in the first film, became a such cultural icon.

Interviews are not only informative from a factual point of view, in a way they provide possible reasons why certain movies in the franchise ended up the way they did. For example, consider the fifth picture, “Friday the 13th: A New Beginning,” which I deem to be one of the weakest out of the twelve movies released thus far. It is a fact that when the movie was being shot, there wasn’t a proper ending written on the script. An actor had to suggest an ending. (Which made it in the final product.) In addition, those who worked in the film in front of and behind the camera acknowledge that they felt the material was sleazy, certainly atonal, and tried too hard to become something so different from what came before that the gamble did not pay off. Danny Steinmann’s personality and relatively hands-off approach in directing the movie are also taken into account. Certain things remain unsaid, but we are able to infer.

Conversely, we get to learn why “Friday the 13th: The Final Chapter” and “Friday the 13th Part VI: Jason Lives” are high points for the franchise. In the former, an experienced stuntman (Ted White) was hired. He shares some of his methods on how Jason should be like in order to create a terrifying figure outside of his massive size. In the latter, there is emphasis on the loyalty of the crew, the likability of the cast and how they get along swimmingly, and that the writer-director, Tom McLoughlin, actually spent more time with the children—to ensure that their acting is top-notch when Jason breaks into their cabin—than he did analyzing how a kill should look or feel a certain way. McLoughlin actually watched the previous five movies and made notes on how to improve the movie he was about to make. The documentary offers so many nuggets worth examining and pondering over. So when a fan looks back on a specific title, the knowledge can be utilized to see the film from a different perspective.

There is no subject considered to be taboo in this doc. Even the retrospective into the much-maligned “Jason Goes to Hell: The Final Friday,” the ninth installment, surprised me. By having that film’s director, Adam Marcus, explain some of the decisions he took in terms of storytelling—the Jason body swapping, packing too much mythology into one film—I came out of it respecting the director who made a film I just so happen to dislike. Having him speak directly to camera, to us, shows that his intentions for the series came from a good place. It is without question he loves Jason Voorhees and the franchise. At the end of the day, it just… didn’t work. And sometimes that happens. Farrands is not afraid to place the spotlight on relevant figures and ask the tough questions.

“Crystal Lake Memories” is so informative, it goes through not only the films but also the “Friday the 13th” television series. I’m not talking about a quick two- to three-minute acknowledgment of the show. Ample time is taken to introduce the concept, how it is different from the movies, how the fans felt ripped off at the time due to the title but having no Jason, who were hired for the roles, what the actors thought about their characters looking back decades later, the show’s changing time slots, and how influential groups helped to pull the plug on the show eventually.

The thread that ties together all “Friday” movies is the pesky Motion Picture Association of America (MPAA). A case can be made the MPAA did more butchering than Jason. Especially neat (and astounding) are times when we are shown a side-by-side comparison of the original cut and what the MPAA considered to be acceptable in terms of “just the right amount of violence.” Oftentimes the original cut, while considerably more gruesome, are far superior than the bastardized version.

The reason is because we get to see more craft being put into action. There is better timing between setup to a kill and final breath. The more detailed a death, the scarier, creepier, or more shocking it is. Going back to “V: A New Beginning,” for example, had that picture been less crippled by the MPAA’s preposterous and hypocritical standards, I probably wouldn’t have despised it as much (outside of the truly ugly hillbilly depictions played for laughs) because the original cuts reveal that it is not solely about money shots. Without this documentary, certain facts and realizations would be left in the dark. And that is why it is a must-see for “Friday” fans.

Faces Places


Faces Places (2017)
★★★★ / ★★★★

Legendary filmmaker Agnès Varda and muralist JR (a pseudonym) travel across rural France to paste enormous photographic portraits on various surfaces: a brick wall, a passageway of a factory, a water tower, a barn, a bunker, among others. Each portrait is meant to capture and reflect a particular place’s people and way of life. It is a beautiful documentary, so full of life and energy, humor, and truths, occasionally painful, about how we perceive people, how we interpret art, and how our relationship with our own selves change over the years. It is perhaps chance that Varda and JR, co-directors of “Faces Places,” cross paths and decide to work together, but it is no accident that their over fifty-year difference in age serves as the soul of the project.

It is the kind of picture that is certain to make the viewer feel good. For instance, one of the stops involves meeting a woman named Jeanine who is the sole resident along her street. The houses are meant to be destroyed eventually but she insists on staying not only because it is her home, it also her ancestors’. The village is made up of miner families, you see, and its strong history can be felt from the way people of all ages recall their fathers, grandfathers, and great-grandfathers coming home from an excruciating day at the mines. At first glance, it looks like any old place. The film has a way of peeling away the metaphorical surface by, ironically, putting photographs on literal surfaces. No word is necessary when members of the community look up to giant pictures and the camera captures their raw thoughts and emotions.

In nearly every destination the picture works like this. We learn about a farmer who owns a 2,000-acre farm… and he works by himself. We go inside of his tractor and appreciate the technology that allows him to accomplish the monumental task of taking care of his farm by himself on top of other contract work. At times the visit lasts only between five to ten minutes and within this time span we not only gather surprising information but also have an appreciation of the subject’s way of life. It is a work that loves people of all ages, not just their portraits. Look at the way the camera transfixes on old people’s faces. It forces us to look at their wrinkles, the bags under their eyes, and the experiences behind them. And then note how it captures the expressions of energetic youths as their giant photographs are printed from a truck. You can tell they have never seen anything like that before; for them it is magical.

The work, too, is not afraid to show truths about its subjects. With Varda, a lifelong photographer of both still and moving images, it shows she has an eye disease. She claims that images are blurry and they tend to move even when they actually aren’t. We observe her getting a check-up. With JR, it acknowledges how he grew up with old people which ties into his attitude toward them. Varda and JR share wonderful chemistry; they are so comfortable with one another that eventually there is a recurring request from Varda for JR to take off his sunglasses. He finds a way to avoid it nearly every time. It is a part of his costume, his disguise. Why is it that he feels the need to hide his name from the world? Is it solely due to an artistic choice or something else?

I found the picture to be most compelling when it deals with the topic of mortality. The recurring theme is memories and how each place is defined by those who inherited it. Yet the residents we meet do not give the impression that they are shackled by traditions or old beliefs. They are simply playing the hands they are given. A lot of them seem to be happy and willing to share their own stories. When asked about death, Varda’s response surprised me. Her quote (which I choose not to include here because I urge you to see the picture, if you’re even remotely interested in it) is my exact attitude about death. Ironically, for some reason, it made me feel less alone.

The Last of the Unjust


The Last of the Unjust (2013)
★★★ / ★★★★

In 1975, director Claude Lanzmann had the chance to interview Benjamin Murmelstein, a rabbi chosen by the Nazis to become one of the Elder of the Jews and lead Theresienstadt, a concentration camp built to house seven thousand soldiers but fifty thousand Jews were sent there to die from various diseases and malnutrition. The place came to be known as a “model ghetto” as the Nazis used it for propaganda—like it was some kind of town ideal for a vacation.

“The Last of the Unjust” offers a wealth of information from a primary source. Hearing from someone who was actually there and survived the horrors is an unreal experience. But the way the material is presented at times is very dry. There are plenty of long takes, from Murmelstein attempting to recollect the events that happened thirty years prior to the interview to long intervals of the camera scanning the place from left to right. It tests the patience but those who stick with it will take away something valuable. Though a necessary viewing, it is not for everyone.

Away from the interview, the camera is utilized in such a way that we are inspired to ponder about the holocaust. We visit various places like a crematorium, a Jewish cemetery in Prague, and what is now known as the Old New Synagogue. It takes its time to look at works of art. We even see areas that were once places of death but are now establishments where people go to drink and dance. The camera is used to place an emphasis in history and our role in preventing something like the holocaust from happening again.

We watch videos of Nazi propaganda. I felt as though I was transported back in time. Observing the dejected faces, I felt disgust and anger that a systematic extermination of human beings could be conceived—let alone be executed. We are then shown, in present time, of the train tracks that lead to Auschwitz. I imagined thousands of people boarding the trains, packed like sardines.

The documentary is most powerful when Lanzmann asks Murmelstein the difficult questions. The subject talks about his important role in embellishing Theresienstadt, the power he had there, and his relationship with Adolf Eichmann, one of the men responsible for organizing the mass deportation of Jews to concentration camps. “Were you acting to save the ghetto or yourself? Do you consider yourself a hero?” These are two questions I also wanted to ask Murmelstein.

After World War II, he was accused of being a collaborator. And for good reasons, I think. Notice the manner in which he speaks and the changes in his body language when delving into the details of his role in the “model ghetto.” Was he proud of what he had done? If so, which aspects of his actions? He spoke very confidently, as if he held a very prominent position there. He might have been a leader but certainly the Nazis were always in charge. He discloses enough details—he is an undoubtedly engaging storyteller—and yet we suspect that certain secrets went to the grave with him.

Hale County This Morning, This Evening


Hale County This Morning, This Evening (2018)
★★★ / ★★★★

“Hale County This Morning, This Evening” will likely challenge most people’s idea of what a documentary can be. Instead of tackling its subject head-on, it employs a lyrical and ponderous approach—certain to test the patience of those possessing a strict definition of “documentary,” so much so that one might claim that the film is simply a collection of random images that could have been captured with a camera phone.

So then what is a documentary, at least in my eyes? To me, it is an act of capturing reality from a specific perspective. In this case, the picture’s goal is to provide a portrait of how a number of black people live in Hale County, Alabama, specifically those who reside in impoverished neighborhoods, from the perspective of an insider, RaMell Ross, who wrote, produced, and directed the film. An open and seemingly desultory approach is most appropriate because to provide only one portrait of a poor neighborhood could be considered a lie—and an act of further marginalizing an already marginalized community. It is clear that Ross is interested in showing the entire canvas instead of focusing only on a particular cloth of that canvas.

It subverts expectations from a storytelling point of view. The opening minutes show two young men, Quincy and Daniel, who dream of reaching their goals through school and sports. By the end of the film, an argument can be made that only one of them is closer to his goal. The other’s focus turns on his growing family. There is no wrong choice because it is their choice to make.

Notice that every time the two subjects are front and center, the images are shot in a matter-of-fact way. No shots of starry skies, no time lapse photography of highways, not one extended look of an open field. Victories, failures, life, death, and moments in-between are raw and unflinching. I found it fresh that the passage of time is not shown using subtitles or title cards. Instead, we are asked to look at the children and observe how much they’ve grown from one scenario to the next. The documentary spans five years.

Constantly we are reminded, however, that this is not just Quincy and Daniel’s stories. It is about a community: how it celebrates, how it fights, how it mourns, how it copes, how it moves on. We watch children play, tease, laugh, and scream. We see grandmothers get challenged by teenagers—and how these elders snap back. We listen to an old man playing the blues on his guitar. Teenage girls sing despite not knowing a song’s lyrics entirely. A father and son waiting for rain. Blink and miss an insect landing on a fingertip. Churchgoers singing, cheering, yelling, crying. A boy at a barbershop. An infant being buried in a cemetery.

These are impressions—which some may find moving while others are left cold. It all depends on life experiences, I think. I belong in the former group because I grew up in a time and place where neighbors are like second family. People talked to each other, gossiped with one another, and sometimes fought against each other. Neighbors were more than strangers you felt obligated to greet when you cross paths. The documentary is, in a way, about the collective African-American family living in the Deep South.

Somewhere Between


Somewhere Between (2011)
★★★ / ★★★★

Having just adopted a baby from China, Linda Goldstein Knowlton is aware that her daughter will come to ask questions about her roots eventually. In order to help and guide her child in creating a strong sense of identity, Knowlton feels she needs to further her understanding when it comes to the struggles of being adopted. So, the director turns her camera on four teenage girls who are raised by white American parents.

One of the subjects is Jenni, living in Berkeley, California, who, as a child, was found roaming the streets and later sent to an orphanage. Out of the four girls, she is perhaps the most relatable or accessible because she has a way of explaining how she is feeling or what she is thinking in a way that is beyond her age. At one point, she tells the camera that no matter where she is—whether it be visiting China or living in the Bay Area—everyone knows she is foreign.

She delivers this in such a matter-of-fact way that in about a minute or so I realized that there are times when I feel exactly the same about being an immigrant: that no matter how much I’ve assimilated in the “American” culture, characteristics that are ingrained in me—whether it be how I look, how I’ve been raised, how I perceive and process information—can never really be ignored or erased.

Jenna of Murburyport, Massachusetts is an interesting case as well. Being one of the very few Chinese people in her town, she tends to describe herself as being “yellow on the outside and white on the inside” to her friends and to the camera. I dislike descriptions like that but, admittedly, that was exactly how I—and a few friends—described myself during the early years of high school. I think that deep down the commonality is the need to belong. Like Jenni, Jenna—even though she may not admit to it—does not feel good enough in her own skin sometimes. This explains why she feels she has to be best or be in control of whatever task she is given. I know that feeling, too.

The final two girls are Ann from Pennsylvania and Haley from Tennessee. They meet through a program that gives Chinese adoptees a chance to be able to connect with one another. The two are almost complete opposites: the former has little interest in wanting to meet her biological parents while the latter embraces the idea. The film does not judge whether one course of action is better than another. What we do see is how the girls deal with excitement, wrestle with disappointments, and what it is they hope to accomplish in the future with respect to their roots.

I hope to adopt a child one day. Whether or not he or she will come from the same culture as me, I believe the documentary does a good job in raising questions I would not have considered otherwise. The picture makes a point that the answers that each of the subjects comes to terms with are specific to every one of their stories.

Paradise Lost 3: Purgatory


Paradise Lost 3: Purgatory (2011)
★★★★ / ★★★★

Damien Echols, Jason Baldwin, and Jessie Misskelley Jr., teenagers at the time, were convicted by the state of Arkansas of killing three eight-year-olds: Steve Branch, Michael Moore, and Christopher Byers—whose bodies were found naked and mutilated in West Memphis’ Robin Hood Hills. Despite overwhelming reasonable doubt that the trio, eventually known as the West Memphis 3, did not commit the murders, they were nevertheless sent to prison by the jury—Echols to receive the death penalty—because it was rumored that they were devil worshippers.

Directed by Joe Berlinger and Bruce Sinofsky, “Paradise Lost 3: Purgatory” does an excellent job in summarizing the events and key information presented in the first two films and introducing a great injustice to a new generation. Equally compelling is the way it introduces new evidence, mainly DNA evidence, and the renowned specialists who go on record stating that they have found no physical evidence that linked the West Memphis 3 to Branch, Moore, and Byers.

It proves difficult not to feel angry toward the incompetence of various people supposedly responsible for protecting the rights of the innocent, from the cops who failed to perform their jobs the right way to the judges who continued to look the other way for almost two decades because they were, essentially, worried about their reputation being tarnished. Mind-boggling as the new evidence are, watching the aged faces and bodies of Echols, Baldwin, and Misskelley Jr. felt like an invisible hand reaching into my gut and twisting it. Picturing them being in jail for half of their lives is like looking inside a dark dream, a reminder that our justice system, despite its positive qualities, is still very much flawed. And if silly things such as rumors about worshipping the devil could send innocent people to jail, just about anybody could meet the same fate and for equally silly reasons.

I could not help but feel sad for everybody involved. First, justice has not been served for the murdered kids. The killer, or killers, is still out there. Second, the West Memphis 3 have been robbed not only of their reputation but also their youth. Instead of serving time, they could have done plenty with their lives. Echols, especially, has an eloquence and insight about him that at times I pictured him as a counselor or a psychologist in another life. Third, it seems obvious that the families of those directly involved will never completely recover from what happened.

Most fascinating is the transformation of John Mark Byers, stepfather of one of the murdered children, from wanting to kill the convicted teens, now men, to supporting their release. Those who have not seen the previous films would probably not completely understand or appreciate the extent of Byers’ ravenous appetite for vengeance back when he was utterly convinced that Echols, Baldwin, and Misskelley Jr. killed his stepson. Watching him previously compared to this film likens that of a rabid dog that had been miraculously cured. I was amazed; I had to blink twice to make sure that he is the same man who created a fire in the forest and pretended that he’d killed the West Memphis 3.

While “Paradise Lost 3: Purgatory” eventually introduces a potential suspect, I almost wished it had not. Although very interesting, what if this person, despite major gaps in his statements, is actually innocent? I don’t know. Let’s see if time will tell.

There is one certainty: We do not need another witch hunt.

Three Identical Strangers


Three Identical Strangers (2018)
★★★★ / ★★★★

During the opening minutes of this fascinating documentary I thought, “So what? It is not unique for adopted identical twins, separated at birth and having no knowledge of each other’s existence, to cross paths despite the improbability of it.” But patience proves to offer big rewards as director Tim Wardle threads together numerous compelling reasons why his subjects are special: they are pieces of a bigger puzzle filled with curious implications about the age old debate of nature versus nurture. But that it is not all. The work is also a look at the darker side of acquiring knowledge, when ethics and morality are taken out of the equation in the name of science.

The material’s jagged edges can easily be overlooked at times because of how entertaining it is. Learning about the triplets when they met at nineteen years of age is highly amusing: they all smoked the same brand of cigarettes, they were a part of the wrestling team in high school, and they had the same taste in women. Robert, Eddy, and David—raised in a wealthy family, a middle-class family, and a blue-collar family, respectively, look so identical, it is a big challenge to tell them apart in home videos and photographs. Their collective energy was so infectious, I caught myself smiling because of how happy they were to have found one another. It is interesting to learn about them through one-on-one interviews in addition to those who know them most.

At times it is capable of offering great insights regarding its subjects. An immediate standout involves a fallout among the brothers after they established a successful business post-fame and celebrity. An interviewee makes a point that because the siblings met as adults, they did not have a chance to be around and learn about each other as children—which includes how to weigh each other’s personalities, temperaments, and point of views as siblings who grew up together would have. And so despite their many similarities in likes, dislikes, and mannerisms, they are, essentially, strangers when there is considerable conflict.

The manner in which the material is put together likens that of a subtle thriller. It is always evolving, its pace full of zeal, and it commands a constant forward momentum. Later surprising revelations underline seemingly throwaway information encountered earlier on. Notice the way in which the second half is edited. Intercutting among aging faces, potentially crucial documents, and foreboding city skylines are more prevalent. Frantic. And yet—it is not afraid to slow down to a halt, to be patient when a person being interviewed is recalling a painful memory or trauma. It never loses track that despite the big picture no longer solely being about the triplets, it remains to be a humanistic piece.

This is just the surface. Yes, it touches upon parenting, heritage, and identity. Still, so little can be said about “The Identical Strangers” without revealing its more sinister and chilling themes. I refuse to delve into them because discovering these elements is most engrossing. The documentary’s premise is feel-good, but once the layers have been peeled off, it is a challenge not to feel angry at the many injustices, for the lives lost and scarred forever. As the end credits start to roll, one gets the impression there are more secrets to be revealed at a later time. I hope to be around in 2066.

A Jihad for Love


A Jihad for Love (2007)
★★★ / ★★★★

“A Jihad for Love,” directed by Parvez Sharma, gives us a peek into the lives of Muslims who happen to be homosexuals. Since it widely believed, from the common people to high scholars, that the Quran forbids homosexuality, Muslims who love and are devoted to their religion, Islam, who also consider themselves a part of the LGBTQ community are marginalized, punished, and condemned. Others are put to death.

I do not know much about Islam or what is or is not stated in the Quran, but what I do know is that the Muslims that I have met are kind people. So when I learn about acts of violence toward homosexuals and other minorities related to the Islamic culture in the news, I cannot help but wonder and ask questions. How is life really like for LGBTQ people on the other side of the world? When confronted with questions about homosexuality, how will people who have studied the Quran for many years respond to them?

The documentary lays out the essence of the religion and its followers but only to an extent. Its main focus is on the struggle of those who are treated as outcasts as well as their personal endeavors when it comes to reconciling their theology and being gay.

Particularly memorable is Muhsin Hendricks. He is out of the closet in a very public way and we listen to the radio broadcast of people calling in and expressing their outrage. Some say he, an embarrassment, has no right to be calling himself a follower of Allah. Others demand that he receive physical punishment or be put to death. When he asks his daughters, aware of their father’s homosexuality, if they think gay people should be put to death, the way they answered, not necessarily the content of their responses, is heartbreaking. They are torn from having to choose between their inherent feelings for their father and what they are taught to believe is right or true. A lot of us are not required to make a choice.

Maryam is a lesbian who, in my opinion, clings onto semantics and contradictions in order to be able to live with her sexuality. According to the sacred writing, sexual relations between people of the same gender, specifically between men (never mind the intended context from when it was written), is forbidden. She says she allows herself to love another woman without the physical act—sex—that comes with the relationship. In essence, because she abides by the technicality, she is not committing a sin in the eyes of God.

We may not understand or agree with her point of view completely, but the film does a good job capturing her sadness. We are allowed to sympathize with her. We recognize that she is trapped and perhaps will remain that way for the rest of her life.

The film stays away from showing physical violence committed against homosexuals. The daggers are embedded in the words, the intonations, and the looks given by a respected elder to the homosexual sitting a couple of feet from him. Gay Muslims having to find refuge in other countries out of concern for their safety, as well as their families’, and then later talking about how they miss home and their loved ones via telephone pack a sting, too.

One of the subjects asks, “Why do [people] think the sky has to be the same color for everyone?” It is an excellent question. But I think the reason is this: a lot of people define their lives by following the “right” thing even if a part of them feels that a longstanding rule or belief might be wrong. It is more convenient to overlook or to ignore or to lash out than to consider a challenge, to think about it critically, and to engage in a calm and fair evaluation. Such is the dark side of blind faith.

Generation Wealth


Generation Wealth (2018)
★★ / ★★★★

Photographer and filmmaker Lauren Greenfield looks back on her twenty-five career in order to examine the potential elements that have contributed to our wealth-obsessed society. On the outside, it has the makings of a truly fascinating documentary, especially given Greenfield’s level of access with past subjects that range from children of rock stars, pornographic performers, to former hedge fund managers. However, looking more closely, it is a work that lacks balance, focus, and, perhaps most importantly, subjects who are more relatable: the every day people, those who consume the media on a daily basis, those who choose to swipe their credit cards despite the fact they are low on funds, those who allow celebrities or personalities to define one’s worth or value.

Despite the director’s access to a handful of individuals with interesting stories to tell, it is most frustrating that some of them are introduced early in the picture but are not seen again until about an hour or so. Because the project attempts to tackle so much, it veers off in so many directions to the point where at times we end up forgetting its thesis. Its approach feels scattered, desultory, failing to build intrigue or even suspense. At its worst, notice we are simply provided a parade of clips from Greenfield’s oeuvre. “Thin” and “The Queen of Versailles” are films that are so focused, it is impossible to look away.

As for the subjects we do see often, notice they are not given enough time to speak. Either that or the editing is so omnipresent that cuts are made for no good reason. I wondered if it was meant to modernize the work, to provide it a sense of urgency. But great documentaries have the patience to keep the camera on the subjects and stare. No decorations, no blinking, no cuts, no apologies. The camera is there to capture to truths, lies, and everything in between. The audience is left, challenged, to sift through the said and the unsaid—sometimes even the subjects, in a way, function as mirrors to those watching. Thus, watching the film becomes an experience of sitting through critiques of ourselves.

Shouldn’t this be the point of the documentary: To look at the subjects and recognize ourselves? After all, each and every one of us, to a degree, is a part of the global capitalist machine. Sometimes we confuse wants for needs. We allow ourselves to be manipulated by the media and this impacts what we buy, how we see our bodies in the mirror, how we define success or being successful. I felt the work lacks self-awareness and a grounded nature or feeling that makes viewers relate to it even though it is a critique on our society.

There are few instances, however, when it exercises raw power. Greenfield makes the correct decision to put her family in front of the camera. In roundabout ways, she asks her children, for example, how they think her obsession with her career have impacted their relationship. There is no question that Greenfield’s intelligent sons are closer to their father. And it’s funny because not once does the father appear in front of the camera. His story is told through voicemails, pictures, and the children’s memories of him.

It is without question that “Generation Wealth” is a work with ambition, but it does not deliver on the level beyond a career retrospective. It lacks the necessary depth to be able to pierce the heart of what makes our modern society so pathologically obsessed with excess and vanity. For such a rich subject, it offers no eye-opening or surprising insight.

Won’t You Be My Neighbor?


Won’t You Be My Neighbor? (2018)
★★★★ / ★★★★

It is a testament to the documentary’s power that although I have no emotional attachment to Fred Rogers, the host and creator of the beloved “Mister Roger’s Neighborhood,” or his television show, I was fascinated and grew to care for both the man and the series. Director Morgan Neville understands that it is not enough to talk about the subject’s influence or to simply show clips of him behind the scenes or in front of the camera. No, it is imperative to show Mr. Roger’s raw power. It is most appropriate that it happens early in the film: Mr. Rogers looks to the camera—almost through it, really—and addresses the inner child in all of us. I don’t remember the words he used but I remember the way he looked at me, at us. There is an honesty in those eyes, a warmth, a willingness to listen and impart wisdom.

The film is well-paced as it weaves in and out of Rogers’ childhood, his relationship with religion and God, the various stages of his career, and some of the controversies brought up by people who are unable to define or label him. These are punctuated by interviews with Rogers’ family, friends, and former colleagues. But most intriguing are clips of the man relating to another human being: the way he looks at them, touches them, how he carries himself around them. If the film were merely composed of clips involving Rogers simply connecting with others, it would be a fascinating work regardless. The power of the work, you see, is not in words but in thoughts, feelings, and possibilities.

Rogers’ motivation to create a television series for children is compelling. I admired how the picture highlights the trends of programs aimed at kids from the mid- to late-‘60s and onwards. While cartoons, comedies, and variety shows tend to speed up, Rogers decided to use time in his program as a tool to slow down; to breathe; to ponder, consider, and learn. Instead of showing people’s faces getting smacked by pies, he shows how a turtle crawls across a mat. Instead of showing violent cartoons, he employs sock puppets to express deep thoughts and philosophical musings, not at all unlike ideas and questions that children ask about themselves, of people around them, of current events that are unfolding.

Underneath the relaxed nature of the documentary, there is a sense of urgency that juts out from time to time. It implies that since the show’s bow in 2001, there has been a void when it comes to such programming for kids. And it makes for a compelling case. I grew up with Disney, Nickelodeon, and Cartoon Network shows and movies—not one of them offers a high level of insight or courage when it comes to tackling questions or subjects that really matter. I was amazed that “Mister Roger’s Neighborhood” dared to discuss topics such as racism, divorce, death, and even how it feels like to have crippling self-doubt. It made me want to look into the show—entire episodes, not just clips—and see how they are handled. I caught myself thinking that surely there must be an archive of all the episodes because the show is willing to construct a bridge between parent and child so that they are more able to discuss difficult or controversial subjects.

This captivating documentary is about a creative, hardworking, and passionate man who looked at a television and recognized that it could be used as an empathy machine. Look at the way children are so enthralled when Rogers is in the room even without the puppetry. He never looks down on them, he is not afraid to employ multisyllabic words, he goes by the assumption that the children are smart and engaged. His body language is welcoming and upbeat. Children can read nonverbal signals exceedingly well. It is easy to see why Mr. Rogers became a household name for many Americans.

Ramen Heads


Ramen Heads (2017)
★★★★ / ★★★★

Koki Shigeno’s directorial debut “Ramen Heads” makes a wonderful double-feature with the great film called “Tampopo” because both works, the former a documentary and the latter a comedy, are able to capture the drama of making and tasting ramen, a food most often associated with the Japanese culture even though it is not its place of origin. Yes, this film even dares to touch upon the food’s history and the nation’s relationship with it, especially during the postwar era between 1945 and 1947, when Japan experienced food shortages.

The energetic documentary focuses on Osamu Tomita, considered to be a master ramen chef whose shop is so popular that customers line up at five o’clock in the morning just so they can secure a spot when the place opens six hours later. The film is given eye-opening access to Tomita’s successful business: we explore behind the kitchen and see how the broth is made, we appreciate the preparation that goes into making his highly acclaimed noodles, and we learn about how Tomita values the “slurpiness” of his creations. There is an openness to the chef that feels warm and inviting, just like the dishes he serves. It is amazing that he is actually willing to disclose and discuss his ingredients, seemingly unperturbed that others might steal or imitate his ramen dishes. Or perhaps he has reason to be confident: When you are the best, and you know you are the best, there is no reason to be insecure.

Perhaps most interesting to me, however, is how Tomita runs his ramen shop. It is important, I think, that the work bothers to catch details that make up the entire establishment, not just what is put on the plate. Highly observant viewers will note that the apprentices are worked so hard, not even the presence of a film crew puts a smile on their faces. At one point, one of them makes the mistake of not being aware of his surroundings so he is sent outside by his boss to take a break. The film, too, makes a note of their long hours and what is expected of them when the last customer walks out the door. We get the impression that a top ramen shop is not just about the right mix of surprising ingredients. A strong work ethic is required.

While moments of happiness can be seen when the apprentices are interviewed, their honesty is most informative. It is apparent that their boss is tough, strict, and has very high standards. And yet—these apprentices choose to hold onto their jobs. The reason, I think, is not because of the shop’s success. Or that they just need the money. From their body language, at least with most of them, I think that they feel as though it is a place where they can learn a lot, not just in terms of being of service to customers but also in how to run a business, the balance of discipline and openness that one must learn to master.

“Ramen Heads” is not just about watching people make or eat ramen. It offers a look into a specific lifestyle—surprisingly educational for an amusing premise. I enjoyed, too, that the picture takes a few minutes to visit other ramen shops so we can have an appreciation of what type of ramen they specialize in, the personalities that run them, and the type of customers they attract. Sometimes it is about the flavor. But there are times when location matters more or how many seats a shop offers. (For instance, Tomita Ramen can seat only ten customers at a time.) Those who appreciate details are certain to be entertained by this most colorful portrait.