Still in Motion

Interview: Marianna Kaat, Director PIT NO 8

I was privileged to be a member of the international jury at the eleventh edition of the International Documentary Film Festival “Flahertiana,” in Perm, Russia that took place last month (11 – 17 October).  We five jury members were tasked with awarding a Grand Prix, a Best Feature and Best Short film prizes.  We gave the feature prize to Estonian filmmaker, Marianna Kaat, for Pit No 8.  Here’s what we said in our statement:

“ . . . Kaat grows a unique and complex relationship with her main protagonists, particularly in her portrayal of one very powerful man who still resides in the body of an adolescent boy.  We observe how he and his family try to survive under unbearable social pressures with grace, dignity, and persistent resistance against the forces that might pull them under at any given moment.  They display clarity and fortitude, as does Kaat in her filmmaking.  Pit No 8 is an inspiring portrait of Ukraine, a country in painful transition, where there are no rules.  But Kaat shows us plenty of examples of the miracle of humanity amidst inhumane conditions.”

The Tallinn-based filmmaker’s new film is also an apt case study for a couple of complex issues nonfiction directors face on a regular basis.  In her quest for a main protagonist for her film on illegal coal mining in the Donetsk region of Ukraine, she met a teenager named Yura and he, in turn, introduced her and her crew to his two sisters.  When they met, the three children were living completely on their own, taking care of one another and surviving the best they knew how.  During the course of filming with Yura and his sisters, Julia and Ulyana, Kaat and her crew became so close to them that the usual lines drawn between filmmaker and protagonists started to blur, with the director, in particular, becoming personally involved in their lives—an association that still continues to this day.

As well, because Kaat is interested in making cinematic pieces that comprise aspects of what she calls “her vision,” there are re-constructed scenes in the film that she and her subjects created together, and so she plays with the timeline of some events for the purposes of stronger dramaturgy in line with the story she chooses to tell about their lives.  In essence, this documentary filmmaker plays with form and, in the process, has created an emotionally resonant film that has had profound repercussions in the country of Ukraine.  Quite candidly, she talked to me about these creative decisions and the journey that took her deep into the lives of her subjects. 

 

Still in Motion (SIM):  How did you find your way into this film?  How did you discover Yura and his family?

Marianna Kaat (MK):  As a documentary filmmaker, I’m always open to new stories, new characters; I’m always thinking about those things, even when I’m not actively making a film.  Ideas can come from news stories or meeting someone and I think, oh that would be a great subject or character for a documentary.  I’m always open for that.

I was a co-producer on a Ukrainian project, a fiction film for children that was shot in Estonia.  I was sitting drinking coffee with the Ukrainian producer and I told her that we now had to do something in Ukraine [laughing].  I already knew about this area, this Donetsk and Donbass area [the center of the coal industry in Eastern Ukraine]. 

I was born in the Soviet Union—we used to be one country, Estonia, Russia, etc., and I’m old enough to remember certain things that filled every day of my life, such as what was on TV and in films.  There were a lot of documentaries about miners in the Soviet period.  These men were considered the “aristocrats” of the labor-class. They were very well paid; their salaries were fairly high compared to what a lot of other people were earning at the time, and they were privileged.  They traveled to the best places for vacations in Crimea and the Black Sea area. When the Soviet Union collapsed, most of the state mines were closed. I also was aware of all the social problems in this area that were the result of massive unemployment when the mines were shut down. 

We found a retired guy, about 54, who still had this illegal pit but it was closed by the time we got there.  He was like a Don Quixote, fighting with the authorities because he didn’t want to pay bribes to the militia anymore to keep it open.  So the authorities made him a sort of unofficial Marshall, closing his pit with the presence of TV and the militia present and all this kind of thing, to show how they are fighting the illegal pits.  But, in reality, they are all connected to this illegal industry, somehow.  So I thought this might be my main character and we would follow him trying to legalize his pit, going to the different authorities.  Theoretically, it is possible to make it legal, but it costs a lot of money.  And it was obvious that there would be no way for this man to succeed in accomplishing that.

We even made some sort of trailer from this material and I pitched the project in different parts of Europe.  We received some money to go and shoot, and just as we were getting ready to go, I got a message that he had died from cancer.  But when we got there, I was absolutely sure that we would find a protagonist.  This area is full of very, very strong characters, responsible men who work for their families.  Usually the women sit at home and the men work.  When Ukraine received independence [in 1991], there were changes to these classical roles because so many men lost their jobs.  They could no longer feed their families.  It was both an internal and external tragedy for a lot of people.

We did think we had found another main protagonist in this young 22-year-old guy who, like Yura, had started working in the pits when he was fourteen or fifteen years old.  He had just gotten married and his wife was pregnant.  Yura actually mentions him in the film as “the kamikaze” who dug a hole underneath his own house. This guy mentioned that his neighbor was a fifteen-year-old boy, the grandson of one of the plant directors, and he worked in the pits.  For me, that was new information because I didn’t realize that children were working in the pits.  That was a discovery and something I had never read about anywhere.

One day when we were shooting on the street, this boy rides up to us on his bike and starts asking us who we are and what we’re doing there.  And then, of course, I realized that this is the same boy we had been looking for.  We were looking for him, but he had found us, a good sign.  And it was absolutely clear that he would be our main guy.

SIM:  What was it about Yura, in particular, that made you feel that strongly that he would be the person to lead the film?

MK:  He was extremely open from the very beginning—you can see this first encounter in the film.  When we were editing the material, we tried different approaches to introduce his story and then I realized there was no need to get very complicated about it and just showed how our first encounter happened since we filmed it.  He was open to sharing his thoughts and wasn’t afraid or shy.  And of course, there was the fact that he was working, a normal workingman, no different than anyone else there who decides to work.  Some of these working people, like him, are children. By that time, we had also learned that he was the grandson of this Soviet factory boss.  For those not living in the Soviet era, that doesn’t seem so important, but for those who lived during those times, the importance of this is key.  The factory was making materials for the military, so the person running these plants was very powerful.  For this region, the director of the factory was like a god.  There were no barriers or limits for this kind of person, you know?  So knowing this and knowing how his grandson is living makes for an enormous difference if we look at it in terms of legacy. 

SIM:  The ghost of the grandfather is there throughout the entire film.  People keep mentioning him, what a great man he was.  But what’s even more resonant in terms of this particular aspect, is that this boy, somehow, even without knowing what this legacy might mean, is imbued with this kind of nobility.  I see this noble class in him, not only in his confidence and his maturity, but in the way he feels so paternalistic towards almost everyone he meets and certainly in the way he regards his role as caretaker of the family.  He’s so much more like a father figure than a brother or a son.

After you filmed for about six months with Yura and his sisters, we come to a very interesting point in the film.  Other filmmakers would have, perhaps, made very different decisions about this and there are many, many discussions about this issue in documentary circles—one of the trickiest territories a nonfiction filmmaker has to traverse.  You state, very explicitly, that you decide to help the children by buying them a house.  It’s Christmastime and we’ve watched their situation deteriorate relentlessly, including some strife amongst them, particularly Yura and the older girl, Ulyana.

MK:  Well, in many discussions about this with viewers and audiences, I must say that it's always addressed as a kind of positive question.  No one’s blaming me or finding fault with that decision, except for one time when someone asked me how I could “just change lives like that?”

First of all, their lives did not change after I decided to buy that house for them.  It cost practically nothing for me, to be honest, 1000 dollars.  That was nothing to spend to provide a roof over their heads. I have two boys, close to the same age as Yura and Ulyana, 17 and 19.  When we started to film with Yura, I cried a lot. He was the one who was trying to encourage me and comfort me, “No, no it’s okay; why are you crying like this?”  [laughing]  I was looking at this situation as a mother, not as a film director.  I was having a hard time separating these two things.

SIM:  We never see or meet their mother.  Was there an attempt to film her at all, or did you decide early on that you were going to stay focused on the children?

MK:  We filmed once with her.  There were several moments when we could have shot with her, but Yura did not want us to involve her in this at all and when I first saw her, I understood why.  For me, it was like a shock.  The first thing I found myself saying to her was how beautiful her children were because the contrast was staggering.  She looked absolutely awful.  This wouldn’t have given anything additional to this film except an awful visual moment.  During the time we shot the film, she wasn’t involved in their lives at all. And the reality was they were completely on their own and I wanted to show that there is, literally, no one taking care of these children.  Not even any of the representatives of this commission that is supposed to be responsible for overseeing the well being of these families, came to us to ask us what we were doing there.  They knew that we were filming.  The only time they came around was when I bought the children the house.  They didn’t come to check on them; they came to check out the house out of curiosity to see what kind of gift the children were getting.

The house where they were living with the mother was very, very cold, with no electricity and the windows were blocked with wood to keep some warmth in.  The stepfather had sold the heater for scrap to buy alcohol.  The situation was absolutely awful and my heart was breaking.  Yura told me about this house being sold by its owner’s son, that he was dreaming to buy it once he had enough money.  So I told him that we should go and see it together.  I had decided that if it would be okay for living, I was going to buy it—I had already made up my mind.  I knew the price already.  I told my crew that we needed to film everything since you never know what you might need afterwards.  But I wasn’t sure I would use this material for the film then. 

Also, in talking with the owner, I realized that he would be the only adult person to whom I could call from Estonia to ask how the children were doing.  In case they needed something, I could manage things through him.  I decided right then and there to buy it.  Yura was in shock since he didn’t expect this at all.

In an earlier cut of the film, I didn’t use this section. But I started asking some people about it and understood that without this, something essential would be missing.  And once I decided that Yura would be the center of the film, I started putting some moments back in like this one, his problems at school, and also this “golden” moment at the end when everyone is happy and we can all believe that everything will be okay.  However, I did want to know if it did bother people if we explicitly stated that I bought the house for the children, illustrating this involvement I had which obviously went beyond the filming relationship.  I didn’t get any negative reaction.

SIM:  Yura does struggle greatly with this work / school dilemma, realizing that with all the other responsibilities he has, to manage both is not really possible.  Particularly when the relationship with Ulyana breaks down, he realizes he’s really the only one that can support himself and Julia, the younger girl. The kids who do go to school and finish, do they stay in the area, do they leave?  What’s going to happen to places like Donbass?

MK:  This is an area where the authorities are not involved very deeply.  It’s not a question of money—there is money there.  It’s how the system works and how it’s worked for a long time now.  So it still depends on family.  If the family is okay, then the children are okay.  If the family is not okay, then the children have a hard time.

In Ukraine, someone put this film up on YouTube without permission, no English subtitles.  I’m not fighting against it since it’s obviously to be shared with people there who otherwise would not have access to it.  I haven’t checked recently, but it’s received thousands and thousands of uploads from Ukraine.  I’ve received emails through Facebook or through YouTube from people who were born there, some who even worked in the pits and have moved out of the area.  They live in Kiev, some even in America.  They are very moved because they see themselves in this film.  But most people stay just because they simply don’t have any money to move.

SIM:  The ending of this film, the last shots particularly, are surprising.  In many ways, this portrayal completely goes against the grain of the rest of the film as it's quite idealistic, whimsical and, one could say, fantastical. Why did you choose to end the film this way, with Yura and his best friend, Dima, “riding off into the sunset” on a motorbike? Why was it so important to you to have this “happy ending”?  Most documentary filmmakers do not feel compelled to show resolution of any sort, let alone a happy ending.

MK:  This scene--the whole film, in fact--is my vision of things.  The motorbike ride shown at the end is a reconstructed episode.  For the children and for the audiences who watch the film, I want them to believe in something [laughs softly].  I’m a positive person in life because I choose to be.  I also, somehow, believe in signs.  I think if you put something very horrible at the end, something horrible can or will happen to them.  That’s not what I want for them, to have this kind of bleak future.  I put my emotions and my energy in these episodes to make everybody believe that it is possible to change something.

We shot this episode on the motorbike in the middle of our shooting period.  I knew then that I wanted this to be the finale of the film and I told my crew this.  So I decided what the end of the film would be in the middle of shooting, whatever would have happened.  Dima purchased the bike in the beginning of summer. He had taken out a loan from the bank to buy it. When we got there in the middle of summer, the bike was already ruined, you know?  The boys had been very rough with it and we filmed them trying to repair it.  I wanted to reconstruct this episode where Dima buys it and they're driving it when it’s new.  It was something he and Yura had done together during the summer but we’d missed that.  So we repaired the bike and shot them riding in the city, outside the city, what you see in the film.  The light was fantastic, etc.  I tried to make this motorbike a constant theme in the film.  When we show that they go to first see the bike in the store and ask how much it is, the bike had already been bought.  I wanted to get all these episodes on film—things that had already happened.  It becomes a manifestation of their dreams and instead of having them merely speak about it, I wanted to show them riding.

SIM:  I see this kind of nuance in the work of your cinematographer, Rein Kotov.  His camera work is really extraordinary.  These quiet, formally framed moments become so vital to a viewer’s emotional journey with these characters. We really get a sense of where we are and what it feels like. And a lot of it is really ugly.  He bothered to go and find a good amount of beauty there.

MK:  Rein is a very famous Estonian cinematographer who mostly works in fiction.  So I’m very proud that he works with me.  Obviously, I can’t pay him near what he makes in fiction and he’s very, very busy; he’s in high demand and works a lot.  My sound recordist, as well, is now a fiction film producer [Ivo Felt].  So I’m working with an extremely qualified and professional crew.  It was tricky logistically sometimes to work things out, where everyone could take time to go to Ukraine to shoot.  Sometimes we would only be able to go for three or four days at a time and it just came down to using what we had when we could get it, how to use what happened when we weren’t there, and how to incorporate those elements in the film.  This also included what might happen in the future that didn't yet exist at the time of shooting.

But all of us share a common understanding of the world and so we formed similar relationships to the protagonists.  It became vital to be able to shoot together and so I needed to wait for them to be available.  The children became close to all of us.  It gets dark in the Ukraine very early so the shooting day is very short.  There’s nothing to do there so we’d sit for hours in the evening together in restaurants and the children were always with us.  We acted very much like a family in this way when we were there.

I think this is crucial when you’re going to show very intimate aspects of people’s lives to have this kind of intimacy in reality.  That intimacy extends to your crew because I completely relied and trusted in them.

SIM:  What did the kids think when they saw the film?  Did they feel it was worth it to expose and share their lives like this?

MK:  They like the film.  We spent three years of our lives making it together.  It’s very difficult for me to divide things—it was, and still is, a very big part of my life, these relationships. I’m still in contact with them and I’m still dealing with them and I probably will until they’re grown.  I’m still trying to help them.  The film has had powerful emotional impacts on people.  When I showed it at festivals in Canada, at Hot Docs in Toronto and DOXA in Vancouver, there were some people who told me they were involved with a charity and wanted to know how they could help. 

The irony of the situation is that the Ukrainian authorities are so frightened by this film.  In fact, the film is prohibited from being shown in Ukraine.  Not prohibited in any “official” capacity, but none of the Ukrainian festivals will take it and my co-producer there, who has distribution rights for that territory, is not doing anything.  The Ukrainian Ministry of Culture is the only source for financing films and she is afraid that if she associates herself with this film any further, the financing for her own future projects will be compromised.

The head of one of the Canadian charities is from a different region in Ukraine and they have created some big projects affiliated with orphanages, one of which is where Julia is now. But these places would not let me in when I was asked to go there to negotiate on behalf of the Canadians.  The orphanage director in Ukraine was advised not to have contact with me and refused to meet me at all.  There was even talk of the possibility of putting together a scholarship for Yura to come to study in Canada at a cooking school.  [Yura dreams of becoming a chef.]  People have reacted so emotionally; they really want to do something to help.  But they are reacting to my vision of life there—not necessarily the reality.  Yura still works in the pits, you know?  He did finish school but he’s working in the pits again.

I’m not their mother. If he was, indeed, my son, I would just flat out tell him to do what I thought was best for him and there would be little discussion!  [laughter]  But I can’t say things like that to him. He knows about this proposal to bring him to Canada.  He needed certain documents and he didn’t bother to acquire those.  I haven’t heard from him in a couple of months, but through checking in with the sisters, I know he’s involved in working in the pits and he knows how I would take that and that’s why he’s not contacting me.  Because then he’d have to tell me what he’s doing and he can’t lie to me.  To be honest, I don’t see a good future for him.  Maybe the army can change something but I don’t know if he will go or even if he’ll be accepted or sent there since he has the two sisters.  I don’t know what the rules are regarding that.

And unfortunately, Julia, the little one, is too old for adoption in Canada, but these same Canadians were ready to establish some sort of fund for her support after she finished school at the orphanage. But all these things have to be done with the cooperation of the local people and I can’t do anything from Estonia.  I do understand as a professional filmmaker that you can definitely influence people with your films and gain something from it when there is the offer to do something about the situation of the people you portray in your films.  But in Ukraine, they are doing nothing and more than that, creating restrictions so that nothing can be done.

Viktor Yanukovych [the President of Ukraine] was born in this region.  The film doesn’t do much for the image of Ukraine or the region, quite obviously, since no one in power is interested in doing anything for people there, including the children.  I’m an outsider; I’m not a citizen there and to be honest, I really don’t know what to do, to whom I should appeal. I do want this film to help people and to change things, especially in the mines.  I know that several Ukrainian bloggers are writing about the film.  I saw one comment that said, “Yanukovych to the pit, and Yura for President!”  [laughing] 

SIM:  That would not be a bad start for change.

 

To stream or upload the film (with English subtitles), click here:  http://onlinefilm.org/en_EN/film/48972

 

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INTERVIEW: Helena Trestiková, Director KATKA

The 13^th edition of the One World International Human Rights Documentary Film Festival will take place in Prague, Czech Republic next month from 8 – 17 March.  This has become one of the most important high-profile human rights film fests internationally, exhibiting over 100 films over the course of a week and a half.  It is there that I will get to re-meet Czech filmmaker, Helena Trestiková, a multiple award-winning documentarian who has been débuting her latest piece, Katka, on the international circuit this year.  Perhaps most people might not necessarily categorize Trestiková’s films under a “human rights” rubric.  She, herself, is quick to point out that she does not think of herself, necessarily, as any obvious kind of social activist.  (The filmmaker, pictured, on the ferry ride across the sea from Helsinki, Finland to Tallinn, Estonia, courtesy Evelin Kask, January 2011.)

What does distinguish this filmmaker’s work is her unique, and intense, involvement with her protagonists, most of whom she follows with a small film crew for well over a decade and her singular commitment to her subjects goes beyond filming them.  She shows us what it is like to be a particular human being in a particular set of circumstances—circumstances which are harrowing, off-putting for most, and all too real for the people acting out the passion plays of their own lives for years on end for her camera.  Katka is the most recent work in a series of films that are observational studies of people who find themselves utterly lost and cast adrift.  The first two are called René, released in 2008 and winner of the European Film Academy's Documentary of the Year Award, and Marcela, released in 2007, also a multiple award-winner. She has been following these subjects for most of the past 20 some-odd years and continues to do so today. 

When we first meet her, Katka is a gorgeous, vibrant young woman, a recovering drug addict in a halfway house, trying to relearn the basics of life as a drug-free person.  Trestiková spent the next fourteen years following her as she relies on precarious and violent relationships with two different men and embarks on misadventure after misadventure into a variety of criminal activities, including working as a street prostitute, to sustain her habit.  She never kicks it--even when awaiting the birth of a daughter.

This powerful film, like Trestiková's others, raises many complex moral and ethical issues concerning the filmmaker relationship to his or her subjects.  Nevertheless, Trestiková’s film is big box office in her native country since so far, over 100,000 Czech moviegoers have turned out to see Katka in cinemas. 

I sat with Trestiková, a very elegant and soft-spoken woman in her early 60s (hardly your average crusading, rampaging social activist) in a quiet café in the midst of the DocPoint festival in Helsinki Finland in late January. [Note to those who haven’t seen Katka yet, this interview contains “plot” spoilers.]

 

Still in Motion (SIM): As a teacher of documentary filmmaking at FAMU [Filmová a televizní Fakulta Akademie Múzickych Umení v Praze, Czech Republic's national film school], what are you seeing from young filmmakers in terms of certain philosophies or schools of thought about making this kind of vérité or direct cinema documentary?  The world moves at a particularly fast clip, for the most part, but your own films have a deliberate pace and timbre to them that requires loads of time, untold days and weeks over the course of several years.  (Trestiková pictured above with Marcela.)

Helena Trestiková (HT):  It’s true that young people look at the world and experience the world in their own ways.  And they don’t want to really imitate anyone.  They also have a very personal attitude and experience to certain topics and they want to help implement change by being active participants in their own films. They are one of the objects in their own films, directly in front of the camera.  Some of them admire someone like Michael Moore and his way of documenting his stories where he is very active in his own films; he wants to move a situation.  He wants to make the world a better place; this is a kind of social activism.  This is the main part of the young filmmakers’ activity.

Antithetically, I have an observational method.  I observe for a very long time.  And some of my students think that this is too passive of a way to make documentary films, that a filmmaker has to be active and change the world with his or her film.  My thought is that I will observe and record and the viewers of my films will think about things.  And, then, perhaps, something in their own mind will change.  It’s a much deeper reaction, I think, than watching someone crusade on behalf of others.  This other method can be problematic in many ways.  I would rather force people to think rather than to react.

SIM:  However, you are incredibly present in your films.  Your subjects interact with you in a very intimate way--they are addressing you directly in many instances.  Your lack of interference, at least on camera, speaks to giving the lion’s share of attention to your subject.  And that qualifies as social activism in a much more profound way by moving aside, allowing us to hear their voices and see their lives play out in a more authentic way—as authentic as one film can represent a whole life, that is.

HT:  No, stillness for young people is not their way.  They want to be seen and heard.

SIM:  What’s so staggering about what you show us in your long-form portraits is the persistence of your subjects in their self-destructiveness.  In the cases of René and Katka, they never reform; they never “get better,” or improve their lives in any way.  In Katka’s case in particular, things go from bad to worse quite relentlessly.  There simply is no happy ending in sight no matter how long you stay with this woman.  What is the general audience reaction to this, do you find?

HT:  Most of the viewers I’ve had contact with describe a physical, visceral reaction to my films and to the subjects.  There is an experience of physical pain.  The story is, as you said, relentlessly depressing.  But when I sat on a panel after showing the film to a group of young teens, ages 12 to 14 or 15, they said it was a good experience for them to see it.  In our generation, we had Christiane F—We Children from the Zoo Station [1981], such a personal story about someone’s relationship with drugs.  They realize, watching Katka’s portrait, the danger of beginning a relationship with drugs; there is a real fear.  But that’s only one aspect.  It shows how far a drug addict will go—the impossibility to do anything else with one’s life once the body and mind are addicted. And there is the attitude of society when encountering this kind of person since we have to understand that there is nothing anyone can do for a drug addict who does not want to be hospitalized or cured in any way.  I was asked why I didn’t take Katka to the hospital right away and I said it was impossible—a hospital is not going to take someone being brought there by force.  If it’s not his or her personal decision, then it’s impossible.  We all have free will and free will works the same way in that situation as it does in any other situation.  (Pictured above, a several months' pregnant Katka in Prague.)

What’s important about this long-term observation is that, as a viewer, you can see the whole story—it’s there for you.  But me, as the filmmaker, I don’t know at the start what I will encounter, what will happen.

SIM: I’m sure your own emotional state, your own innate hope that things will get better for this person you’ve come to care deeply for, must really be intense and quite difficult to sustain at times.

HT:  Of course, I had hope the whole time.  Especially when Katka was pregnant and told me that this was her motivation to get clean and find a home.  And I believed her, feeling that this would be a very good impulse for her stopping.  But it was probably this moment when she left her daughter in the hospital and escaped, that was the most difficult.  Because it was in this moment that I felt the greatest disappointment, the greatest doubt.

SIM:  That if she could give up her child for drugs then it was truly hopeless?

HT:  Yes.  There was just one day, just one day before she was to get her daughter back.  And she escaped.

SIM:  It is a great moment of despair because we really don’t want to believe that someone could do that.  And yet she does.  When I watched René, I had the same thoughts—can a person really do that?  Yes, he can really do those things and he does. In René’s case, there is the self-satisfaction of being so utterly irredeemable.  But this, of course, is not the case with Katka; she’s a prisoner of her own addiction and she stays chained there no matter what.  You, as an individual, must have to be capable of putting up some kind of wall at certain points between you and your subjects, just as you would have to do with anything or anyone that has a profound impact on your life in a negative way.

HT:  Yes, well, a viewer sees this film in 90 minutes.  I lived it for 15 years.  So it was not so intensive in that way because during that time, I also made other films, did other projects and so on.  But yes, also, there were moments and incidents shooting with Katka that were so horrible.  When she was a street prostitute, I discovered her there by accident; it was a chance meeting because I was shooting something else nearby.  At the time, I didn’t know she was working as a prostitute.  We were returning from a shoot and we saw her on the street.

In terms of this “wall” you mention: It’s my task to make a film.  And yes, I am a person, too.  The emotions I experience and how I handle all of it is complicated.  But I think and I hope that my position in Katka’s life is good because I want to help her.  I spent a lot of time with her without a camera.  We gave her some money or paid for her mobile phone.  One summer, she wanted to have a tent and asked me if I had one.  I didn’t but asked many friends and we got a tent for her.  For the times I filmed with her, I paid her.  But that’s my normal method.  I always give some money to my subjects, not only her.  But for her, this is the only legitimate money she’s ever made, a salary for her.  This gave her some pride.  She was contributing to the film and getting something in return.  Her only other financial resources come from stealing things in stores, prostitution and making drug deals.  Contact with me was okay for her because it was safe.  She wasn’t afraid and I always treated her with respect, asking if it was all right to film her.  I was one of the few people in her life that didn’t judge her or suspect her of doing bad things.  Her contact with me was not dangerous for her.

SIM:  The people who accompany you on your shoots do extraordinary camera and sound work and I know you always work with the same colleagues, so there is probably a very intuitive way in which you work together which is especially useful in some of the more dangerous or risky situations in which you find yourselves.  You’re not exactly shooting in very safe places most of the time since your subjects live very close to danger every day.  It’s also very obvious that they’re emotionally involved; that shows in the camera work and the way in which they capture things.  Can you speak a bit about those collaborations?  (Pictured above, Trestiková and crew filming with René.)

HT:  This is a stable of constant collaborators, yes, and so they are very intimate with the situations.  [The three DPs who worked on Katka over the years are Kristián Hynek, Vlastimil Hamernik and Martin Kubala.  The soundmen are Stanislav Hruska, Václav Hejduk and Jaroslav Jedlicka.] During filming, most of the time it is impossible for us to speak together about how to take these pictures.  But they know what is needed and they can work on their own without me.  Especially in this case of Katka and her life, it’s important because they’re not afraid of the situation.  It wasn’t always safe.  The railway station in Prague is especially not safe at night.  Katka and her friends were our friends and we were connected to them.  They were not in conflict with us, but there were some other people that didn’t want to be filmed so it could get complicated.  But nothing ever happened and we all survived.  But these cameramen always had to be ready for anything.

SIM:  I think it’s important to show how very dangerous life is for Katka every day she’s out on the streets.

HT:  Yes, we can’t close our eyes to that; such a world exists.   Life on the streets has special rules.  She never has a proper flat, anything stable or comfortable; she never owned anything except the clothes on her back.  This life on the street also requires her to always be in contact with a man.  She cannot be on her own.  It’s impossible for a woman to live alone on the streets.  If she has a conflict with her boyfriend and wants to leave him, she cannot.  (Pictured, Katka and her boyfriend, Roman.)

SIM:  Yes, she’s trapped there, too.  What’s your relationship with her now? Are you still documenting her life?

HT:  I am still filming her as I am the other protagonists from my films.  It’s a type of life for me.  I consider myself a chronicler.

SIM:  Your storytelling technique is like that of a novelist.  That’s the closest way of working creatively I can think of to describe what you’re doing in film.  Going back to someone like Michael Moore or many other documentarians working in the genre these days and the films they make “to change the world”—it’s a total contrivance, this idea that these films are made with the express purpose of creating social change.  They certainly can—some have.  But these films actually have very little to do with the protagonists and their lives.  We’re just not talking about the same level of commitment you display in the way you work.  What is so unique and beautiful about your work is that you provide absolutely no resolution where there isn’t one.  It’s a rare way to storytell.  Who do you admire in filmmaking today?

HT:  Obviously, I like highly observational films.  I think of Claudine Bories and Patrice Chagnard’s 2009 French film, The Arrivals, which also won the Golden Dove at DOK Leipzig the year René received the same prize there.  It was such a perfect study of the situation of immigrants and the problems and issues of the social workers and how complicated it is to help.  Frederick Wiseman’s work I admire so much.  These are some of my favorite colleagues.  Michael Moore is not my cup of tea [smiling].  In his first film, probably, yes.  But in Sicko, his portrait of the health services in Cuba is completely false.

SIM: I want to talk about this one particular scene in Katka that was deeply affecting for me.  Towards the end of the film, Katka and her boyfriend, Roman, are living in a little shed beside the railroad tracks and the police come to kick them out.  Roman is extremely frightened and because he’s also strung out, his fright borders on hysteria.  He starts calling you by name for help and he tells you how scared he is, as if to say it’s time for you to step out from behind the camera and become an active participant in what’s happening.  I love that moment so much because it’s so select.  You’re so rarely a physical presence on camera in your films but the times you choose to appear are very powerful for that reason and they speak volumes about your relationship to your subjects.  Can you talk a bit about the choice to include those moments in the film when you become an active participant, when we actually see and hear you?

HT:  The times when I am an active participant are many, much more than a viewer will ever see in the final film.  This particular situation you’re referring to was a real SOS situation.  They really thought they were going to be attacked by these policemen.  So I wanted to talk calmly to the police officers and try and allow them to stay longer in this little railway house where they were.  So we did resolve the situation and it was such a big victory since the incident happened without any attack or anything.  I always wanted to help her in any way I could but it often was very limited what I could actually do to help.  That was one situation where I could do something.

SIM:  It goes a long way towards establishing this relationship for the viewer, especially when it comes so late in the film.  I think most people do wonder what the involvement might be between Katka and you and your crew and this seems to be your answer to those questions.  Is this your solution to obliquely confront the criticisms of “merely” being an observer without any kind of interference or aid? It adds a layer of complexity at such a key moment.

HT:  There is such complexity in the relationship; it is unavoidable.  My relationships with René and Katka and the others--well, our “friendships” are obviously limited by the way in which we meet.  I am always the filmmaker.  Of course, most of the time I met with them it was without a camera but they cannot forget that I am a filmmaker and I cannot forget that they are the protagonists of my films.  It’s a persistent issue between us.  It’s the limitation of those relationships.  (Pictured, poster from the film René.)

SIM:  But those limitations serve both parties, in a sense.  You want a film; they want their stories told.

HT:  Yes, of course.  I often wonder how audiences from other countries can accept or come to my films, how they can connect with our daily realities in Czech Republic, the intricate ways these films are related to this nation and to the culture?  It’s always, somehow, surprising to me.

SIM:  Well, I can only speak to the country I come from, one that has dire immigration problems right now, social services problems.  All of it layered upon the persistent myth that the USA is still some “land of opportunity,” to which all are invited equally to partake of the riches there.  There are millions of US citizens living in abject poverty, no home, no health care, no protection from the state—in the midst of staggering wealth.  Just like life in any number of places on the planet—no different. 

It is a rare and wonderful thing to witness this kind of commitment, this kind of obligation, on the part of one human being to another.  This is what translates no matter what culture or language.  How has Katka received the film?

HT: After she saw the film, someone asked her what she thought she had managed to do in her life that she could redeem as something good, something positive. Katka replied that she had had a child.  And that she had “made this film with Helena.”  (Pictured, the director and her subject.)

 

Indocumentales: US/Mexico Interdependent Film Series

A traveling program of films opens tonight in NYC presented by what moves you?, Cinema Tropical and the Center for Latin American and Caribbean Studies at NYU.  The documentary film series is committed to enriching the discussion on a wide variety of issues pertaining to Mexican immigration to the US.  All films are in Spanish with English subtitles and all screenings are free and open to the public. 

Indocumentales launches tonight, Cinco de Mayo, at 7:00 p.m. at the King Juan Carlos I of Spain Center auditorium on the NYU campus with Al Otro Lado by Natalia Almada from 2005.  The film will be preceded by Subterraneans: Norteña Music in New York by Gaspar Orozco and Karina Escamilla.  Other films in the series are Los que se quedan/Those Who Remain by Juan Carlos Rulfo and Carlos Hagerman from 2008 which won the grand jury documentary prize at the Los Angeles Film Festival that year.  Also exhibiting: Mi vida dentro/My Life Inside by Lucía Gajá, and Farmingville by Carlos Sandoval and Catherine Tambini.  The screening series is at various locations throughout Manhattan and Brooklyn, so be sure to check the website for locations, dates and times.

Two Items of Note in NYC

I've just come to accept the fact that whenever I'm at a major film festival (or even a not-so-major one), I experience virulent sensory overload in just about every way.  This year at Hot Docs, I've been a participant in the first CFC Media Lab's "Leave the Walls at the Door" workshop they've done in collaboration with the festival, which was intense and wonderful.  More on this in a bit since it was just this afternoon--man, the world's wide open for some real substantive and innovative media, gaming, social change stuff--exciting. It's something I will have to process a bit before I write on it all, but honestly, I was quite honored to be in such an illustrious group of media producers and filmmakers.  Suffice to say, it was an energetic group that cooked up an afternoon's worth of puzzling and innovative ideas for interactivity in documentary projects.  The possibilities are endless.  I also attended lots of micro-meetings with Canadian broadcasters to get the low-down on co-pros and such, and tomorrow I have a full day of moderating a panel in the morning and then diving into an afternoon of pitching.  So I ain't just a blogger, got it?  However, to take a moment to blog in the midst of all this about some things of note happening in NYC is a bit of a respite.  And they are things I care about deeply.

Yance Ford, series producer of PBS' P.O.V. series sent word today that the top-notch series, our country's premiere broadcast showcase for independent documentaries (take a look at this season's offerings here), has launched its annual call for entries for the 2011 season.  Ford is always available to talk to filmmakers with questions about the application process and can be reached at [email protected].  All subjects, approaches, and lengths are welcome to submit; this includes short-form work.  Completion funding is also available; read the complete guidelines on the website here.  Every applicant must fill out the online submission form; the deadline is Wednesday, June 30.

Laura Poitras' The Oath opens this Friday, May 7, at the IFC Center.  On opening night, Karen Greenberg will moderate a discussion with Carol Rosenberg and Abdul Ghani.  Rosenberg will have just returned from Guantánamo where she is covering the Omar Khadar military commission.  Poitras, cinematographer, Kirsten Johnson, and co-producer and editor, Jonathan Oppenheim, will also be there in person.  Do not miss a rare opportunity to see this award-winning, incredibly artful and important film by one of the most talented directors working today--in any genre--on the big screen.  Read my recent interview with Kirsten Johnson here.  The Oath will also air on P.O.V. this season; check the series' site for its air date later this year.

Notes from Toronto and Sneak Preview Screening of ATOMIC MOM in NYC

Just zipped up to Toronto this afternoon for the beginning of the incredible Hot Docs festival, one of my faves, never miss it.  I always come away from this event having seen some really outstanding international nonfiction work, courtesy of the superb programming team led by Mr. Sean Farnel.  I'm just trying to figure out how I'm going to see the thirty, or so, films on my must-see list before I leave and attend some conference sessions and go to all the lovely parties, including a picnic on Sunday afternoon (and many, many late nights drinking at Toronto's hottest clubs).  You can take a gander here at some of what's on tap.  Unfortunately, I will have to leave before the Toronto Documentary Forum begins (May 5 and 6), organized by the incredible Elizabeth Radshaw, but at least I got to go as an observer last year.  (Film still from Thomas Balmès' Babies.) 

I'm also thrilled to have been asked to host a panel discussion as part of the Conference & Market this year called Ripping Reality--Creativity and the New Documentary, the first conference session on Tuesday, May 4 at 11:00 a.m.  I'll be joined by filmmakers, John Appel from the Netherlands, The Player; Pawel Lozinski from Poland, Chemo; Liz Mermin from the UK, Horses; and Ken Wardrop from Ireland, His & Hers.  I highly recommend catching all of these superb films at the fest.  We will have an hour-long discussion in the beautiful Vic College chapel (including showing clips from all the films) with a 15-minute audience Q&A to follow.  Join us!

I'll also be participating in a new initiative this year called Leave the Walls at the Door, an interactive documentary think-tank workshop where roundtables of selected producers and media makers will discuss how to bring a documentary project to life interactively.  We participants will be divided into "ideation" groups, each of which will collaboratively brainstorm on, well, on something--we won't know until we get there.  (We were chosen because we are all working on interactive reality-based projects.)  The initiative is presented by the CFC Media Lab in conjunction with the Hot Docs Conference. 

I will be filing several posts here and on the newly-refreshed Hammer to Nail site in coming days.

Meanwhile, in NYC, Hibakusha Stories and the Maysles Theater will co-present "Docs on Nukes: Nuclear Narrative Through the Art of Film," on Mother's Day, May 9.  There will be a sneak preview screening of M.T. Silvia's Atomic Mom, a documentary about two mothers, one American and one Japanese, each of whom had very close encounters with the atomic bomb.  Silvia is the daughter of one of these women and the film follows her quest for the truth about the work her mother did during nuclear testing in the desert of New Mexico.  It's an incredibly moving and very personal film.  Atomic Mom was the second installment in my Projects On the Brink series--you can read it here.  (Which reminds me that I really would like to do another installment, so I'm taking suggestions of female-helmed nonfiction projects about to finish and launch into the world.) 

Accompanying Silvia's film will be Kathy Sloane's 16-minute, Witness to Hiroshima, about Keiji Tsuchiya, an artist who uses his twelve powerful watercolors to recount his experiences in Hiroshima as a 17-year-old soldier when the atomic bomb was dropped.  He relates those experiences to his subsequent life-long commitment to saving the Japanese horseshoe crab and its habitat.  You can watch the trailer here.  Silvia and Sloane, both San Francisco-based filmmakers, will be on hand for a post-screening discussion.  Go to the Maysles Cinema site for more info.

Little Bit of Brooklyn Comes to Toronto

A very exciting collaboration will take place next month at the HotDocs fest (April 29 - May 9) in Toronto when Brooklyn's own Rooftop Films partners with the festival for some outdoor screenings.  (Photo courtesy of blursurfing.com and Jonathan Castellino, Toronto.) 

There will be three open-air screenings in a new Rooftop Docs series which will exhibit on the top tier of the Citipark Cumberland Garage, Thursday, May 6 to Saturday, May 8.  Along with the screenings, there will be live music, locally brewed pilsner courtesy of Steamwhistle Breweries, and free popcorn courtesy of Whole Foods Market. 

On the 6th, Meghan Eckman's comedic doc, The Parking Lot Movie, will play and on the 7th, Jeff Malmberg's award-winning and critically-acclaimed Marwencol will play.  Rooftop will also present an international doc shorts program on the 8th, which includes films by James Blagden, Jake Chirico, Miro Remo (love Arsy-Versy), Sergio Oksman and Amy Grappell (love Quadrangle), among others.  Funding for Rooftop Docs is provided by the Government of Ontario.  For more info, visit the HotDocs site.

Festival Express: Can the Fest Circuit Empower Your Film's Distribution Stategy?

The Spring 2010 issue of Documentary magazine, the publication of the International Documentary Association, focuses on festivals and film distribution--two things of which I know a thing or two. 

But only a thing or two.  Now on newsstands, the issue also features articles by associate editor, Tamara Krinsky, producer, David Becker, filmmaker, Adrian Belic, and curator, Kathy Brew.  Documentary.org has kindly reprinted my article that leads the section called "Rethinking the Film Festival" where I talk to many of the top programmers about the current fest landscape.

So having just returned from True/False (coverage on Hammer to Nail in a bit, as soon as my jet lag abates--from Europe still, I think!) and heading to SXSW next week, and also working on distribution strategies and theatrical runs for a few more films this season, it's something with which I occupy a great deal of my time.  Why we don't know; but I like it.  So enjoy--here's the link.  Unfortunately, the web version doesn't include all the pretty pictures, but happy reading, anyway.

DocPoint Program Picks and the Inaugural Session of "Encounters"

The 9th DocPoint fest starts the day after tomorrow, so I thought I'd share my picks of top films to see (in my humble opinion) for Helsinki-ans.  Definitely try and catch the Finnish film student program right before the opening night film at the BioRex on Tuesday.  Four selections will be screening at the Ateneum from 5:00 - 6:00 p.m.  (There's another student program screening at the Maxim 2 at 2:00 p.m. on Thursday the 28th.)

At 6:30 p.m., the opening night film, Miesten Vuoro (Steam of Life) will screen after what I'm sure will prove to be a fresh (and weird) opening night ceremony, if it's anything like last year's--and I hope it is.  Also this same evening, Robert Flaherty's Man of Aran will play at the Orion, the first of a week-long program of his films, Erik Gandini's Videocracy plays at the BioRex, and Topaz Adizes' Americana, one of the selections in the US program, will screen at the Maxim 1.

On Wednesday, don't miss Aho & Soldan Life Achievement Award recipient, Kiti Luostarinen's Sanokaa Mitä Näitte and Marcel Lozinski's How to Live (directors will be present).  Simultaneously at the Maxim 2, Aron Gaudet and Gita Pullapilly's The Way We Get By will exhibit for the first time in Finland.  Unfortunately, Gaudet and Pullapilly were one of the few American feature film directors not able to come to Helsinki, but their film is not to be missed--it's gorgeous.  Join me and filmmakers, Michael Palmieri and Donal Mosher, for a discussion and program of American short films at the Kiasma at 7:00, or attend the 8:00 p.m. silent film concert at the BioRex with the Five Corners Quintet.  (When we're done at 8:30 at Kiasma, I'm going to zip over there to catch the last part!)  At 9:00, definitely go see Judith Ehrlich and Rick Goldsmith's superb The Most Dangerous Man in America, one of the strongest and most deeply moving documentaries on America I've seen in a while.  Look for a review of this film soon on this blog (and in the pages of the next issue of DOX Magazine coming out in March).  For New Yorkers, this will open at the Cinema Village on Friday.  Don't miss it.  (But also go see, and don't miss, Nicole Opper's Off and Running at the IFC Center that weekend, too!)  Roberto Hernandez and Geoffrey Smith's pulse-pounding and artfully-told real-life thriller Presumed Guilty plays at the Maxim 1 this evening, as well.  A plethora of cinematic riches.

Later this week, I will post my don't-miss list for the rest of the fest, a very packed remaining four days, including more from Flaherty and the Lozinskis, and masterclass guest, Nicolas Philibert (still from his Etre et Avoir (To Be and To Have), pictured above).  I'm also hoping to make it to Tallinn, Estonia on Saturday for Kim Reed's screening there of Prodigal Sons (playing in Helsinki on Thursday at the Bristol at 9:15 p.m.)

On Thursday morning, I will be participating in the inaugural DocPoint Encounters that takes place at the Ateneum Hall the 28th and 29th.  This is the launch of this festival's foray into a distribution, funding and networking project for Finnish nonfiction filmmakers.  They're starting small with five Finnish projects, a unique opportunity for these filmmakers to present their works-in-progress to some of the top professionals in international documentary.  (I did a whole lecture series on this stuff at the TaiK this past week and hope my students will come and see things in action.  I urge all of you to introduce yourselves to these very important commissioning editors.  Bring samples of your work.  You can do it!)  The aim, of course, is to increase knowledge and visibility of Finnish documentary films abroad (and they should have that exposure; superior work is made here).  The five projects are From Next Door by Tuija Halttunen, Elokas Cooperative, Love is Enough by Mia Halme, Avanton Productions, Once I Dreamt of Life by Jukka Kärkkäinen of Mouka Filmi Oy, Reindeer Spotting by Joonas Neuvonen, Bronson Club, and Red Forest Hotel by Mika Koskinen.  Special industry guests will include Claire Aguilar from ITVS, Peter Jäger from Autlook Filmsales (also here representing the excellent Enjoy Poverty: Episode 3 by Renzo Martens playing in the festival), Esther van Messel from First Hand Films, Greg Sanderson from BBC, and Anne-Laure Negrin from ARTE.  Click here for more info and to see the rest of the Encounters program. 

Tomorrow, my review of the Ellsberg film and more, stay tuned.

Mother and Child Reunion

There is a Yiddish proverb that goes:  Little children disturb your sleep; big ones, your life. 

Last week, Jenna Rosher's nonfiction feature directorial début, Junior, took the Audience Award at the Sheffield Doc / Fest, its international premiere.  (It also won Best Feature Doc at this year's Woodstock Film Festival in New York last month, following its world premiere at SILVERDOCS.)

Junior profiles the complex and intertwined relationship of 75-year-old Eddie Belasco and his 98-year-old mother, Josephine.  Despite three failed marriages, and three lovely daughters, the alpha woman in "Junior's" life has always been "Ma," and Rosher deftly stitches together crackling and vibrant direct cinema scenes between the two of them, sweet archival family footage, and luminous glimpses of the larger world of the city of San Francisco where they reside, to create a nuanced and deeply moving look at this most primal of human connections.  (Pictured, Eddie standing proudly by Josephine's side as she receives her high-school diploma.)

If at first Junior appears to be some Grand Guignol-style Punch and Judy show with Junior and Ma barking at one another and sniping and fussing about, it soon turns into a story of two people connected by a decades-long bond helping one another find his or her way through illness, debility, and critical life (and death) decisions.  We watch as Eddie turns from a screaming goomba with a cutting tongue into a vulnerable and frightened man who is losing his sight, and a lost little boy who is about to lose his precious mother.  Josephine, like most people who make it to 98 years of age, is her own woman, taking shit from no one and living life on her own terms.  And she deals with her own mortality in much the same way.  Once Eddie expresses to her that he will be okay without her, she embarks on her own journey to meet her maker with him by her side.  Rosher's camera lingers  patiently and persistently as they gently and lovingly say goodbye after sharing a lifetime together.  Really beautiful stuff.

Belasco was Rosher's mother's first husband and she first met Eddie when she was nine years old.  At that time, he was a sharp-suited showman, promoting the all-girl topless rock band, the Ladybirds,  and raising havoc in Vegas with his polyester-suited, cigar-chomping cronies.  Twenty years later, Rosher finds him in the last couple of seasons of heading up a musical theater for children in San Francisco, aging quickly, going blind from complications caused by a woefully lax healthcare regime for his diabetes (he still drinks like a fish and doesn't eat right), but still full of piss and vinegar, viscerally angry at his own degenerating face and body, and looking into the maw of a potentially very lonely dotage.  Instead of a mother bringing him a piping-hot plate of freshly-cooked pasta and paper-thin veal cutlets, he's got a very pissed-off daughter shoving a candy bar into his mouth when he goes into diabetic shock during a rehearsal after a night of drinking.

Rosher, a long-time producer and cinematographer (Jesus Camp), has a keen eye for the telling detail and is adept at creating an intimacy with her subjects that provides a level of insight and understanding that makes this piece resonant and rich.  Her shooting mixed with Mark Binder's nuanced and layered sound design and Mark Wike's fantastic score, along with deft editing by Johnnie Spence, makes for a delightful, memorable and heartwarming story of a son's undying love for his mother.

Another prize-winner at Sheffield tells a story of yet another mother/son bond that just won't quit, even though from the beginning of the piece, the mother, Jolana Remová (the filmmaker's grandmother) expresses a bit of concern that at the age of 40-something, her son, Lubomír, still shows no signs of joining the real world, let alone considering doing anything remotely normal for a man his age like making a living or looking for a wife.  Miro Remo's 24-minute Arsy-Versy is an exceptionally accomplished (and hilarious) piece of work and walked away with the Wallflower Press Student Doc Award at Sheffield (among a very strong group of films.)  It also recently garnered a Special Jury Prize at Jihlava in Czech Republic this past month.

Remo is a student in the Film and Television program at the Academy of Music and Dramatic Arts in Bratislava, Slovakia and for this film he profiles a man who has decided to forgo the day-to-day world of meaningless work and robo-people that he finds so full of hypocrisy and banality, and decides to live in nature's world, flying away to a land "where only butterflies live."  What's so brilliant about Remo's style is that he also invites himself and his crew into Lubos' world and, together, they cinematically create this alternate universe with its upside-down point of view for the rest of us.  You can see a bit of it here.

Being the mother of an anarchist, no matter how mild and goofy, can be a trial, but Jolana perseveres in her hope that one day Lubos will normalize somehow and join the rest of us in our robo-world.  But it's not very likely, and she's more or less okay with that. 

I'll have more from Sheffield's great program in later posts.

Where Can I See CITY OF CRANES?

Several readers responding to an old post have asked me where they can watch Eva Weber's award-winning short film, City of Cranes.  You can still watch it on the P.O.V. site here.  You can also visit Odd Girl Out's website and see where her films are currently playing and/or order them online.  Click here for more info.  She's based in the UK, so if you're having problems finding where else the films might be distributed, drop them a line and they can direct you to your local distributor.

THE ENGLISH SURGEON Opens in NYC

If you read this blog regularly (and if you don't, why not?), you'll know that I've written about this gorgeous film many times before and love, love, love it.  The film's main subject, Dr. Henry Marsh (pictured) will be in New York for opening weekend, as will its director, Geoffrey Smith.  You can read my original review after seeing it at Hot Docs in Toronto last year here.

At the Cinema Village on East 12th Street, The English Surgeon will make its US theatrical début with Marsh and Smith in attendance at the 6:30 p.m. show this Friday the 24th; the 7:10 p.m. show this Saturday the 25th; and at the 3:00 p.m. show this Sunday the 27th. 

There will also be an opening night wine and cheese reception Friday night from 8:30 to 10:30 at the Ukrainian Institute of America (the film takes place mostly in Ukraine) at 2 East 79th Street hosted by the Institute and the Ukrainian Medical Association of North America NY Metro Branch to honor both men.  The film will have its Los Angeles opening next Friday the 31st at the Laemmle's Music Hall in Beverly Hills.

It's also possible to host your own screening of the film as an individual or as part of a larger organization.  Contact Outreach Coordinator, Krystal Lord, at [email protected] to discuss how she can help tailor a plan for your organization or community and to also arrange for a personal appearance by Dr. Marsh and/or Geoffrey Smith.

Interview: Julie Goldman, Executive Producer CACTUS THREE FILMS

While it's always illuminating and inspiring to talk to filmmakers about the craft of making great nonfiction and experimental cinema, as an independent producer, I thought it would be equally as illuminating and inspiring (at least for me) to talk to one of the most prolific nonfiction producers working today.  Julie Goldman is one-third of Cactus Three Films based here in New York City.  Six years ago in 2003, Goldman and partners, Krysanne Katsoolis and Caroline Stevens, hung out their shingle offering a combination of production and co-production expertise.  They develop projects, as well as secure funding and distribution for a full slate of films at various stages.  They've produced works such as Easy Riders Raging Bulls, Doubletime, Once in a Lifetime, Darkon, What Remains and The American Ruling Class, among many others.  They have also produced hit television series for HBO (Family Bonds) and the Sundance Channel (Office Tigers).

Goldman, Katsoolis and Stevens are currently developing a Neil LaBute film based on his play, "Autobahn," and an animation series from Ken Petti.  Currently in production, post-production and release are several feature films such as Marion Barry: Not Down for the Count for HBO, Michel Negroponte's I'm Dangerous With Love, Goth Cruise, New World Order for IFC, CBGB's, Sons of Perdition, and 21 Below.  If you click on their names above, you can see their full list of credits, individually and collectively.  Prolific is the word that will certainly come to mind.

I had a chance recently to sit and have a weekday breakfast with Goldman, a New York native, in the midst of her everyday madness.  She was also waiting to hear about the latest addition to her family about to be born in Argentina to one of her brothers and his partner (a healthy baby boy, it turned out).  Goldman has a crackling sense of humor, an acute intelligence and an open, friendly demeanor.  It's also apparent after talking to her for about five minutes that she absolutely loves what she does.  Here's our conversation:

Still in Motion (SIM):  How long have you and Krysanne and Caroline known one another?
 
Julie Goldman (JG):  We've known one another for quite a while.  We all worked together at Wellspring.  (Goldman pictured right with another indie power hitter, Judith Helfand, at Hot Docs in Toronto, courtesy Ingrid Kopp.)

SIM:  So many amazing people came out of that place.

JG:  Yeah, it’s a riot, really.  Wendy Liddell who runs International Film Circuit, Michael Thornton and Sheri Levine who now run Forward Entertainment, Richard Lorber, so many.  That’s just from the last few years the company was around.  I ran the production division with Caroline, Krysanne did acquisitions and Krysanne and I worked together on co-productions.  The three of us started taking a look at the model that was forming then for most independent productions.  In the meantime, mind you, the company kept going bankrupt; Winstar [the parent company] tried to spin us out to keep us out of the bankruptcy.  It was a nightmare, a bad couple of years for the company.  Professionally for me, however, those years were great; there was a lot of dot.com phony money to play with that was floating around, and that enabled us to get lots of projects off the ground.

We were doing these various projects and what would happen was that we’d get the funding through third parties, but then the company would, once again, go bankrupt.  We also had to work within a very bureaucratic structure.  So if the home video people didn’t like the project, it didn't matter that you had raised the money independently.  You couldn’t take it and try to sell it elsewhere.  It was a really strange time, actually, very frustrating.

What the three of us noticed was this kind of gap in the works.  We were looking for gaps in the models within which we were working; we wanted to see if we could insinuate ourselves into one of those gaps.  Where was there a chance for us to be creative producers?  Filmmakers, in an ideal world, did not really want to go out and try to source finances for their projects themselves.  They would, and could, if they had to, but it was a real burden.  We knew that we had really deep relationships with a wide array of people in the business, both domestically and for international co-productions.  We could put all that together and take the business onus off the filmmaker so he or she could focus on what he or she wanted to focus on, mainly the creative work.  We also participate creatively when asked; we work in a liaison capacity between funders—financier, end-user, whomever—and filmmakers.

SIM:  Is it as complicated as it seems, getting funding for an independent feature, be it narrative or nonfiction?

JG:  It can be.  You could have two financial participants that aren’t really interested in seeing the same final film.  That gets really complicated—you have to make another version, deal with making everybody happy.  But we know people really well, their tastes, what their needs are, the changing needs, the endless changing needs.  We can anticipate those things.  Whatever entity they work for, we can tailor a development deal in a way so that we don’t end up with that problem at the end of the day.  Maybe we have to cut a film with a shorter running time, but we don’t have to make an entirely different version because we'll rarely, if ever, promise that.  When you’re a filmmaker and somebody is telling you that they’re giving you this wad of dough. . .

SIM:  Are we talking about potential broadcasters as the ones who are asking for different versions?

JG:  Yes.

SIM:  That must be tricky to navigate.

JG:  It is.  But it becomes easier when you’ve been doing it for a long time, as we have.  You can cut through a lot at a certain point, the morass of whatever current thing is going on [laughs].

SIM:  As far as your personal aesthetic about cinematic documentary—of which I can’t think of one you’ve produced that doesn’t have a substantive cinematic imperative—

JG:  Ideally.

SIM:  Yes, ideally.  What first sparked your attention or informed your sensibility to that way of telling nonfiction stories?

JG:  Well, I started my career at First Run/Icarus.  I worked for both Jonathan [Miller] and Seymour [Wishman].  [Miller bought out Wishman in 2008 and renamed the company Icarus Films.]  So I learned the ropes under some pretty knowledgeable taskmasters.  I was there for five years.  I worked more directly for Jonathan, but we all worked in the same office so we had a lot of interplay with Seymour, as well.  At the time, I was fascinated by the whole idea of the semi-theatrical release and knew I was working with some revolutionary minds in that regard.  It was a fertile learning ground for a young girl [laughs].  Then I went out on my own and worked as an independent producer for many years—doing documentaries, some narratives, some music videos, pretty much everything, commercials, etc.

SIM:  I come from that world, too, and you look at the budgets for the higher-end commercial projects and the end result—

JG:  You think about what you could have made with that kind of money—two or three films, at least.

SIM:  At the end of the day you have this hot-ass 60-second spot with all kinds of CG and all that jazz, having had something like eighty people working on it.  When I did start to make films myself, more "art-based" projects, let’s call them, I realized what people were doing with so little and it just blew me away.  I was so impressed and continue to be.

JG:  On what amounts to the craft services budget for a commercial, yeah.

SIM:  Exactly.  And they’re such beautiful pieces of work, even more beautiful because you know that individual who created it took every penny they had really seriously, made a lifetime endowment in their project.

There’s this whole notion that every producer’s job is to raise money, that that’s a really key role for a producer. At this point in your careers, I think you’re well-positioned to do that, very fluid in the way you do that—bring in the money while also imbuing the project with all your creative contributions, connections and knowledge of production and distribution flow.

JG:  It takes an enormous amount of time; the three of us have decades invested in doing this work.  I went to Winstar / Nonfiction Films, which eventually all morphed into Wellspring, one of the many companies that Winstar was buying up.  One of these places was expanding into making theatrical docs; that’s why I went there.  We’d just finished this film called Mob Law [:A Film Portrait of Oscar Goodman, 1998].  They were also doing this film called Munich ’72 which was renamed One Day in September.  [The film won an Oscar for Best Documentary Feature, 1999-2000.]  So I was so excited to work there.  The first thing I had to do was to get on the phone with John Battsek, someone I work with now but didn’t know at all then, and tell him that he needed to cut his budget in half. It was horrible!  Then, for whatever corporate reasons, sadly, the company pulled out of the project.  I then went on to work on a project called Gunfighters of the West.  Eventually, though, the inmates started taking over the asylum and the more we learned, the more power we had to negotiate and finance some really great projects.

SIM:  A group with good taste, thankfully.

JG:  Yes, a nice group of inmates—it was a "King of Hearts" kind of coup.

SIM: Cactus Three has an incredible roster of films to its credit.  Some kind of creative inspiration must be a difficult thing to go without if you don’t have to; that might be your company’s unofficial motto.

JG:  We live with these films a long time—at least a year, in most cases, longer.  You have to maintain your passion for the project and the only way you can do that over a long period of time is to love that project or the filmmaker that’s making it or, at the very least, have a strong belief in the filmmaker.  It isn’t the subject matter that will sustain that necessarily, although sometimes it can be the subject that does. There’s no science to it: some of the films we’ve done have been very weird.

As an example, we did Orthodox Stance about an Orthodox Jewish boxer and that boxer, that guy, was incredibly charming and riveting and lovable.  He drew us in right away.  And then we’ll have something like Black Sun, which also captivated us in a different way.  Sometimes it's a very ineffable factor.  There's something like Once in a Lifetime [: The Extraordinary Story of the New York Cosmos], which isn’t really about characters but says so much about a certain era in New York.  Our catalogue is very broad in that way.  For three women, we have a lot of sports films.  There’s something immediate about sports docs: you get what's at stake right away.  That’s why When We Were Kings [Leon Gast, 1996] and Hoop Dreams [Steve James, 1994] are some of the greatest docs ever made.  It’s not necessarily about the sport.

SIM:  It always plays, to me, as a really grand metaphor for life—becoming victorious over every obstacle, even if that victory is a mixed bag.  Incredibly inspiring.

JG:  Exactly.  It’s a story of someone playing "against the odds" but in a very different way than we generally encounter.  I’ve seen abysmal sports docs as well, ones that take all that's given with the subject matter and still, somehow, manage to make a staggeringly boring piece.  Which means the storyteller also needs to bring that same passion.  A film like Sweethearts of the Prison Rodeo—

SIM:  I’m a huge Bradley Beesley fan—he has one of the best eyes and instincts in the business.

JG:  He really does.  His Flaming Lips doc is one of my favorites.  He has a great sense of how he wants to tell a story.  Sweethearts is about the rodeo--but it’s really not about the rodeo.

SIM:  This is a filmmaker who definitely falls in love with his subjects and they, in turn, fall in love with him.  There’s a relationship there, one beyond “getting the story.”

JG:  That was exactly the case here.  There was a lot of trust and that was important, especially because he was a guy insinuating himself into a female world, a tough one at that.

SIM:  Have you ever had directing ambitions?

JG:  No, I can’t imagine directing anything.  I’m very locked into my producer duties, paying attention to details, watching over the whole production.  No way; I couldn’t do it.

SIM:  How do you see the independent film landscape right now?  Are you optimistic about things, in general, despite the economic downturn, hard times, etc.?

JG:  It’s always been hard.  Yes, it’s particularly hard now but it comes in waves.  Sometimes it’s harder when distribution dries up as it’s doing now and it’s a shitty period.  Sometimes, despite everything, it flows and you have a number of good films at once and doors start to open.  But it’s always going to be on one side of that curve.  Right now we’re on the downswing.  However, as more funding sources dry up, there are new ones that crop up unexpectedly, as well.  You have to be creative and clever and really work at finding those sources.

SIM:  What about the filmmakers who won’t do that, who refuse to look for money themselves?  They’re fine being on the fringe and doing their own work, self-funding, just getting by.  Mind you, at the same time, they’re complaining about it all and how hard it is.

JG:  It’s not unlike any business or industry in that way.  There are always going to be people that have a lot of incentive and initiative, that really make things happen.  And, there are going to be the people who just want to talk about how everything sucks or who feel entitled to something without doing the work, just assuming that a fabulous idea is enough to get funders to come running.  Some artists are too insecure or nervous to try to delve into that, convinced that that’s not what they do.  A lot of people really feel that you are either a creative or you’re a businessperson.  The most successful people are those that find a way to meld the two.  And the two do go together—it’s essential.  But there’s a fear, a real turn-off for some to spend the time and energy learning how to do that. But this business is one of relationships.  You have relationships in a creative way and you have relationships in a business way and they mix and mingle.

SIM:  Talk a bit about the producer/director relationship and the aspects of that relationship that you enjoy the most.  What brings you a lot of satisfaction in these relationships?

JG:  It’s exciting when someone comes to you and tells you, “Look, this is what I want to do.”  It’s a blank slate; that's where you get to begin.  We love that.  The ideas of how we're going to help create something out of nothing and support that effort from inception to completion—just that concept alone is what makes it exciting and challenging.  It’s actually the best part of it for us.  It starts with the question, what do we need to do to get this from right here to distribution, to getting it seen?  I love clean slates.  Once it’s out there, that’s when I just get kind of nervous, even though I’m confident in the work.  I know it’s a good film and I know that it’s a matter of taste whether audiences like it or not.  There can be a wide array of arbitrary factors.  We love the films but we're also not blind to the fact that there are going to be criticisms and we can agree with those criticisms sometimes, in fact.

SIM:  In a film like The Cove, for instance, where you’re credited with a consultancy role, what does that kind of involvement entail, where you’re not necessarily there from the clean slate-stage but asked to come in at a certain point to help a film find its true north?

JG:  It could be anything: helping to raise more funding, any number of things.  In the case of The Cove, they had shot the majority of it and Fisher Stevens had come on as a producer and brought us on as consultants.  He and I have worked together before and he was just completely devoted to this film.  It’s a tough film in its complexity; the cut at the time that we came on board was pretty messy, not at all close to completion.  Look, Louie [Psihoyos, the first-time director and a world-renowned photographer] wants to save the oceans; that's his explicit agenda.  This film is only one step in a very ambitious agenda.  At that time, everything had to be pulled together to carve out the story; it was all over the place in trying to showcase this crazy group of people who got together to go off and make this film.  The first question was, who would be a great editor?  And that’s how Geoffrey Richman was brought on.  Extra research was also needed.  We needed to find someone who was willing to go out and live in Colorado and work out there for a time.  So it was finding all these elements, pulling them in and getting everything organized so there was a workflow in place.  We also arranged lots of test screenings in New York and LA for feedback since it was changing so rapidly at that point.

SIM:  What about our domestic film festivals, particularly documentary-centric ones, and the transformations we’re seeing there?

JG:  I think festivals here are trying to be part of the distribution chain.  With all the specific festivals, as well, like the Jewish ones, gay/lesbian, etc., a filmmaker can get a pretty healthy run for a film.  The really sad thing, for me, is that I rarely get to see films at festivals.  It’s the singular biggest disappointment about the festival experiences I get to have.  I mean I go to my films.  But sometimes we'll have three or four at a festival and with two screenings each, maybe more, I’m always in those screenings with the filmmakers.  It doesn’t leave time for much else with everything else I’m doing there.

SIM: I’m lucky enough to make that a priority and see quite a lot since I love sitting in the theater with the local audience.  There are sophisticated audiences outside of New York and LA, really hungry for great documentaries and strong small independent narratives with wonderful scripts, stellar performances, etc.  Festivals are also the only places where there is a real interplay between filmmakers and audiences--probably the most impactful.

JG:  I think a pretty sophisticated film language, in general, has become common everywhere you go.  People "get it" in different ways. 

(Goldman pictured with Hamptons International Film Festival director of programming, David Nugent, courtesy Ingrid Kopp.)

SIM:  At Cactus Three, you have this  hands-on philosophy where all three of you spend inordinate amounts of time on each project.  Do you see that changing as you might grow in future years?  Do you have ambitions for the company to become more like a mini-studio, so to speak?

JG:  It’s always been the three of us with a great, but small, support staff.  We beef up when we have to.  We have talked about growing into something bigger and becoming more of a mini-studio.  But becoming more removed from the hands-on process is a concern.  A big part of who we are is in the relationships we have and having that day-to-day contact and connection with filmmakers.  I think, most likely, I will always stay in that kind of role, no matter what happens.  We’ll continue to split up things in different ways but I don’t see that aspect changing.

SIM:  Talk more about this threesome that has formed over the years.  Three is a very strong number; there are lots of possibilities for dividing and conquering.

JG:  Well, Krysanne was a lawyer for many years and concentrated on acquisitions, co-productions, the business side of things.  Caroline has a production background and I have a combination of the two.  So it’s a very good balance in that way.  We can take up the slack for one another, but we really complement one another's skills.  All three of us are executive producers for about ninety percent of the productions Cactus develops.  Sometimes, we do projects individually, as was the case with me and the Sergio film—our solo albums, so to speak.  But to your point, on every project, there is one of us that takes the lead role.  But then sometimes it shifts organically.  If it’s something with music clearance, Krysanne is likely to take the lead on that.  Caroline works on production-oriented issues.  I tend to deal with the broadcasters.  Projects flow very organically between the three of us.

SIM: What’s a comfortable slate for you in terms of numbers of films you complete in a year?

JG:  Currently, we’re finishing, on average, about eight to ten projects a year.  But that means that eight to ten films happen to be finishing at the same time—some projects may have been started several years ago, another might wrap up quite quickly, within a year’s time.  Just this past year, we happened to have had four films go out into the world simultaneously.  You can never predict when a documentary will actually be finished, no matter how much of a soothsayer you are.

SIM:  How do you navigate with broadcasters who do have definitive deadlines?  That must be difficult in terms of timing since you don't want to rush or compromise a project in any way.  Perhaps there’s a financier that’s expecting his or her returns by a certain date and it’s taking a year longer than it’s supposed to.

JG:  Oh yeah, that’s natural [laughs].  Happens all the time.  Having said that, we are pretty good at staying on track.  What I’m saying is you can’t predict the glitches that crop up, or you can't predict that a film will get into a certain festival in which you expected it to be in—those kinds of things present challenges, certainly.  Deadlines and dealing with deliverables is complicated.

I love delivering to HBO; I love working with them.  Everyone there is wonderful, in particular, Nancy Abraham, an amazingly supportive person and a center of calm.  Even if they’re just on the acquisition end of things on certain projects, they’re so incredibly easy to deal with.  They try and help you figure it out, a true partner, as opposed to some of the more corporate-minded entities with which one has to deal.  We work with them a lot—I’m currently delivering the Marion Barry film and Sweethearts of the Prison Rodeo.  I deal with the same group so we’ve been able to develop a fluid working relationship.  Plus, we did a series there called Family Bonds, a very long-term project.  Over the course of those couple of years, we were able to develop very deep relationships.  We know what to expect from one another.  When I’m dealing with a filmmaker, I can advise him or her in a very clear way about where we go for E&O insurance and the costs attached to that, for instance, and we can work out the whole thing clearly and easily.  Believe me, it’s rarely that way.  And getting to work with Sheila Nevins is a dream.  We were really lucky—during Family Bonds we got to meet with her for a whole day once a month going through footage, working on scenarios we wanted to develop.  It was an absolute treat.  Like a laser, she can pinpoint things that no one else is paying attention to.  Just a really wonderful talent, so incredibly supportive.

SIM:  At this point, you must have tons of filmmakers wanting to work with you.

JG:  We’re pretty open to hearing from people.  We get everything from cold calls to recommendations from people with whom we’ve worked in the past or people who know those people—again, established relationships, some kind of personal connection.  We’re also actively looking; we’re at the markets, conferences and festivals.  Our body of work is essentially our calling card for the kinds of projects we’re looking for. We had a period where we were working with a lot of first-time filmmakers and I think we’re going to streamline that process a bit [laughs].  An amazing idea, incredible passion and all of those things are great, but it’s really time-consuming and stretches you very thin.  We’re running a company, not a mentorship program.  It has to be irresistible, that's the bottom line, whether it's from a first-timer or a seasoned director.

SIM:  Have you ever had to make a decision to extricate yourselves from a project you've taken on and if so, what was the reason?

JG:  There have been a couple of instances where we really love and respect the filmmakers tremendously; however, the project starts to go in some direction that is really untenable for us, becoming a very different film from what we understood it would be.  There was one instance where Caroline and I watched a cut of something we wanted to be involved in very much.  But after viewing it, we decided that we couldn’t do it.  It had gone in a direction we didn't anticipate and really became more about the filmmakers struggling to make the film and the personal issues inherent in that. It made sense for those filmmakers to make it that way but we had to tell them how we felt and we parted ways.  It was really hard and somewhat awkward given the insularity of the community.  I had never done that before; it was very painful. 

I’ve also had instances where the financier is the one letting go of the filmmaker mid-way through a project and we had to switch to a different director—another very difficult situation, hard on everyone, but ultimately it worked out great for the film.  In one certain case, it was a film company that was the financier.  These days, especially, we try and find money where we can find it—sometimes the financier is in the film business, sometimes they're not.  There can be a pretty wide range of financing sources.  I still think television is the steadiest source of funding for documentaries.

SIM:  What would your recommendation be to a mid-career filmmaker who’s done a couple of projects, essentially out of his or her own pocket, they’ve had a modicum of success, perhaps making a bit of their money back, at least enough to do the next project, but they’re ready to kick it up a level?  They want to have seed money, a pot from which to begin pre-production and production, a good producer attached who can help oversee everything through distribution and sales.

JG:  The first thing I would do as a filmmaker is research producers out there who have done projects you admire and respect, and that have done fairly well commercially.

SIM:  But what does the filmmaker need to bring to the table in order to work with producers such as yourselves?

JG:  If someone comes in with a great story, total and complete access to the story and/or subjects, something written up, and, ideally, something shot from which a reel or trailer can be created—that’s the best-case scenario.

SIM:  And a prepared budget or something to show they’ve addressed the dreaded business side of things?

JG:  If, in fact, there's interest on our part, we can look at the budget together and review costs at that point. Those other factors are the important ones.  There’s no need to come to me with a budget.  It’s always either ridiculously low and the maker is not anticipating what the real costs are going to be, or it’s ridiculously high and you just can’t get those budgets anymore unless you’re Michael Moore or Morgan Spurlock or a name talent like that.

SIM:  Of the filmmakers with whom you’re familiar, who are you keeping your eye on?  Who do you think will go the distance and make a career of note?  Who would you like to work with again that you’ve worked with before?

JG:  I think Jeremiah Zagar is definitely someone to watch.  Gary Tarn is another really interesting guy; he’s got another really wonderful film to follow Black Sun.  I know what he’s working on and it’s very ambitious.  He’s determined and talented.  Of course, now I’m blanking when you ask me to come up with names—the usual suspects that most people are watching, I guess.  Eva Weber is an interesting filmmaker; it’ll be great to see what she’ll do in the future.  Gemma Cubero and Celeste Carrasco have a really fantastic film in Ella Es el Matador (She Is the Matador)—I loved it; I think it's gorgeous. 

In terms of people I’ve worked with before, I really like Matthew Galkin.  We’re finding something to do together.  He did the Pixies film and we worked together on Family Bonds for HBO.  He’s super solid and very smart.  And I would definitely want to keep tabs on Brad [Beesley] and whatever he might be working on next.  I would also love to continue to collaborate with producers John Battsek, Nikki Parrott, Ryan Harrington and Amy Dotson.

SIM:  What kind of stock do you put into the modern-day pitch session?  To me, even though the projects are interesting and there are a number of intelligent and adventurous commissioners sitting around the table, it smacks of more of a floorshow than anything else. 

JG: Yeah, they kind of remind me of watching the high school archetypes playing out their destined roles.  It’s kind of funny.  What I do very much like is what Sheffield does which are the Meet Markets—one on one meeting sessions.

SIM:  IFP does that, as well.

JG:  They do and they get better and better every year with the Independent Film Week and the labs, etc.  It is exciting to see emerging talent be fostered in that way.  They also have great instructional sessions where they take documentary filmmakers through absolutely every stage from pre-production to distribution.  They bring in great people.  I was really impressed—they presented what amounted to “Documentary Filmmaking 101.”  Knowing how to deliver a film is so key and no one ever teaches how to do that.  It’s invaluable information.  Also, knowing who key players are is essential.  So many filmmakers send their films to the wrong people; it’s a waste of time on everyone’s part.  Save relationships and connections for the appropriate time and the appropriate project.  Don’t show someone an hour-long cut when you should be showing five or ten minutes, just really practical stuff like that that could make all the difference.

SIM:  What would you say to independent producers who are constantly approached by first-time filmmakers who a) want you to work for free because they don’t have any money, also known as “working deferred,” and b) want that producer to, essentially, do all of the fundraising work for them?  I’m obviously asking this from personal experience and, I have to tell you, as a creative, independent producer, it’s a challenge.  I’m talking about something that goes beyond consultative or advice-driven meetings.  It’s watching cuts and doing the detailed work that helps to get a piece into watchable shape.  I think there’s a gross misunderstanding of what a producer-director relationship entails to a large extent. 

JG:  It’s difficult.  We all come across projects that we don’t want to get away.  And also the opportunity of being part of the initial creative process is important for some, having a role in putting together the creative team—editor, composer, etc. 

The bottom line is that life is short and, as producers, we want to do the best work we can with the best people out there. There’s so much talent out there to be tapped into.  If you know exactly what it is you want, it means you’re apt to come across it sooner rather than later.  And, in turn, when a filmmaker is serious about finding a good producer, he or she will find the resources to hire one.  Believe me, when someone needs to find a publicist or someone to do PR and marketing, they find the money.  They need to realize that if that money can be found, then finding resources to hire a producer shouldn’t be a problem either.  It doesn’t make sense to expect a producer to work for free, particularly if that person is instrumental in helping to find funding for the project.  It took me a long time to be firm about that but if someone is serious about working with you and it’s really meant to be, and they need you and they realize that, then they’ll find the money to hire you.  It’s important to legitimize these relationships.

Don't Miss Two Fantastic Outdoor Screenings This Weekend

This Friday and Saturday, July 10 and 11, Rooftop Films will be showcasing two wonderful documentaries in Brooklyn as part of their '09 summer screening series. 

First up, on Friday night, Aron Gaudet and Gita Pullapilly will present their inspiring and award-winning film, The Way We Get By.  Through greeting troops at the Bangor International Airport in Maine, a major US military deployment hub, three senior citizens not only transform their own lives, but touch thousands of others' lives, as well.  I've dropped into several Q&As for this at various festivals and audiences are always just completely over the moon--not a dry eye in the house.  Gaudet's and Pullapilly's first feature project has had a bountiful festival run and this will be the second time it has exhibited in the Big Apple.  (Thom Powers showed it as part of his Stranger Than Fiction series this past spring.)  You can read my laudatory review on the film here.  Festivities will be on the lawn of Automotive High School in Williamsburg.  Doors open at 8 for the regular drill: fabulous crowd, great live music from a local band, great film, after party with free drinks at Matchless on Manhattan Ave.  Click here to order tickets.

Gaudet and Pullapilly are also gearing up for the film's theatrical release débuting at the IFC Center here in New York on Friday, July 17, with the filmmakers in attendance at selected screenings throughout opening weekend.  Visit their website for more information and to read about the other special events throughout the week-long run with one of their outreach partners, Operation Homefront.  They currently have dates set for runs in Los Angeles at Laemmle's Music Hall (August 14) and in Boston at the Museum of Fine Art (August 27).  Repeat after me:  a successful New York opening weekend will enable the film to exhibit at more theaters across the nation!!

On Saturday night, Rooftop will present Bill Ross and Turner Ross' feature début, 45365, winner of the Grand Jury Prize for Best Documentary at this year's SXSW festival in Austin (the film's premiere), recipient of an honorable mention nod for the HBO Emerging Filmmaker Award at Full Frame, and a special jury prize at the Newport International Film Festival.  Many, many people think this is an exquisite movie-going experience.  I would be one of them.  A grandly cinematic piece, it's meant to be seen on a big screen.  So here's your chance to go see it on one.

Over the course of nine months, the brothers Ross shot this graceful and colorful portrait of their hometown of Sidney, Ohio--the title is the town's postal code.  We, as viewers, get to sit back and let imagery, from the sublime to the mundane, wash over us in a sensorial kaleidoscope of sound and vision.  It's a strangely relaxing experience with small jolts of exhilaration and glee.  There is no omniscient voice intoning inane (nor poetic) recitations about life in a small town on the soundtrack; there are no talking head interviews; there is really no discernible plot line.  What the film does contain are snapshots crafted to make the most of the mood and timbre and rhythm of a place and its inhabitants. 

Even if one was raised in the middle of a big, bustling city, there is some weird kind of universal nostalgia evoked through the lens of these native small-town sons.  Like the place it photographs, the camera's gaze is wide-open and friendly, most times keeping a polite distance while picking up intimate details in an oblique way (except for scenes like the full-on smooch in a bar, which is unabashedly voyeuristic, and the pulse-pounding physicality of the running-with-the-bulls shots at the football game).  The sound design is quite sophisticated, providing a contrapuntal element in both rhythm and harmony to the visual panorama, the passing snippets of vérité interwoven with transcendent sequences of flight and fancy.  There is a whole sequence shot on an amusement park ride that is absolutely thrilling in its beauty, creating an integration between "real life" and "art" that is evocative of first crushes and first drunken kisses and first rollercoaster rides and all those other seminal and intense human experiences we all hope we can recall over and over again, even into our dotage.  I can't think of a better summertime movie.

45365 will be distributed through 7th Arts Releasing.  The film will also be exclusively screened for one week starting Friday, July 31st on the SnagFilms.com Distribution Network, the second film of its online summer fest.

Why I Love New York, Reasons #849 - #854

Because you get to wake up in a Polish neighborhood in Brooklyn that's a throwback to 1978 Krakow, but with better shoe stores.  On the carpet in front of you are the two biggest, fattest, laziest cats to greet you with a blank morning stare, which uncannily matches their blank afternoon stare and their blank evening stare.  One of them (the female) has woken you up at some ungodly morning hour by trying to pounce on your head, but you've found the spiritual space in which to forgive her.

You then shuttle your way into the city with a coffee of Stumptown in your hand from the Variety Café on Graham, and arrive early enough at your first meeting point to breakfast alone with your book--a brioche and a cup of coffee, both the approximate size and heft of one of those aforementioned cats.

About an hour later, some absolutely lovely woman, who has taken a chunk out of her busy day to talk with you, sits across from you, orders some food and beverage and we then proceed to have the most wonderful conversation, gabbing like we chicks do.  That interview, with Cactus Three's Julie Goldman, will be posted here soon, so that's something to look forward to.  I learned a lot; I hope you will, too.

Then on to visit some of my favorite peeps in New York and get my bag filled with DVDs to view--the good, the bad, the ugly.  Again, I learn lots.  And sometimes, I'm lucky enough to see an entire film, finished by the grace of whomever,  a year after my last viewing of said film when it was just a few minutes long, dubbed a "work-in-progress," but, nonetheless, wrenched my sensibility around pretty good about my naïve relationship with history and the repercussions of what that naïveté might entail.  I'm obsessed with history right now for some reason and have luckily been asked to expound upon those thoughts for some articles--I'll keep you posted on that.  But suffice to say, that this imperative of nonfiction filmmakers today seems to be, not unsubtly stated, that we must take over where the world's corporate media stops short.  And it's stopping shorter and shorter lately, have you noticed that?

Then I met up with a filmmaker with whom I'm working who makes it possible for me to have a living, breathing model of what a graceful creature a human being can be.  That's a good thing to aspire to, I think; especially when I'm twisted up like a pretzel in all kinds of ways about my life right now.  It'll all be okay; we'll get through this.  Sentiments not spoken out loud, but expressed in the ways that she trusts you and has confidence in you and sees the worth that's hiding under a bushel.  I'll stop here 'cause I'm welling up.

Suffice to say that I did the pretentious, incomprehensible art opening bullshit and then went to have a lovely meal in a French outdoor bistro (where actual French people eat) with two of the most interesting people I've met in awhile, most interesting because they're so open and so enigmatic, simultaneously.  If the company you keep is any indication of your view of yourself, then things are looking kind of okay. 

LIFE. SUPPORT. MUSIC. Airs on P.O.V. This Week

Eric Daniel Metzgar's second feature-length documentary is a beauty.  A deeply personal film about one of his music partners and close friends, Jason Crigler, Life. Support. Music. documents an extraordinary journey of healing, love and sheer determination on one man's part to sucker-punch the odds of recovery from a  near-fatal brain hemorrhage from a very discouraging diagnosis to performing and recording again.  And learning how to become a father to a daughter whose birth he doesn't remember.

In 2004, Jason Crigler's future was bright.  He was one of New York's hottest young guitarists on the rise; his wife, Monica, was pregnant with their first child.  At a gig one evening, Crigler suffered a severe hemorrhage.  After assessing his state, his caretakers wagered he would never emerge from a mostly vegetative state, would be unable to feed or care for himself, and would be unable to walk or move around on his own, let alone write and play music again.  With his and Monica's incredibly inspiring families' unrelenting support and encouragement, he proved them wrong.

This Tuesday, Life. Support. Music. will make its broadcast début on PBS' P.O.V. series; check local listings for showtimes.  Visit the film's website or its page on the P.O.V. site to learn more about the Criglers' story, read an interview with Metzgar, buy the DVD from Film Baby (both home and educational versions are available) and to listen to some of Jason's fantastic music.  You can also read an in-depth interview I conducted last year with the wonderful and talented Metzgar on the Shooting People site by clicking here.

Playing directly after Life. Support. Music. will be an encore presentation of an extraordinary 6-minute experimental piece that débuted on PBS in 2007, Ariana Gerstein's Alice Sees the Light.

The Good Pitch at IFP's Independent Film Week

Just blew back in from the countryside where I did nothing but eat, sleep and swim for four days so am still blissfully flatlining.  However, wanted to mention, since it's sneaking up fast, that the deadline for entering your nonfiction project for the Good Pitch at Independent Film Week has been pushed to June 1.

The call for entries is now open for the Good Pitch's third forum in North America--the first was at Hot Docs in Toronto last month at the Toronto Documentary Forum; next up will be the one at SILVERDOCS (check the entire program, up since last Thursday, and the projects that have been chosen for the Good Pitch by clicking here); the third one will be in September at the 31st Annual Project Forum in New York City's Chelsea district.

In accordance with the UN's Millennium Development Goals, the round table format is designed to maximize the "powerful convergence of interests between issue-based organizations, documentary storytellers, broadcasters/funders/distributors, and audiences hungry for relevant, moving stories of our current realities."

The Man Behind the Conniption: Ben Steinbauer Unmasks the WINNEBAGO MAN

I attended a packed-to-the-rafters screening of this film in Toronto.  I can only imagine the response it got at its début in Austin, Texas at SXSW back in March.  The director and one of his producers are (adopted) native sons of the town, first off.  And secondly, SXSW audiences love their movies and music like nobody's business, according to the fest's new director, Janet Pierson, who spoke eloquently about her newly-adopted beast of a child and the intensity of the audiences in Austin at a panel on film festivals during Hot Docs.  (Director Ben Steinbauer and subject Jack Rebney at their SXSW premiere Q&A, courtesy Ingrid Kopp, From the Hip blog.)

There was much love in the house when the filmmakers came up for the Q&A, let's put it that way.  And in a town that loves documentaries like Toronto does, that's high praise because Torontonians represent a discerning, sophisticated audience that can think for itself, thanks very much.  I haven't seen so many people stay for Q&As at any other festival, really, so that's kind of impressive, and a very generous and precious gift to filmmakers, to bask in an audience's glow after they've seen one's film.  Director Steinbauer, producer Joel Heller, and producer, writer, and editor, Malcolm Pullinger, did their Q&A in the dark instead of a basking glow, thanks to a lazy theater grip (there were lights set up, but inexplicably they never got turned on).  But, no matter.  There was love in the house.

Winnebago Man surprised me in many ways, all of them delightful, and in much deeper ways than one might anticipate when watching a movie about an Internet phenom, merely famous for his RV (recreational vehicle) sales videos, or the outtakes thereof, to be precise.  The protagonist, Jack Rebney, the WM of the title, has had his life play out like a Zen koan.  In other words, the different aspects or "personalities" his life has taken on are inexplicable, not given to rational understanding; but intuitively, you know you're watching a life lived like a motherfucker.  (I know "motherfucker" is not really a Zen kind of word, but I'm speaking Jack's language now--a language of honesty and sheer, human rage at the indignities to which we sometimes have to subject ourselves for our own damned good.  Or something like that.  I get impatient with Zen stuff.) 

And then a nice, clean-cut boy shows up and, politely but obstinately, pulls him out of the obscurity to which he's fled.  I was conflicted about how to feel about the relationship between Steinbauer and Rebney for much of the first half of the film, I must say.  But that's as it should be since the relationship turns out to be very rich and substantive and complicated and throws curve ball after curve ball beyond your expectations of what kind of relationship these two people could possibly have besides the predictable one.  The story arc is highly satisfying thanks to crack dramaturgical work and graceful editing by Pullinger.  The story ebbs and flows in a way that makes you relax and sit back and know that you're in the hands of supreme storytellers.  And it is definitely a team effort: Steinbauer, as the driver (literally) of the film has a sure authorial voice and an unmitigated comfort in front of the lens, so that part works well.  But then, besides the aforementioned Heller and Pullinger, Steinbauer also has Bradley Beesley shooting for him most of the time and Beesley's one of the best cinematographers out there right now--he's a sensitive lensman with an eye for the real McCoy, able to frame almost everything with a deep pathos and understanding and humor, helping a viewer see things in a bit of a more profound way, let's say, than he or she normally would.  Talented guy.

This film is currently on its festival run and it'll be a good one.  The humanity of this story can certainly touch the lost part of our souls, but it can also revive our sense of mission in living an uncompromising life--no matter the complications one creates for oneself along the way.

My favorite moment of the film (among many)?  Jack Rebney getting shooed off the premises of a WalMart property by a scared-shitless store manager already on the phone to the cops before he's within shouting distance of Jack.  It's worth the price of admission to hear what Mr. Rebney has to say about that little scenario.

Go see this when it comes to a theater near you.  You'll have the time of your life and shed a tear or two.  That, and a bag of popcorn and you've died and gone to heaven, right?

Into the Archives

I know this blog is only two years old, but once in a while, I like to go through my scrap book and reminisce.  Just to see where I was a year ago, I looked over my interview with Iranian filmmaker and festival director, Massoud Bakhshi whom I met at Hot Docs in '08, and really enjoyed reading it again.  So I thought you might too (want to read it, that is) if you're not watching crap TV or flat-ironing your hair (be careful!).  It actually did my heart a bit of good since I just watched a really awful film and felt a bit depressed.  I hate bad films, especially bad films that cost a lot of money---gggrrrr.

Click here to read our conversation.  Merci, bonne nuit.

Renzo Martens' Macabre Passion Plays

Episode 3: Enjoy Poverty débuted at the IDFA last fall as the opening night film, and since then, has traveled a bit on the international circuit to various film festivals such as Thessaloniki in Greece in March (where I saw it for the first time), as well as at Hot Docs in Toronto last week (where I saw it a second time, met the director and listened to the post-screening Q&A). 

The film, however, for the most part, has played as an art installation in galleries and museums; Dutch artist, Renzo Martens, the creator of the film, considers it a work of art with "connections to documentary film."  For Martens, it is the relationship between the viewer and the image that he is most interested in exploring, and in his film, he plays the role of both the artist crafting and extrapolating upon that relationship, while also representing The Every (White) Man, exploiter and consumer of Africa's poverty trade.  You can watch the trailer here.

The film embodies the best of pugilistic agitation, radicalizing a particular point of view through a somewhat caustic DIY sensibility.  In speaking of the Situationists, Sadie Plant in The Most Radical Gesture: The Situationist International in a Postmodern Age (1992) says:  "The situationists' desire to become psychogeographers, with an understanding of the precise laws and specific effects of the geographical environment, consciously organized or not on the emotions and behavior of individuals, was intended to cultivate an awareness of the ways in which everyday life is presently conditioned and controlled, the ways in which this manipulation can be exposed or subverted, and the possibilities for chosen forms of constructed situations to the post-spectacular world.  . . . it is precisely this concern with the environment in which we live which is ignored."

Modern-day "psychogeographer" Martens has decidedly chosen not to ignore this particular construction, but to utilize it quite conscientiously in his film work and he states that he's doing this quite openly.  In 2004, he created his Episode 1, a 45-minute film about his travels to Chechnya in the midst of a brutal war, the film centering on his investigation of what the Chechen and Russians thought of him, a comfortable, self-centered, handsome Northern European artist.  In doing so, he stages a compelling and not-so-subtle articulation of why war zones and poverty-stricken places exist; it's precisely because of this self-referential imperative we use as a distancing effect so we can cope with living comfortably on the same planet alongside the people in dire circumstances who won't be comfortable a day in their miserable lives.

In their absurdity and disingenuous manner, these films use the conventions of nonfiction cinema to manipulate attitudes and ideas, as Martens presents himself as both perpetrator/exploiter and documentarian of that exploitation.  In speaking of his filmic triptych in a January '09 interview with ArtSlant's Frances Guerin, Martens explains that Episode I and Episode 3 "are the side panels, representing earthly narratives.  The centerpiece will focus on divine love . . . . represent[ing] a conversation between two people the topic of which will be love.  As such it will offer a deeper solution to the consciousness of exploitation raised in Episode I and Episode 3, a consciousness I do not believe is limited to war and poverty, but is all around us."

I haven't seen Episode I, but I think Episode 3 is extremely sophisticated in its cinematic language and its use of hand-held self-shooting (there's nothing like it when it's done right).  Attention was paid to the brutal beauty, the almost pornographic regard we have for images of poverty--starving children, hollowed-out human beings (both physically and emotionally), bloated dead bodies from which the sound of thousands of flies and maggots echo in the air, white photographers gazing through powerful camera lenses at the death and desperation around them, framing everything in a LIFE Magazine glow.

And then there's the sign: a big, fat neon sign that Martens has carried into the middle of the jungle in the Congo so he can piece it together, hang it high, and illuminate it with a gigantic generator.  The extended scene (it goes on for several minutes) of the villagers dancing joyfully around the PLEASE ENJOY POVERTY sign, everything lit with a magical blue glow, is one of the most affecting scenes I've seen in a while.  You want to laugh; you want to cry; you do neither--that kind of thing.  A numbness that is all too  familiar since there are organizations and entities that want to inundate us with those images until we really don't take them in anymore, for very specific reasons, foremost of which is making them even richer than they already are.  Reaching into your pocket to "help the starving" is the most numbing action of all, I've found.

So I think this film is brilliant, one of the most intelligent ones I've seen.  I'm sure Martens would be happy for me to reference alongside this comment that it is akin to Sauper's Darwin's Nightmare, a documentary that scared me so badly just with its poster alone.  Even the exceedingly well-constructed and gorgeously shot, Sergio, which elicited in me such a severe emotional response I was literally choking back my tears for the last 30 minutes of the film, did not haunt my thoughts like this film does.  I think that it needs to get out of the rarefied air of the art galleries, Mr. Martens, and into the marrow of your average-Joe or Jane film goer.

The film has just had its national theatrical release in Belgium where Martens resides.  I'm sure a few of us can work on a New York screening or two.  New Yorkers robustly chew on films like this.  And then spit them up at breakfast.

Next and last Hot Docs post:  my review of Winnebago Man!  From the sublime to the sublime.  That's why I like film.

The Good Pitch Comes to North America

It has not escaped my notice that this is a wildly incongruous post following upon the heels of the above review.  But anyway--

The Good Pitch is the brainchild of the Channel 4 BRTIDOC Foundation, headed up by Jess Search, Katie Bradford and Elise McCave.  The Good Pitch utilizes the traditional pitching forum to bring together documentary filmmakers, not only with commissioning editors, broadcasters and funders from the international independent film community, but with other potential contributors and partners in audience-building, as well, underlining the fact that nonfiction cinema is a powerful tool for creating social change on a global level.  With the opportunity to pitch to ideal outreach partners--expert participants from foundations, charities, NGOs, campaigners, distributors, advertising agencies, and other third sector organizations--a selected group of filmmakers can maximize the impact of their films by forming powerful alliances with the likes of the American Civil Liberties Union, Amnesty International USA, World Organization for Human Rights USA, Save the Children Canada, WITNESS, and many others.

Partner, Cara Mertes, director of the Sundance Institute Documentary Program, says that "The Good Pitch is a new evolution in the pitch forum format.  It absolutely fits our focus on supporting human rights and social issue documentary films with broad impact.  The Channel Four BRITDOC Foundation has been a great innovator in the social issue documentary sector and we are enthusiastic partners in bringing the Good Pitch to North America."  The Toronto Documentary Forum, which runs concurrently with the Hot Docs festival, was the first stop on its North American tour; the TDF celebrated its 10th anniversary this year with new leadership by the dynamic Elizabeth Radshaw.  The Good Pitch will also be staged at the upcoming SILVERDOCS (entries are now closed; click here to see the final selection); and, in the fall, they will also be at the IFP's Independent Film Week (the deadline is May 25; click here to apply).

The emphasis of The Good Pitch is not on "advocacy," so much as on global social transformation.  With funding partners The Fledgling Fund and Working Films, The Good Pitch folks aim to help facilitate fruitful partnerships between artists and viable (and quite powerful) entities with hefty international constituencies.  (Pitch training and outreach consultancy was provided by Judith Helfand of Chicken & Egg and Robert West of Working Films.)  In fact, Search displayed marvelous skills straight from the yenta tradition in the form of relentless matchmaking, taking an enthusiastic response from an organization representative willing to talk about financial and other types of aid on a film project as a sign that there was about to be cause to plan a wedding.  Using their "pent-up idealism," as one representative from the American Bar Association Center for Human Rights put it, to her best advantage, Search made sure there would be follow-up meetings once the pitch session was over:  "You're going to go out in the hall and talk some more after the session breaks, right?  You're going to give this project some of your money, right?"  With fewer and fewer funding options for making and finishing feature documentaries, the Foundation team is hell-bent on finding other ways to support groundbreaking projects.  Ryan Harrington of the Gucci Tribeca Documentary Fund and IndiePix Studios says that it's the "most, worthwhile, uplifting and productive pitching forum I have ever taken part in."

The five projects pitched were:  Untitled Immigration Project by Marco Williams which examines the state of US immigration policy by documenting three facets of the immigration story beginning with the deaths that happen along the US/Mexican border and the effort to identify the bodies and then send them back home; the trend of local municipalities that create laws to stem the flow of Latino immigrants; and the impact of the deportation of those with proper working papers who have committed crimes in the US.  The Promise of Freedom by Beth Murphy, director of the powerful Beyond Belief, (presented with producer, Sean Flynn) focuses on the work of Kirk Johnson, a 27-year-old American aid worker trying to save thousands of Iraqis whose lives are in danger because they worked for the US during the war.  Our School by Mona Nicoara is a story of Roma ("Gypsy") children struggling against intense segregation in a small Transylvanian town.  The film follows three schoolchildren as they fight racism and hatred from their teachers and struggle for a good education that will break the cycle of poverty and cultural rejection by the rest of society.  Burma Soldier by Nic Dunlop (presented with producer, Julie leBrocquy) tells the story of Myo Myint, who left his refugee camp on the Thai/Burma border to be reunited with his family in the US after 20 years.  He was a soldier who turned against his own commanders, was blown up in a landmine, became an activist against the war and suffered imprisonment and torture.  Photojournalist Dunlop's powerful trailer brought tears to my eyes; his physical and emotional access to Myint is incredible, making for a very powerful personal story.  Lastly, there was Resilient by Sean Fine and Andrea Nix Fine (presented with producer Yael Melamede), Academy Award-nominated filmmakers for their War/Dance.  The film (gorgeously shot, unsurprisingly) is a celebration of women from all over the world who have lived through and triumphed over intense trauma and found an inner strength that motivates them into becoming activists with a vengeance.  Journalist, Mariane Pearl, will be the conduit that guides viewers through four profiles of women who are making positive change in their communities.

HOT DOCS Meme

My Hopalong Cassidy of a laptop has been on life support since Tuesday afternoon and has just been revived yesterday morning by some very generous (and quick-acting) Mac gurus.  So apologies for the blogus interruptus.  Still working through my Hot Docs coverage but firstly, in this post, I will respond to dandig's meme tag since that's Hot Docs-related:

1.  The film that pulled at my heart strings the most:  A Good Man by Australian director Safina Uberoi appearing in the World Showcase.  I love the cinema (both fiction and non) that comes out of Oz and am rarely disappointed; it seems to be a land made for tall tales and grand storytelling with plenty of larger-than-life characters.  Uberoi's A Good Man is a very quiet, intimate film about a family, but has the robust humor and earthy sensibility I've come to rely upon from the best Aussie cinema.  What initially caught my attention was the plot of this rare love story--macho Australian sheep farmer becomes a brothel owner to help support his quadriplegic wife, Rachel, mother of his two sons.  About sixteen years ago, Rachel experienced a severe brain hemorrhage that left her neurologically damaged and completely paralyzed (she communicates only with her eyes) while pregnant with their first child.  Once their first son was delivered safely, Chris Rohrlach married Rachel, knowing her condition would never improve.  Along with Rachel and Chris' parents as a wonderful Greek chorus, their story is sensitively and artfully told against the sweeping gold vistas of Chris' farm, which he is struggling mightily to hold onto, and the mid-sized, provincial town where he attempts to run a legal "sex parlor."  The film is chock-a-block with fantastic one-liners, my favorite uttered by Chris' business partner and friend: "Not only did I not like running a brothel, I fucking hated it."

2.  Strangest cinematic experience:  I'm not sure I would describe this as "strange" necessarily, but it was delightful.  After the Saturday night screening of Ben Steinbauer's Winnebago Man, Steinbauer got his star subject, Jack Rebney, on the line and we heard Rebney's booming, distinctive voice through the tiny mobile phone speaker from his mountaintop retreat in northern California, holding forth, answering questions from the enthusiastic (and loving) audience, and trading ripostes with Steinbauer just as they do in this delightful documentary.  I'll write more about this film in my review coming up shortly.

3.  Best party:  Why The British Drinks at The Supermarket, dahling.  Simply everyone who's anyone in independent nonfiction cinema was there.  Packed to the gills, it was a great place to meet up with old friends and new from all over the world and toast another year of survival (barely) doing what we love.  (The Conference Room F party at the Sheraton hosted by the Winnebago boys was a very close runner-up.)

4.  Overall high point:  Getting to observe the first North American Good Pitch at the Toronto Documentary Forum.  Also more on this in a bit.

5.  Favorite pitch:  Resilient by Yael Melamede (producer) and Sean and Andrea Nix Fine (directors) presented a pitch seeking post-production funding and sponsors/partners for their feature film wherein Mariane Pearl guides the audience through the stories of four women's lives.

I tag, in turn, fellow Hot-Doc'ers (who should tag another five people to see if we can keep this sucker rolling) Erin Donovan, James McNally, Steve Hyde, Joel Heller and Charlie Phillips.

HOT DOCS 09: Up the Ass of the Beast; Or, Finding Love in the Most Unexpected Places

First off, welcome to the refreshed SIM:  did a little make-over and brought out my spring/summer look--light, breezy, sophisticated, easy on the eyes.  You can whistle if you want.

Before you get all smart-assy on me, no, I did not pose for that sculpture.  It's an extract from a photo I took on a hot summer's day in a park in Prague filled with weird and wonderful art work by local artists.  The piece is highly evocative of how I aspire to live my life:  naked* under the sun and a deep blue sky on a high roof with an unobstructed view, desired by those who also spend inordinate amounts of time daydreaming or going to see films, which pretty much amounts to the same thing, doesn't it?  (*Consider the word "naked" a metaphor, please; I only take my clothes off in public for cash or multi-colored bead necklaces.)  Designer and filmmaker, Eliane Lazzaris, did me a kindness, so obrigada minha cara menina.  On with the show: 

When you go to a big international documentary festival like Hot Docs, you notice certain trends that are engaging the entire documentary community.  Not just the little insular one we have here in New York, fabulous though it is, but the larger community out in the world interested in pushing this fascinating art form to its limits.  There are seemingly higher and higher stakes involved for doc makers, creatively, narratively, cinematically, idealogically.  What you have in Toronto, as well, (twice a year, yet!) is some interesting force fields coalescing when you bring what amounts to one of the most sophisticated film audiences in the world together with some of the best and brightest cutting-edge filmmakers, smart people engaged in crafting work that truly speaks to the zeitgeist.  Even our 22-year-old waitress at dinner one night rushed us along, telling us we needed to go see (Audience Award-winner) The Cove or Winnebago Man or Episode 3: Enjoy Poverty, or something equally as wonderful in just a half hour, so she'd better bring us our check straight away.  That did my heart good, let me tell you.

The parties and various industry gatherings, too, bring an international flavor to North America.  We live on giant land masses here; we tend to get a bit myopic about the rest of the world.  Hot Docs was where I first met friend, Massoud Bakhshi, filmmaker and director of the new Iran International Documentary Film Festival which I was privileged to attend last year.  Through that connection, I met Orwa Nyrabia, filmmaker and director of the new DOX BOX in Damascus, Syria, which I also had the privilege of attending in March because I re-met Orwa in Helsinki, Finland at the DocPoint festival where I was a guest this past January because of meeting festival coordinator Helena Mielonen in Tehran.  And like that.  This is not unusual since festivals are the places where unique and exciting collaborations emerge: between filmmakers, filmmakers and producers, programmers and artistic directors, funders and fundees, and other industry folk who work to keep nonfiction, or factual programming, alive and flourishing.  And then you have Mr. Sean Farnel, one of the most talented programmers out there who also rockets around the planet making discovery after discovery so that Hot Docs can keep providing the wealth of riches it's been known for for the past sixteen years.  (Farnel, pictured, announcing this year's fest line-up, courtesy James McNally and photographer, Jay Kerr.) 

So without further ado, in the next few posts, I'll talk about some of the films I saw there that left a particularly deep impression, starting with my two faves--two films that, upon first blush, seemingly have very little in common.  What they both do provide are some of the most fascinating threesomes I've come across in cinema.  The triangle is fast becoming my favorite geometrical shape; when something is "triangulated," both the fixed baseline, as well as the angles that radiate from it, form a pretty damned accurate survey of certain systems and  relationships.  Interestingly, one film takes place in the rural hinterlands of South Korea (I know next to nothing about South Korean cinema), the other in the dystopic urban nightmare of  Pyongyang, North Korea (and no one really knows about North Korean cinema, do they?) which has gone out into the world as a Danish film, but it is very much a North Korean one, as well, a chilling and fascinating glimpse of that clandestine place.  One film is presented as a touching pastoral fairytale but turns out to be pretty much wall-to-wall laughs; the other a seemingly Python-esque charade played for laughs manages to provide plenty of fiercely sobering moments due mostly to a brilliant script master-minded by its director.

The Red Chapel's shorthand log line, if it needed one, would probably be something along the lines of "The Yes Men do North Korea."  (Take a look at part of it here.)  Shown in the International Spectrum, aptly-named Danish director Mads Brügger's wild adventure takes us into the maw of Kim Jong-il's secret empire.  How these Danes got permission is anyone's guess but we'll chalk it up to kismet since this filmmaker does not squander a moment of his time there to explore and extrapolate upon the nature of this country that has cut its population off from the rest of the world while eating hundreds of thousands of its own through mind control, starvation, torture and life-long imprisonment.  In other countries, one can be labeled a dissident and still go home and have dinner with the kids.  Not in the Democratic People's Republic of Korea.  You're "disappeared" permanently.  Enough of what goes on has been leaked over the decades to know that to, not only get in there, but to get in there with cameras, is an impressive feat, indeed.   

The chilling brilliance of this film shows itself in its leadership on both sides of the fence.  On the official site of Denmark, there is an essay on the personality of the Danes by journalist Victor Andersen that says, "Common to all Danes is their tendency to take the ups and downs of life with a touch of irony, often self-irony. . . .  They tend to say the opposite of what they think, in keeping with the nature of [that] irony."  In other words, they could make great spies and get away with a hell of a lot in a place that doesn't know what irony is. 

However, it says that over the years, "there have also been traces of local insularity, snobbery and conformity.  It was best not to be different or odd."  So a Dane might feel a certain sympathy with the North Koreans, perhaps, conformists par excellence?  Brügger brings some friends with him, namely, two young Korean comedians, both raised from a young age in Denmark; they consider themselves Danish, not Korean.  They are there to stage a comedy revue for a select audience in the capitol.  One is a big strapping, tattooed young lad called Simon, the other an 18-year-old spastic with a severe central nervous system disorder which affects his physical movements and speech, making most people think that he's retarded when he's far from mentally deficient.  He finds himself in a place where children like him are given away or hidden from the rest of society, or as is intimated more than once, done away with completely.

He is the deepest thinker, the most intensely emotional, most adversely affected subject in this whole shebang, incessantly articulating why following an ironical conformist into a conformist society with no irony can be a bloody dangerous thing.  And so young Jacob turns out to be the steadfast baseline of this particular, oddly-shaped triangle.  While Brügger is unscrupulously giving the North Koreans a run for their money, Jacob is questioning the evil nature of his own leader, the man who brought him there to help perpetrate a fraud on a grand scale.  This is not a highly nuanced film for the most part; it is broad and slapstick in nature, delivering punch after comedic punch while exposing the underlying dis-ease of an oppressed people. 

To Brügger, who constantly compares current-day North Korea with Hitler's reign (the title references a communist spy cell that operated in Nazi Germany), the mad clapping and smiling and crying and puppeteering that go on like a mass case of Tourette's amongst its citizens connotes sheer terror, a terror these people live with day in, day out with no respite since everyone is watching everyone else for the slightest sign of unrest or unacceptable actions and thoughts.  His earnest wish that the local people accompany Simon singing the Oasis song "Wonderwall" is his own idea of not-so-subtle thought control:  "And all the roads we have to walk are winding / And all the lights that lead us there are blinding / There are many things that I would like to say to you / But I don't know how.  Because maybe / You're gonna be the one that saves me / And after all / You're my wonderwall."  Like the Yes Men and others like them, Brügger is a ferocious cultural insurgent, the camera his most potent weapon.  I'm anxious to see what land he'll infiltrate next.  I'd actually love to see him focus the lens on his own culture.  Wouldn't that be ironic?

The love triangle in Lee Chung-ryoul's Old Partner involves a man, his wife and the man's best friend, an ox that's worked beside him for forty years.  The first South Korean film to compete for the Grand Jury Prize in Documentary at the Sundance Film Festival, the film played to enthusiastic crowds in Toronto, as well.  It also happens to be the most popular documentary ever in its native land, creating a groundswell of a fan base, many of whom troop out in a daily touristic mass to the quiet, rural land of farmer Choi Won-gyoon (which is kind of horrifying, actually).  In this film, which also exhibited in the International Spectrum, Chung-ryoul captures the last year of the ox's life as it limps out the last days of its existence as a beast of burden alongside his master, also a beast of burden.  80-year-old Choi steadfastly and stubbornly tills his plot of land no differently than a farmer of centuries ago would have done (albeit without the beat-up radio tied to the ox's harness).  He and his wife have put nine children through school and university with sheer, backbreaking labor, ensuring, of course, that none of their offspring will be farmers.

The funniest moments occur mostly because the ox and the old man display such similar personality characteristics.  When a creature, human or otherwise, nears the end of its life, it's not unusual to find that it's become somewhat intractable, unwilling to veer from a proscribed and deeply circumscribed course, especially if that course has been pretty consistent for decades.  A certain fortitude is displayed which trumps physical limitations and in this mutually faithful partnership of animal and master, we see true kindred spirits.  Choi says more than once that the ox is "his karma."  The foil comes in the figure of Choi's wife, Lee Sam-soon, a perpetually complaining shrew of a woman who cannot for the life of her understand why they don't deep-six the ox and use more modern conveniences for farming like machinery and insecticide sprays.  Through all of this, daily life on the farm, intrepid visits to the small nearby city (by ox cart) to get checked by doctors (the old man's been diagnosed with cancer) and have their funeral portraits taken, Chung-ryoul creates a deeply personal portrait of a dying way of life in Korean culture. 

Crafting a beautiful screenplay to accompany his gorgeous cinematography, the film does falter at moments due to scenes that are awkwardly contrived (versus gracefully contrived).  They're funny as hell, but obviously set up for the laugh or to force a particular emotive response as when he shoots a close-up of a tear falling down the ox's face when Choi attempts to sell him at the market.  The thing is old; it has rheumy eyes that spill water regularly.  This is romantic cinema-making at its best with lingering shots filled with transcendent light that speak volumes about the silent bonds between ourselves and the natural world that can never be severed, even after one's mortal coil is shrugged off for greener pastures.

In my next post, Conference Session 4: What's Next for Film Festivals and the first North American Good Pitch at the Toronto Documentary Forum.

Interview: Alanis Obomsawin, Recipient of HOT DOCS' Outstanding Achievement Award

World-premiering her 26th film, Professor Norman Cornett--"Since when do we divorce the right answer from an honest answer?" at this year's Hot Docs (April 30 - May 10, 2009), Alanis Obomsawin is also being celebrated with a retrospective for a body of work that is truly staggering.  A member of the Abenaki Nation, she is one of Canada's most distinguished filmmakers, the list of her awards and honors a good five pages long.  For over forty years, she has directed documentaries at the National Film Board of Canada (NFB) chronicling the lives and struggles of First Nations people and the issues that affect the Canadian Aboriginals.  She has brought about social and political change and awareness through her films, but more importantly, she has been the emotional archivist for the voices of her people, listening and chronicling stories for decades.

Obomsawin is also a musician, singer, sculpter, painter, teacher, educator and storyteller.  She began making films in 1967 with Christmas at Moose Factory.  Other films include Incident at Restigouche (1984), documenting a violent clash when the  Quebec police force raids a Micmac reserve; Richard Cardinal: Cry from a Diary of a Métis Child (1986), an examination of an adolescent's suicide; and No Address (1988), a piece about the homeless in Montréal. 

In the 1960s, Obomsawin was making her living as a professional singer in New York City; in '67, NFB producers, Joe Koenig and Bob Verrall, saw her on a television show and invited her to come work with the Film Board as an adviser on a film they were producing on the Aboriginal population.  She's been making films for them ever since.  Among many other posts, she was an original board member of Studio 1, the NFB's Aboriginal media studio, and an adviser to the New Initiatives in Film, a Studio D program for women of color and First Nations.

An incredibly beautiful and vibrant 77-year-old, Obomsawin met with me this week at the NFB offices in downtown Toronto to talk about her wondrous career, but more importantly, about her favorite past time, that of listening--hours upon hours upon hours of listening--to people's stories.  In turn, she translates these stories into superb works of art.  Here's our conversation:

Still in Motion (SIM):  Looking back on your career, which now spans several decades—which is amazing. . .

Alanis Obomsawin (AO):  [laughing] Which makes me Grandma Moses, you mean?

SIM:  No, it makes you an incredible gift to the communities in which you work.  Can you tell me, at what point, as you started making films--developing your relationship with the NFB, as you developed your own cinematic voice--was there a particular moment where you recognized yourself as a filmmaker "of note"?  Was it a surprise to you when you discovered yet another way of telling stories this way, how powerful it was?  You have many other forms in which you express yourself artistically.  What inspires you about this particular art form?

AO:  For me, it’s the word—to really listen to people.  I never get tired of it.  I’m always so amazed when people tell me about their lives, especially if I’m talking to older people.  When I listen to someone that is older, I just look at the person and in my mind, there’s a question that I never say out loud, but people feel it.  That question is, “How did you survive?” 

Every story that I hear differs from one person to the next but I’m always so moved by the courage of people, how they have managed to go on.  Every time I sit down with someone who talks about his or her life, to me it’s a very sacred thing.  I love it.  So it’s even more the word than the image.  Images are very important and can be very beautiful but you see, I come from a place where you had worlds of imagination only—we didn’t have electricity or running water.  At night, we’d see by the oil lamps and people would start talking and telling stories.  Each of the people listening had pictured a different story with different images.  So I lived in my imagination; we all did.  This is why I take a lot of care with sound.  I will sit with someone and listen to him or her for hours before I come with the camera.  I don’t start filming right away; I don’t really like to do that.

SIM:  Do you feel like the presence of the camera might be intrusive in a way?

AO:  Distracting.  So by the time I’ve listened for a long time, and have had everything transcribed so I can read it closely, I can tell if I’ve misheard something or I feel like I really know the story.  Then I can go back with the camera.  There’s also the idea of developing this trust and intimacy between me and the person with whom I’m working.  I will never get tired of it.

SIM:  You’ve filmed many incidents that are shocking in nature due to some intense violence.  There’s an immediacy, no one knows what’s going to happen before it does.  And this is a vast departure from what we were just talking about—the luxury of sitting with someone for hours to listen to his or her stories.  Knowing that you’re going to go back and craft a particular story around these incidents, you can play with time, placing things in a certain context in terms of what it is you want to say to your audience about these incidents in juxtaposition to the stories your subjects tell you. 

AO:  I certainly don’t pretend to be a camera person although I have shot many things myself.  It’s a matter of taste, also—how you shoot something, where you place the camera, etc.  You insinuate your camera into the best position possible and you try to make it as beautiful as possible.  In the worst situations.

SIM:  Is it difficult to disengage emotionally when something terrible is happening in front of the camera?

AO:  I would be lying if I said I didn’t intensely feel what’s going on.  If we’re talking about something like [Kanehsatake: 270 Years of] Resistance, it’s a very particular place to be.  It’s often very dangerous and very nerve-wracking.  There’s screaming going on, all sorts of things.  So, yes, you feel everything.  You have to be very centered in terms of what you’re doing, the reason why you’re there in the first place.  At the same time, I don’t want to capture something at all costs.  I feel sometimes that there are things that shouldn’t be filmed.  So I don’t.  For instance, in Kanehsatake, there were situations where they [the Indians] were doing ceremonies in the morning just before going back behind the barricades.  I remember one particular time, there were lots of cameras there and there was a request that the cameras be shut off at a certain point.  So I told my cameraman to stop shooting.  But I noticed there were several people who kept shooting anyway, despite the request not to and you could see this gleam in their eye, “I got it.  I got it.”  I’m not like that.

SIM:  It’s somewhat predatory; this is how the paparazzi operate—they don’t care about the people they’re photographing.  In all of your films, there is this innate respect that comes through, in the way things are framed, the way stories are told.

Do you think your gender is advantageous at all?  In almost every one of your stories, you highlight the very specific role women play in this culture and in these situations. There is a distinct delineation that pertains to gender in the culture.  Each gender brings something specific to the table in a subtle way.  There is always this group of women taking on a very specific role.

AO:  I don’t really consider it in advance so much, but I do feel as I go along, no matter where I am, that a woman has a specific role for a very simple reason: she’s the one that has the babies, the life-giver.  In my mind and in my heart, there’s no power higher than that.  Because of this, women always have a very special place.  Men have another role but women need a special recognition of their presence.  I think like that, actually, in my everyday life.

SIM:  Your latest film about Norman Cornett, premiering here at Hot Docs this week, is a real departure in many ways for you.  But it’s a story that resonates with your usual themes and there’s a relationship between the two of you as colleagues and friends.  [Obomsawin was one of the many artists, politicians, writers, filmmakers, musicians, Cornett brought into his classroom at McGill University for his unorthodox religious studies course.  He was abruptly fired from the University with no explanation.] 

AO:  I first met Norman in 2001 and that was the first time I went to his class.  It was an extraordinary experience.  Every year since meeting him, I would visit him and his students two or three times a year, sometimes more depending on what was going on, until 2007.  Some friends of mine wanted to make a film about him and asked me to direct it.  I said yes because it gave me a chance to give something back to him for his incredible generosity.  It was my way of thanking him for that experience.

Long before I was making films, my fight, too, was always about education.  In those days, we had the residential [boarding] schools.  I attended those.  I spent a lot of time in the 60s fighting against these schools, trying to acquire inclusion in the classroom, pushing ourselves into the classroom—that’s what we were doing. That’s where it all starts.  So to see his way of teaching was very, very special to me, to care so much for students and make them feel like they don’t want to miss one class; that’s how exciting it is.  It’s a loss not to have him teach anymore.

SIM:  Has there been any progress in the case at all since his dismissal?  Or is he still out in the cold with no explanation, no real reparations or hopes of getting his post back?

AO:  He has still not accepted their negotiations.  [McGill offered Cornett a small amount of money in the hopes that he would quietly go away and not continue to prod the institution for an explanation for his dismissal.]  He’s got nothing.  The University has remained silent.  I wrote them two letters to invite them to speak to me and they never even acknowledged that.  They were signed for, we know that, but there was no answer.  I find that behavior very strange.  They could have responded in the negative by saying they didn’t want any part of the film but there’s just silence.  Professionally, that doesn’t look very good.

SIM:  It is a bit insidious.  It does make you wonder what in the world is going on there.  It highlights a very important issue in all of our institutions, this kind of stonewalling act.  In your other films, you show that there is this intense brutality that exists on the part of institutions that seem to feel they are immune from decent human behavior.  Instead of violence, in this case, you have this very quiet kind of brutality where you kill someone’s spirit, take away everything that’s precious to him.  Your way of handling this subject matter, obviously, had to be very different, but it still has a personal, human-scale way of chronicling a tragedy.  It’s still silencing someone who’s threatening the status quo.  Documenting that silence seems to be your life’s work, in a way.

AO:  It’s incredibly sad, isn’t it?  It’s worse than being unfair; you wonder how they do that, treat people in that way, to negate someone’s existence.

SIM:  You’ve constantly pushed against that negation with your films.  It goes beyond petitioning for “rights” to something more, the demand for recognition after decades of silencing.

AO:  Humiliating is the word.

SIM:  In the US, the Native American people have very similar stories to the First Nation people here in Canada.  The aboriginal people, in any culture, have experienced this over and over again.  This canon of work you’ve contributed to the culture: do you feel the weight of any kind of responsibility, of being the bridge between your people, those silenced voices, and the rest of society?  Do you feel a sense of satisfaction, frustration?

AO:  Simply, I feel it’s my duty to do what I do.  I have a great love for what I do.  For me, it’s always been about giving everything and doing it in the best way I know how, the way things look and sound.  I work a lot with stock footage and still photos and it can be difficult sometimes to make all that look great.  The challenge is to somehow, technically, arrive at something much better than what you were provided.  I’m extremely lucky to be at the National Film Board; they’re so helpful, especially when I come with terrible footage [laughing] and don’t know what to do with it.  But the help and care they give towards the end product is really wonderful.

SIM:  Well, I get the impression, as wonderful as this relationship is with the NFB, that if they weren’t in the picture you’d still be somehow crafting stories.

AO:  Oh yes.

SIM:  What other stories are out there that are particularly fascinating for you?  What stories haven’t you yet told that you’d like to?  It hardly seems like you’re tapped out in that regard.

AO:  No, I’m not dry yet [laughs].  I tell you, everything excites me.  Everybody has a story.  If you really listen to anybody, to someone’s life, it’s important.  Some journalist who writes for a very important publication, who’s “done” with subjects once she gets one or two proper sound bites and has her story, once asked me how I could sit for hours with people.  She told me she’d get so bored.  I, on the other hand, never leave.

SIM:  Not too many people really have the infinite patience to sit and listen; our culture isn’t really attuned to that kind of discipline anymore.  It does take an innate love of other human beings.

AO:  It’s a different world.  When you’re working on documentary, it’s a luxury, because you’re given the time, or you take the time.  Time is precious.  I don’t want to give the impression that journalists don’t do their job; it’s a different discipline, a different way of working, a different need.  I couldn’t work like that, however.

SIM:  There are many, many ways you express your creativity and your vision outside of filmmaking—through fine art, music.  You are truly a multi-disciplinary artist; no wonder Cornett brought you to his class.  Can you imagine any other life for yourself?  I have to tell you, you are the most peaceful, happy person I’ve come across in quite a while—you exude a quiet joy that’s really lovely.  Most of us are frenetic and striving and hopping up and down and waving like mad to be noticed and loved, frustrated a lot of the time in our desperation to be understood, to be heard.

AO:  I don’t know what the answer is, either.  All I can say is that I see beauty in everything.  For instance, I make toys for children.  I’ve been doing this for fifty years.  When I started, I couldn’t afford to buy any toys or any materials to make toys.  In my early career, I spent a lot of time and energy pushing for education and I would tour around to schools.  In one month, it wasn’t unusual for me to do about sixty concerts at all the residential schools that existed at that time.  I’d go to a classroom and storytell, going from class to class.  At recreation time, I’d go run around with the kids outside and show them Indian games.

I would ask the children to do some drawings about what they saw and heard.  Children have a very particular way they draw people—it’s wonderful.  I would take the drawing and make it bigger and make a toy, like a stuffed animal figure, and make it look exactly like the portrait a child had drawn.  I would make a bunch of them and I’d go to another reserve and take these toys with me.  At Christmastime, I would dispense these toys and then I would have that school do drawings and make toys from those and give them away at another school.  The children loved those toys; it was the same language, the same way of seeing the world—how they see the world.  I did that for years and still do that once in a while when I can find the time.  It’s so much fun.  The adults look at these toys and are just puzzled—an eye here, another one there [pointing to different areas of her face].  Honestly, they’re easier for me to make because I don’t have to bother with “realism” [laughing].

People used to give me their rags because I really couldn’t afford to even buy material; I was making a very small salary.  I would have piles of rags in my house.  One time, some people were over having a drink and I was sewing away making this black doll.  And someone pointed out a kitchen curtain with the rings still attached in a pile of rags and said they would make nice earrings.  She said, “Oh, that would make a nice Aunt Jemima.”  After they left, I looked at this doll and wondered why in the world she had to be “Aunt Jemima” just because she was black.  I embroidered the faces on these dolls and it took me a long time to do that.  But I took it all apart and cut off all the thread and started all over again.  I had this piece of white satin and made a beautiful white dress with a high neck and big puffy sleeves.  I made this fabulous dress and gave her a fabulous hairdo and put beads around her neck; she looked like the Queen of Africa [laughing].  Away with Aunt Jemima!

SIM:  Who received that doll?

AO:  I gave it to a little girl in my village; she was around ten years old.  Many years later, she was getting married and I went to the wedding.  Her grandmother asked me to come upstairs with her so she could show me something.  On the bed of that girl that was getting married, there was the doll.  It looked brand-new, the same as the day I had given it to her.  Nobody had been allowed to touch it.  Isn’t that fabulous?  She makes her bed everyday and she’s got that doll there centered right in the middle, in a place of honor.  I was so touched by that.

SIM:  I imagine that doll will be given to her own daughter one day, maybe.  That’s a nice story.  Does the work you do inform other work or do you consider them completely different manifestations of your creativity?

AO:  I feel that everything is connected.  It’s all for the same reason.  It’s for love; it’s for sharing.  The etchings I do are similar.  I did one exhibition that I called Mother of Many Children.  I have a film by that title, also.  I etched a lot of women with children from old photographs from different nations; there were about thirty of them.  It’s very time- consuming, very fine work, scratching on copper or zinc—I love doing it.  It’s good therapy.

SIM:  Who tends to inspire you?

AO:  It comes, generally, from the people I work with, their stories.  It’s what they talk about that inspires me.  They give so much of themselves, influencing social change.  They want their stories to influence or help someone else.  The generosity is unbelievable.  It amazes me.  It’s very rich to spend a life like that with these people.  And those stories are for those that are not here yet. 

It’s a very powerful place to be, in film, for many, many reasons.  You can influence the world.  And your work gets disseminated and travels out into the larger world without you and lives its own life, influencing and creating change all over the place.  It’s really incredible.  When I was touring and singing, I had to be there, obviously.  That was the most amazing thing to me when I started to make films.  I don’t have to be there, but the work is being done.

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Alanis Obomsawin will be honored tonight at 7:00 p.m. at the Hot Docs Awards Presentation at the Isabel Bader Theatre.  I will have news of award winners, film reviews and more from Hot Docs soon.

Smörgåsbord

A little bit of this, a little bit of that whilst I'm in the midst of Hot Docs in Toronto, fast becoming my favorite nonfiction film fest (although T/F has a special place in my heart): 

Last week, I experienced my first Tribeca Film Fest since moving to New York a bit less than two years ago (missed it last year since HotDocs overlapped) and I think it'll probably be my last unless I have a film exhibiting there or go as a spectator to catch a flick or two.  The filmmakers were, of course, thrilled to screen in New York and vie for the big cash prizes, but the whole thing left me rather cold as a journalist (the press office really needs a lot of work, folks) and rather ambivalent, truth be told, as an industry guest looking for great fare to program elsewhere.  But I gave it a fair shake in my wrap-up on IDA's e-zine which will be posted soon.  I also have a couple of reviews posted on Hammer to Nail if you care to take a gander--both films, Defamation (which opens DocAviv this week) and Antoine--are also playing up here in Toronto.  Also, look for my interview soon on Shooting People with Beadie Finzi, director of Only When I Dance, a Top-10 audience fave at its Tribeca premiere.

I'm currently working on the transcription of my wonderful interview with Alanis Obomsawin; my first stop yesterday morning was to meet with her at the National Film Board of Canada's (NFB) offices.  The 77-year-old Obomsawin is receiving Hot Docs' Outstanding Achievement Award this year for her decades-long career working in conjunction with the NFB to shine a spotlight on the stories of her people, the Abenaki Nation.  For over forty years, she has directed documentaries that chronicle the lives of the First Nations people.  There will be a retrospective of her films shown here this week, as well.  Thank you to the NFB's Melissa Than for facilitating this meeting.

Filmmaker and producer, Ron Mann, is also having a retrospective here, curated by New York-based filmmaker and writer, Astra Taylor.  Last year, Mann produced her fantastic Examined Life.  As usual, most of my festival coverage, interviews and film reviews will happen post-fest since I will be running from screening to screening every day this week (and some parties, too) to gorge on the best of international nonfiction--there is a wealth of riches here for the documentary film lover and this town is also full of people who adore going to the movies, with the long lines and packed cinemas any time of day or night to prove it.

In other news:  congratulations to AJ Schnack.  indieWIRE reports today that his new film Convention will world-premiere at this year's SILVERDOCS as its Centerpiece screening (June 15 - 22 in Silver Spring, MD).  Schnack led a superstar team of filmmakers as they captured last year's Democratic National Convention in Denver, Colorado.  Schnack was joined by Laura Poitras, Paul Taylor (pictured with Schnack), Julia Reichert, Steven Bognar, Daniel Junge, Nathan Truesdell and David Wilson to capture the experience in grand vérité style through the eyes of the convention's organizers, reporters, police force and other denizens of the city.  I was privileged to see a bit of this at True/False a couple of months ago and I'm very excited to see the finished film and listen to the accompanying talk with all the filmmakers in attendance at the fest in June. 

I'd also like to mention one more item before I go submerge myself in films again:  Greenhouse has just opened their submissions with a deadline of June 1.  Now in its fourth year, the Tel Aviv-based Greenhouse is a program for the development of documentary films crafted by Mediterranean filmmakers from Jordan, Algeria, the Palestinian Authority, Egypt, Morocco, Tunisia, Israel, Syria, Lebanon and Turkey.  The program hosts between ten and twelve projects a year and the selected filmmakers are invited to participate in a year-long program, which meets three times annually, to develop an international production file and project trailer which, in turn, are presented at a pitching forum for international commissioning editors, funders, producers and distributors.  Greenhouse founders, Sigal Yehuda, Yair Lev and Sarah Assouline have shown really stellar results in a very short amount of time and have gathered together some pretty high-profile partners.  To learn more about entry requirements and submission information, click here.

More coming soon from HotDocs.  And, James McNally, we will hook up one of these days!