Is this a thing with news sources’ RSS feeds?
But really. You’re killing me here.
I saw Rust and Bone tonight.
And, yes, in case you were wondering, I did know it was Super Bowl Sunday. (Well, I actually forgot it was Super Bowl Sunday until I went on Facebook this morning and was quickly reminded.)
I had been wanting to see this movie for a while; one, because it has Marion Cotillard in it and two, because the plot seemed interesting. And I wanted to get away from the athletic chaos of today, and a dark theatre always seems fit to help me do that. I sporadically decided to see this today, knowing nothing of the plot other than the fact that Marion Cotillard losing her legs (still blown away by how they did that). It turns out that seeing Rust and Bone was a very, very good decision and it was much more than lost legs.
I’ve actually, for once, seen a lot of the films that are up for Oscar nominations this year, and I truly enjoyed a lot of them. But this one really, honestly was the best I’ve seen. And it’s one of the best movies I’ve seen in years.
They say that you’re not supposed to review a movie until a day or something after you see it, but whatever.
I’m almost glad that I went into this movie not knowing the plot – it really helped me because I was able to process the plot and the scenes my own way, granting me an individual response that I think the director intended. So, if you’re reading this right now, go ahead, but I actually recommend that you stop if you really want to see the movie. I’ve gone blind into movies and come out very happy by doing so – seeing Shame and Irreversible first come to mine – and I really want to continue to do so. I advocate for blind movie-watching, so this is my semi-spoiler alert. Do what you will.
What I liked most about this film wasn’t the full-bodied characters that are in it (although they are nothing to disregard), but how tightly wound all of the details are. Many films fall into the black hole of detail, leaving the viewer confused and feeling almost robbed of a full-circle satisfaction. Everything that happens in this film connects to something else. A conversation between Ali and a fighter (or his business partner?) connect to a tattoo Stephanie gets. The importance of a hand to Ali connects to a moment where his son’s finger slowly move around Ali’s, which are bandaged (talk about metaphors, phewwww). Stephanie’s old profession and her love of the water connects to her rehabilitation and also to Ali’s son’s brush with fate which then leads to Ali’s subsequent psychological revelation and rehabilitation into a better person (the film, by the way, tries really, really hard to make you hate Ali).
And the tragedy, reality, fragility and inevitable degradation of our bodies connects every single character in a different way.
There are several other main connecting fibers that thread through the film, and they’re all incredibly important to the flow of the film. Literally, the fiber of water comments on the slow and steady pace of the film: the first scene is a shore, and the last scene comes about from a terrifying handshake with coldness and death. Water is what brings Stephanie (Marion Cotillard) to her fate as an amputee but it’s also what brings her back to positivity. The food in the film is even non-solid; there’s yogurt and pudding, but you see very little (if any) of solid food. The film has a fluidity in almost every detail.
In fact, watching this film was probably a good thing, considering today. Physicality is a huge motif in the film; the director toys with your perception of the body, how it acts, and how it interacts with other bodies. Tonight, many people were tuned into their boxes of plasma and bright light, watching bodies hurl around and run frenetically across a field. All of the ceremony of the Super Bowl – the food, the commercials, Beyonce, the beer, the parties, the socializing – all really evolves around these bodies going through the regimented dance we call American football. I think the Super Bowl is a bit much to take, but it is interesting to think about how, at the end of the day, people are still attracted to people and physical strength for some innate, animalistic nature. That’s nothing to scoff at.
Similar to the game of football and equally as subtly, the film is a constant comment on the physical body. Stephanie finds herself attracted to Ali (Matthias Schoenaerts) and their physical relationship is really vague and questionable all throughout the film. She says in the beginning that she goes to clubs because she likes to attract men, she likes to see their arousal; when she thinks she loses her ability to do just that, in the same club where she originally met Ali, she not only becomes insecure, but she covers her legs with her jacket and gazes at the other women’s legs (it’s a very moving moment, at least as a woman). Beyond that, Ali becomes an one-the-side fighter for money. The scenes of the fighters are very tight shots and they’re fraught with emotion, and when he’s fighting, Stephanie is relegated to staying in the car. The physicality of the movie also shows how physical the feeling of isolation can be: Ali, by mistake, isolates himself and Stephanie is forced to be isolated. If anyone’s ever felt crippling isolation, this film illustrates it very eloquently.
This reminds me of another connecting fiber: debilitation. Each character is debilitated at some point in the film, for some reason. Stephanie is the most clearly debilitated. Ali is debilitated by his violent streak, and he strains personal relationships because of it; he is also debilitated, literally, by his fights, even when he wins. In the end, his hands are the final victim, and they make his character come full circle. Ali’s son Sam (Armand Verdure) is debilitated at the end of the movie in a harrowing and tragic scene. Ali’s business partner is caught in the end for a shady business he runs, and a slew of employees (including his sister) and management are destroyed alongside him: it’s a chain of debilitation.
You could say that the ending is a little disappointing, a little too positive. Perhaps that would be my one complaint. I would have been okay with the film ending with the scene at the end that is the same as the first scene of the boy breathing. But the ending leaves you satisfied, and it makes sense, because there’s a sense of relief that comes with watching the film. The film doesn’t shove any interpretation onto you, but it doesn’t stay vague and distant like it could have. Every detail makes sense. I had no questions at the end, but it was by no means shallow. It was just perfectly honed. I was so satisfied throughout the whole film, and once the details became more and more tied up, nicely and beautifully, I was okay with the ending. (Besides, it would have been way too depressing if it ended any other way.)
At the very end (if you still want to see it and are still for some reason reading this, it’s no big deal, the last scene doesn’t reveal anything), you see Ali, Stephanie and Sam through a rotating hotel front door. It’s a perfect window through which to see these characters as an audience member: like the door, they come full circle, completely developed and needing to offer no more to the audience. But as characters themselves, they come full circle from the beginning of the film to the end. It’s a positive message, even if it’s only a couple minutes.
It’s a very intentional film, but it’s not pretentious. It’s mindful of itself, but it’s not contrived. It’s a film about the body, the soul, the mind and the world, and it’s all wrapped up in a minimal, beautiful, poignant package. You can’t get much more full-circle than that.
Seriously. Go see it.
…And, not to mention, Bon Iver happened to be the opening and closing song of the film. What more could you really ask for?
(Photos do not belong to me. RIghts remain with Sony Pictures.)
(In related news: The Atlantic has my brainwaves down pat: “Why You Should Say ‘Hello’ to Strangers on the Street.” Props.)
And here’s the part where I give you a philosophic attempt at steam-of-consciousness eloquence after being mentally muddled.
And it’s coming at the perfect time because I’m about to embark on a new step in my life. It’s extremely nerve-wracking — as I have described to a confused but helpful few dear to me — but it is so exciting. It’s exciting because I have a great opportunity and I’ve realized the gravity of it. But it’s also exciting because I’m so nervous, so emotional. It’s like my mind is working at the speed of a bullet train. Constantly.
(So if I ever say that I’m entirely rational and unemotional, don’t believe me. It’s not true and never will be.)
And I can finally grasp my thoughts.
I experienced a moment today that impacted me wholeheartedly. Not even because it changed my perspective. But because, for the first time, I can put into words what I’ve been thinking about for a while. Something that’s been nagging at me.
So here you go.
Moments are precious.
(Okay, bad start. Keep reading. Plz. Thx.)
Whenever someone does something for you — anything, really — remember what that little gesture means and always make it a mission to do that same for someone else in turn. Like a chain of good things. Of good moments.
I’m serious. I mean it.
Someone can smile at you with no intention other than a sense of decency. Someone can hold open a door for you, or laugh instead of groan when neither of you can decide which way to walk around each other.
Or maybe a friend gives you a glance that you immediately understand. Or you start laughing and can’t stop when you’re sitting next to someone who kind of thinks you’re crazy, but also totally understands because they’ve done the same thing before.
Maybe they’re having a good day. Maybe they’re having a bad day and want to make it better. Maybe they’ve had this crazy revelation that I’m having right now. Maybe they don’t really think about it. Or maybe it’s just what they do.
Yeah, moments can seem really insignificant in the greater picture of the day. But it’s important to reverse that perspective.
Even if you return the smile or say ‘thank you’ or laugh, and even if you forget to smile because you’re distracted and then get distressed because you might have inadvertently seemed like a terribly mean person and ruined someone’s day, take that moment and use it.
Because when you share a moment with a complete stranger (or a long-time friend) that is so minute and fleeting, there is a sanctity in knowing that it is possible to we, as humans, can make a tiny little impact on each other by simply acknowledging that we exist and we need to be cared for even in the most mundane times of our day.
In these moments you are who you’ve ever been, who you’ve ever wanted to be. Who you don’t want to be. And who you find yourself to be. They are a test of spontaneity, a crisis of being. When someone is courteous to you not in a strictly chivalrous manner, but in a way that adds a little more value to interaction, do the same for someone else. Do it. Seriously. Moments come from anywhere and everywhere. A phone call. A dropped receipt. A comment censored by second thought. A comment made out of spontaneity. A moment of awareness, of mutual agreement. And how we act is so crucial.
People are frightening. Interacting with them can be even more so. But we are all here, all breathing, all moving, all loving, all hurting, all feeling. Our hearts beating, pumping. Our minds move in completely different ways and our feet take different paths. But our hearts beat at a similar pace and the people in our life impact us in similar ways.
Sometimes I feel a connection to people, especially in these moments when I can recognize something in someone: courtesy, or humor. And because of that, I am not afraid. We cannot be afraid of each other. But if we feel fear, that’s okay. Fear is one of the most raw emotions we feel, like love, or disappointment. It’s a rawness that burns our insides and renders us immobile, stiff, numb.
There’s a similar rawness to every moment we experience. A rawness that comes from the fact that we don’t really know what will happen. How will the other person react? What do I do? It’s a raw instance that becomes telling of how we act and who we are. Our role, then, is that of facilitator, a facilitator of response.
Moments reflect our life, as a matter of feeling. But they are more; they are about what we do with that feeling.
What will you do? What will you do in this moment?
There are 86,400 seconds in a day. What will you do with them?
And when you find yourself in these moments where your seconds and someone else’s seconds collide, it is worth it, for once, be a person among people, be a human among humans, be a part of a system, a part that has more value than can be grasped, a part that can keep the system functioning a little bit smoother than it was before.
A bird’s wings cannot let a bird fly without feathers. A shoe cannot stay together without threads. A body cannot function without organs, without a spine. A clock cannot tick without its gears. So life cannot move without moments.
But it is one thing to act in every moment. It is another to simply be, or become, in a moment.
So that’s just it. Do and don’t be afraid. Feel for people. But don’t just do or feel. You must be.
Be a moment worth remembering.
“The creation of a single world comes from a huge number of fragments and chaos.” – Hayao Miyazaki
(Note: I did work at The Maneater. But this is an unbiased — as actively and consciously unbiased as possible — post about the recent events there and across the country. I write this as a student journalist, because I think it’s too important not to write about and is a good way to open up discourse and transparency within our journalism here.)
I’m taking a break from my writing to post something about the recent developments for college newspapers.
There’s been a surge in student newspaper resignations across the country stemming from reasons including inaccurate information, misleading information and more recently, inappropriate humor. There was the resignation at The Daily Free Press because of the paper’s disregard over the impact of their April Fool’s edition that trivialized rape especially after several related events had occurred earlier in the year. There was the resignation of an editor at The Daily Iowan. A while ago, there was the resignation of the managing editor at Onward State for a faulty tweet. Now, the razing of the Maneater’s April Fool’s edition that had an inappropriate LGBTQ slur as the masthead as well as other offensive remarks throughout the issue has wreaked havoc within the newsroom.
What does this all mean?
There’s a lot behind it. Perhaps a lack of oversight at the papers, perhaps ignorance, perhaps a tendency to post information as soon as possible — without verification.
The thing with the Maneater debacle is that this apology letter shouldn’t have been written in the first place. What should have happened was a re-assessment of the impact of an April Fool’s Day issue of the newspaper. There should have been a better thought process by the few people involved in the error. I’ve spoken to many of my friends about this. There are plenty of ways to be humorous — even searing — without resorting to lowly derogatory comments. Just because they’re young and hip, doesn’t mean they had to go full-blown Adult Swim on the front cover of the newspaper. We don’t have to degrade ourselves to meet some unwritten standard of humor. A newspaper is a newspaper. Although our definition of journalism is changing, our adherence to its values should not.
Call me a grandma, but I just simply can’t get behind the idea of an April Fool’s issue. What’s the point? I understand, it’s funny. But do something else. Make a comedy section. Heck, make an entirely separate comedic news source. But once you blur the lines between what is news and what is satire, especially when the newspaper itself is wrapped literally in this farce, how can you expect readers to differentiate between it themselves?
And let’s just focus on one word — “newspaper.” This was an ‘egregious’ error not only because was it just poorly thought out (or not thought out), but because it breaks the basic rules of what we as young journalists are learning and striving for, those rules that are instilled into us every week in Gannett and Lee Hills: fact-checking, context, proportionality, truth, awareness of our readers, devotion to our readers, fairness. If we digress from our own rules, then it will only become easier for the public to become skeptical about our role.
I’m not writing this post to attack The Maneater or its editorial board. I just think this is too important of an issue to not discuss. I also don’t want to wish ill upon the former Maneater editors. But I do believe that their actions are the best to take in a situation like this. Although, I don’t think that a complete withdrawal from journalism should be the immediate response.
Sidebar: I also disagree with the disciplinary action the university is reactively taking. It’s extreme, unnecessary and tiptoeing around very volatile territory for a student publication’s rights. These editors have been through hell and back, and it’s not over yet. But deliberately ruining them is not, in my opinion, the mature reaction at all.
We live and we learn, and this just happens to be one of these learning moments that happens to be relentlessly burning in the spotlight of criticism. But I do believe it will help the newspaper grow stronger and help everyone involved learn important lessons that really, truly may not have been learned had this not happened.
Some people have used these unfortunate events to say that journalism today is so easily compromised and held to a lower standard. Others have defended the papers and the editors, saying that they should be forgiven. I think that both of these claims have some truths to them. I also have to admit that, as my ethos and pathos tells me to, I have to sympathize for these editors. They’re going through a strife that a lot of us won’t understand. They do need forgiveness. Because, after all, they did make mistakes. But we all have done the same (although maybe not to the same scale).
“The greatest mistake you can make in life is to be continually fearing you will make one.”
― Elbert Hubbard
But that doesn’t mean they shouldn’t be held accountable. They should. As a community, we need to hold them accountable for their actions. We also need to, as a community of journalists, hold ourselves accountable. Because what one man (or woman) does in our crowded profession will undeniably affect others. So while we must take responsibilities for our individual actions, we should also keep an eye out and an ear open as a cohesive unit so that we can continue to function. People see us as an entity, so we should do that as well.
I also do think it is concerning that this dire situation is the only thing that really motivated the paper to take direct action against itself. I can’t fail to mention that there have been other apologies this semester for debatably poorly executed and thought-out editorial sections. It’s just such a shame that this had to happen to initiate the change.
Student papers often lament about not being taken seriously by readers. But if they want to be taken seriously and be treated as professionals, they need to act like them. This must happen in the newspaper itself, but also within the newsroom.
But overall, I think this is a learning experience for everyone. It’s a chance for the newspaper to change. It’s a chance for the former editors to think about what happened, and what will happen now. It’s also a chance for us, as outsiders, to learn what happened, to become part of the conversation and — gasp — to forgive, at least eventually. The consequences will be bad. But we should not be so quick to bring out the pitchforks.
This is also a good chance to reflect on our society, and more specifically my generation and my generation of journalists, as a whole. We’ve become a very attack-prone, negative, “insta-everything” (a phrase I like so much I took it from the NYTimes; forgive me!) generation and it’s perpetuated by the internet and our often stubborn perceptions of people. We make fun of each other. We make fun of strangers. It’s become insensitive and unsympathetic, our humor. And often, it’s hard to separate this humor and our critiques from how we present ourselves. But as our Twitter and Facebook profiles become intertwined with our professional life and we combat with “being ourselves” and still being respectable professionals, we’ve gotten into the habit of feeling entitled and being selfish about what we’re really doing and what consequences — and public opinion — could result from our actions.
Yes, you can technically tweet about whatever you want. Sure, you can post that crude article from Cracked.com. But you can also refrain from doing that, too. I think the plague of “instant gratification” my generation finds itself coming back to over and over again can really just stem back to both an ignorance about consequence and a selfishness, which is both innate and learned. And let’s not forget that way too many people still say “gay” to mean “dumb.” It’s just…lazy.
Yes, April Fool’s editions are funny. So is that tweet that you want to send about a boring event you’re covering. So is that mean comment you really, really want to say (and don’t lie…you know we all think these things.) about your ex and his/her bad hair day.
But it’s this lack of restraint that is maybe a big reason why these events happen and also why people still are so quick to hound on journalism.
Sometimes we need to refrain from the betrayal that comes from our quick-moving minds and quick-typing fingers. We’ve become too greedy over becoming the most shocking and we’ve become too accepting of extremity and we’re losing regard for ourselves as a community and as a profession that’s always under scrutiny. We too, therefore, are at fault.
I’m not saying that we should resort to inaction. Rather, I’m saying that through our action, we should consider the difficult option of restraint. Sometimes it takes more action to restrain ourselves than from instinctively reacting. And that’s an action that the editors, and also my generation — as journalists and people in general — need to hone. Because otherwise, we’ll just keep shooting ourselves in the foot. Because otherwise, we risk losing the respect of our superiors and also the ability to respect one another.
Alright, so here are four movies that were my personal favorites (or the ones I at least thought most about) at True/False, other than 1/2 Revolution, which I wrote about before. That’s not to say that the other ones I saw weren’t good or didn’t raise great questions, but these are the ones that genuinely engrossed me. I was talking to my friend about how we test documentaries/films and how good they are — when I can stop thinking about the time (it’s not as annoying as it seems, sometimes I just plan out how many minutes are left in a movie, subconsciously) and go completely tunnel-vision into the film, that’s when I know it’s good. These films really did that for me, and all for different reasons. These are not in any particular order.
Canícula is a fantastic little film by Mexican director Jose Alvarez about the remote Totonac village of Zapotal, Santa Cruz. The film’s aims are subtle, but what I got from it was that it was this celebration of a very small micro-civilization that embraces nature and the world around itself through its strange “flying” tradition, pottery-making, social events and simple moments like bathing in a river. This film catches these tiny little moments — a woman lying momentarily on a cold rock as creek water trickles down over her hair, boys learning how to do a traditional dance for their first “flight,” an awkward first dance, a swaying branch, a pail being dipped into a well — that unify into a beautiful piece that really defies any definition. I’m not exactly sure what Alvarez was trying to say with the piece, but what hit me was the fact that such a small village could have such a remarkable self-sufficiency that might, in turn, affect villages, cities and countries abroad. It’s hard to describe. But maybe a voyeuristic look into a village like this might help viewers like me re-assess how we lead our lives in our own civilization. It’s one of my favorite films of the fest, and definitely worth the watch if you can get your hands on it.
“The Totona preserve their past, which is their dignity as well as ours.”
2. The Island President
Now, before I saw this film, I knew absolutely nothing about the Maldives except for the fact that they were a collection of Islands in the Indian Ocean. Mohamed Nasheed was the president of the Maldives, an island nation that has been precariously hovering over the brink of destruction from climate change. As tides rise and natural disasters impair the economic and social progress of this tiny nation, Nasheed sought to approach international powers about the issue with climate change. By proposing an amendment involving the PPM of carbon emissions at discussions at the Copenhagen Climate Summit in 2009, Nasheed steered towards the perfect storm of political contention. I’m not gonna give away what happens, but this documentary’s use of verite and historical clips create a new take on the traditional documentary. Not to mention, the camera used (I believe he said he used the Canon 5D) captured the phenomenal beauty of these islands.
It’s very sad, to see these islands being essentially decimated, day by day, by natural forces caused at least in part by human impact on the environment. There’s a lot of debate about climate change, but when you have such decisive effects of erosion and unexpected weather and moreover, an affected populace, there’s really no reason why you should deny our negative impact on the environment. I’m not going to rant, but I think this documentary, like 1/2 Revolution, is good at shedding a very direct, honest light on an issue without politicizing it. It’s the true story of a man (and a country) who is fighting to keep his country literally afloat. The combination of the tragedy of the situation in the Maldives and Nasheed’s determination really work well to compliment a documentary that reveals the reality of the nature of climate change. You don’t need political commentary or editing to see what’s happening in this area — and most likely in many other areas as well.
Now, Nasheed has been pressured out of office by military supporters of the previous (and very, very brutal) regime before he took over power. This happened a few weeks ago, and it’s eerie, because this documentary shed so much light on the issues in the Maldives and opened up a little positive light for the island nation’s future, but now that the old regime (or its ideas) may be imminent, a dark cloud may be unfortunately hovering over the climate issue. Hopefully this documentary will reach a wide audience, because its impact could be very, very huge.
3. Gypsy Davy
Gypsy Davy was one of the last films that I saw at the fest, and I actually had to leave about 10 minutes early for work before the end, so I unfortunately didn’t get to hear the director speak. This is probably one of my favorites because it was just so good at drawing me in. It’s about the journey of the daughter of celebrated white-boy-turned-flamenco-guitarist David Serva as she seeks to find the method to her father’s (sexual) madness. Through her journey, she finds many half-siblings from unwed affairs and heartbroken former lovers of Serva, and along the way, discovers things about herself and her family that she didn’t know before. It’s an interesting take on a documentary because she doesn’t censor what her opinions are of her father — which are understandably negative, for the most part — and in that sense, it kind of strays from the rule of objectivity that documentaries are often bound to. But as I learned in class the other day, when you’re putting together something of journalistic merit, it’s not the end product that needs to seep with objectivity. It’s the process of objectivity that’s important. And I don’t necessarily think this film had a process of objectivity because essentially, the director was going out to find the realities (and intentionally or unintentionally seek the defamation) of her father, and she admits that the journey was emotional from the get-go.
The introducer before the film said that we might hate or love Rachel Leah Jones, David’s daughter and the filmmaker. But I don’t think this is true. But of course, it’s perhaps that my opinion doesn’t cover every one else. I see how you could dislike her take on creating a film that was emotionally compromised, but I think the emotion was necessary in revealing the true life of a passionate, philandering flamenco guitarist-father. I just thought the pace of the film was fantastic (one criticism, though, would be that it was a little sporadic at times in introducing and talking to the many, many former lovers and children of Serva) and really drew me in. That being said, I didn’t even think to dislike Jones, because I can sympathize with her plight. It’s a very tragic film, but the way in which she approached it was fascinating because it looked at the situation less as an attack on Serva and more of a voyeuristic view into the tumultuous relationship between humans and love. The flamenco scene is very sexual, and the movie was very good at respecting the mysterious, beautiful nature of flamenco music. Perhaps that was not the goal of the film, but it seemed to me that music was a motivating factor in much of the events that Jones discovers through her journey. Music makes people emotional, and so does sex. Serva clearly realized this through his life. You never really know if Serva regrets his never-ending flirtations — you actually never know much about him psychologically, — but in those moments where you see him playing the guitar, you are conflicted by both the beauty of the music and the darkness of the way he leads his life. The music is what he loves, and perhaps that’s why loving a woman beyond the flesh was difficult. You don’t know if he ever loved any woman, but you can definitely see his love for the music. And even if that’s a hard thought, I think that’s something anyone can relate to.
It’s a create commentary on humanity and relationships, and it’s definitely worth the watch. Rachel Leah Jones does a fantastic job.
4. The Impostor
The Impostor was the film of the fest that really got me thinking more than any other film. But not necessarily about the content of the film. It’s a very ambitious and creative film about a Frenchman, Frédéric Bourdin, who comes to Texas pretending to be the lost son of a grieving family who is eventually realized to be a serial impostor from Europe (sorry for the giveaway, but this is kind of assumed from the beginning). It’s a great story, and it’s very enthralling. I’ve gotta say that I was sucked in from the very beginning, asking questions like, what’s gonna happen to this guy? Who is he? Where will he end up? Who will he strike next?
But then as I thought about it, I started to think that this documentary was more meta than anything else. I’m not saying that the documentary was necessarily a lie, because I do believe this guy really did do everything the documentary says. But the way the documentary is presented leads me to question the intentions of the filmmaker — not in a bad way — because it’s actually very theatrical. The whole documentary segues between interviews with the family affected (but is it really the family? Probably, but still.) and a reenactment of this crazy concoction of identity theft. It’s very much an “act” rather than a traditional documentary, but that’s not bad. It’s just really interesting. One thing that the filmmaker said after the film was that the most interesting part of what this Frenchman did was be able to convince the family, the customs agents, the FBI and everyone that you think would be able to see through a hooded man with an accent and five o’clock shadow and fall for his routine. And then I was thinking, well, then, why wouldn’t the filmmaker try to do the same thing with his documentary?
I think the filmmaker’s aim, maybe subconsciously, maybe not, and I may be totally wrong, is to make a comment on the naiveté of documentary-goers. Documentaries are presented as purely fact, but sometimes, they can be anything but that. Just look at the controversy behind the factual validity of documentaries like Fahrenheit 911 or Waiting for Superman. I’m sure this filmmaker isn’t trying to make up a story — it’s definitely true — but I think they way he’s presented it does bring to question what a documentary really is. Can it be an act? How much needs to be true? The audience really fell for this focus on the impostor, which was probably the primary goal. But I do wonder if there was some meta action going on in this filmmaker’s approach. If so, I like that. If not, well, I still think it’s an interesting thought.
Regardless of the intentions behind the film, it’s definitely worth the watch. You’ll be sitting on the edge of your seat.
1/2 Revolution, directed by Karim El Hakim and Omar Shargawi, actually might be one of my favorite documentaries of the weekend, and it just happens to be the first I’ll write about. Now, I’m very interested in the Middle East region, and the Arab Spring is something in particular that I’ve been utterly fascinated with. The chain reaction of revolution in the Middle Eastern region after the revolution in Tunisia in December 2010 threw such a fierce punch that it was felt globally.
This documentary is so successful because it throws you into the streets of Cairo during the January 2011 revolution based in Tahrir Square in Egypt — and it doesn’t have any qualms with showing the brutality of the movement. The confusion, mayhem, tension, anger, exhilaration of the revolution is perpetuated through the shaky camera shots and exclamations of Karim and his friends as they run through the concrete, bloody streets of Cairo. I was on the verge of tears during the whole documentary. The vérité style of documentary, as portrayed through the direct hand-held perspective (mainly from Karim), is extremely successful in invoking the emotions of the viewer — it’s the tragic reality of the situation that you feel in this movie and that makes you cry when you get home (well…I did, at least.)
I’ve been a fan of the vérité style of portraying a story whether it’s true or not (here’s looking at you, Cloverfield and Blair Witch Project) for awhile, and I was really hoping for some of it to come out during this fest. Thankfully it did!
The accuracy of the film can really be justified by its content. Everyone knows what has happened from the Arab Spring, and this documentary just shows a new light to the issue. Our perspective of the Arab Spring has been bogged down by different media perspectives and social media. I regret to say that Karim revealed that the effectiveness of the movement was not from Twitter or from (but perhaps Al Jazeera and other nearby news sources played a much more important role) outside news sources, but rather, from the people themselves. Karim said that only 10 to 12 percent of Egyptians used Internet at the time of the revolution, and much less used social media. It’s not a happy thought, but perhaps outside influence isn’t good for — or at least doesn’t have that big of an impact — on the actual happenings during a movement like the Arab Spring. That’s not to say that coverage isn’t important, because it clearly is necessary to inform other people of what’s going on. But I think we run the risk of seeming either too naive or too stubborn when we think that Western ideas and developments are the sole reason for a movement’s success. The people wanted nationalism, so they rallied together; they didn’t necessarily want democracy or Twitter. These outlets that connected our countries were beneficial for both parties, no doubt, but Karim said they really weren’t as influential as we’ve been told. He definitely proposed an interesting argument, and opened my eyes.
It’s not that’s it’s the most groundbreaking documentary in terms of style, presentation or concept. It’s so good because it’s so real; it’s raw footage of one of the most decisive moments of the Arab Spring and of modern history. I mean, I found myself questioning whether or not it was real or not, just because of the things that I was seeing in the film were just so horrendous. Bullet shots in a man’s back, citizens being run over my military tanks — it’s all there and they document all of it. In their small Cairo apartment where they meet up, the friends of the filmmakers are constantly sparring and joining together against the regime and its “thugs” with the other revolutionaries.
Karim said that the reason behind the “1/2” in the title of the documentary was because the revolution isn’t over yet. Although Mubarak was deposed, protestors believe that, perhaps, it’s just a matter of a new regime taking over the old regime, and that tensions are hardly ending.
But moreover, I think the most important part about this documentary is that it serves as one of the best and most undeniably vital records of one of the most important developments in recent political world history. The Arab Spring is something that won’t soon leave our minds, and will be searing in the minds of those who actually live in the countries for an indeterminate amount of time. But as Karim said, we need to make sure that we keep our coverage and opinion of events like this within the perspective of the people themselves. This documentary serves as a champion of the Egyptians (and revolutionaries abroad) and a preserver of a very, very important moment in history. It was moving and should be seen by anyone who reads a newspaper, who writes in a newspaper, or who simply cares about the world and its developments.
So, I was at the beck and call of the wonderful True/False film festival all this weekend. When I wasn’t volunteering, I was either sitting in a film, “Q”-ing (queueing) for a film, drinking coffee, taking in the fantastically inspiring atmosphere of Columbia during this eclectic weekend — or partaking in some combination of these. True/False weekend is one — if not THE — best weekends here, because not only does it draw people of many different mindsets, backgrounds and places to call home, but it also breeds this very intellectual-but-friendly environment that I’ve really never experienced somewhere else. I’ve never been to the Cannes festival or Sundance, and because I’ve had such a great couple years (and hope to have for the next couple years) at True/False, I don’t think my loyalties could ever sway. (This is also why I probably should never cover the fest as a journalist, because my coverage would be unequivocally and shamelessly positive and worshipping.) But this doesn’t mean that I can’t look at the fest as a participant with my journalist eyes and ears open. Needless to say, a film fest devoted to documentaries is going to raise a few ethical questions; it’s just that I got to see so many films this year that I want to express these moments where I questioned, sat in awe and wandered into new mental places.
So, following this will a nice little review for each movie I saw and what questions they raised for me. I’ll try to be concise (this is my active goal from now on). I think I’ll just do it in alphabetical order, because I honestly can’t choose the order in which I liked the films:
1. 1/2 Revolution
2. Ai Weiwei: Never Sorry
5. Gypsy Davy
6. Herman’s House
7. The Impostor
8. The Island President
9. Secret Screening Gold
10. Secret Screening Red
I already miss True/False. The Monday after is always a sad day.
(Also, the Q&A sessions with the directors after each film — an aspect of the fest that I absolutely love — helped reveal a lot. I hope the fest continues to do this in future fests.)