Tag Archives: documentary

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Magic in the Air

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Every Little Thing

by Rachel Willis

The life of Terry Masear and the lives of the hummingbirds she cares for are the subject of director Sally Aitken’s documentary, Every Little Thing.

Deep in the heart of Los Angeles, Aitken manages to capture a pastoral beauty in the area as she documents Terry’s efforts to rehabilitate injured hummingbirds. Many of the hummingbirds that come Terry’s way are nestlings who have lost their mothers. Others have suffered an injury of sorts, such as being hit by a car or attacked by another hummingbird.

As we watch Terry’s day-to-day routine – feeding, caring for, and even rehabilitating wing injuries – we get snippets of her past. She talks warmly and lovingly about her late husband and his support for her endeavors to help the birds.

However, there are moments throughout the documentary that speak to deeper trauma, and this is a tough documentary for the tender-hearted. Though Terry’s compassion for the birds comes through in the way she handles and speaks to them, she has a brusqueness that conveys all too well that not every bird brought to her is going to survive.

If you can tough out the harder, more devastating parts of the documentary, though, you’re rewarded with several wonderful moments. Slow-motion video of hummingbirds in flight show that even slowed down, their wings move with remarkable speed and agility. Flowers bloom on screen, showcasing the beauty the natural world has to offer.

And Terry’s empathy for these tiny, magical marvels of nature is a joy to behold. She addresses each bird by name and knows them all. There is something truly beautiful in what Terry does, and Aitken captures it all with warmth and sincerity. Almost as if to balance out the speed with which a hummingbird moves, the film asks the audience to slow down, to appreciate the world around us. Especially when our tiny heroes can disappear in the blink of an eye.

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Party on a Sled

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Underdog

by George Wolf

Underdog may be only 82 minutes, but by the time those minutes are up the film offers you a few possible motivations for its title.

Doug Butler is an underdog in life. His sled dog team is an afterthought in the big race. And the American family farmer faces a constant struggle to survive.

Documentarian Tommy Hyde gives all these themes enough space to hit home, taking an immersive and observational approach while introducing us to one memorable man with a dream. Hyde gives us no setup or leading narration, he just drops us off on a rural farm with Butler and his 22 uniquely named dogs.

We meet the affable Butler as a diary farmer in Middlebury, Vermont. His debts are piling up, his doctor is worried about his health, but the man has a passion for mushing that will not be denied.

“Mushing” is another term for dog sled racing, and Butler feakin’ loves it. “Shit, I’m getting an erection!” he yells as he rides with his pack through the Vermont snow like Santa’s weather-beaten black sheep of a cousin. Still, Butler’s been harboring a dream to take his shot at the big race in Alaska for over thirty years, and Hyde makes us feel lucky that we get to come along for that ride.

I’ve got family in Vermont, and I’ve spent some time visiting a small town about 40 minutes away from Butler’s farm. These people are a breed apart, and Hyde not only frames the landscape well, he lets the locals shine their own subtle light on the way of life they are proudly fighting for.

And Butler is just a GD hoot – a “party on a sled” as one race organizer calls him. Bills be damned – he’s gonna drive his beloved dogs to Alaska, jam out to some classic rock on the way, and charm every last soul he meets.

The guy loves his dogs, he loves his mushing, and he loves his family farm. Underdog makes it nearly impossible to root against him.

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Good Evening

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My Name Is Alfred Hitchcock

by Matt Weiner

My Name Is Alfred Hitchcock isn’t the first Alfred Hitchcock documentary in the last decade. It’s not even the second prominent one. But this unique take on the director’s entire filmography sets out to show why these movies have not only endured, but continue to speak to audiences—and some of our seamiest impulses.

My Name Is Alfred Hitchcock is a welcome companion piece to the other recent documentaries, falling somewhere between the broad interrogation of 2015’s Hitchcock/Truffaut and the technical hyper-focus of 2017’s 78/52. Writer and director Mark Cousins uses Hitchcock’s “voice” and—more importantly—almost exclusively clips from his films to take a fresh look at the legend.

Thankfully for anyone tackling a feature-length video essay, you’re at a huge advantage when the subject is Alfred Hitchcock. Cousins breaks the documentary up into six key themes, some expected (height, escape) but others taking a surprising metaphysical turn.

It’s hard not to want to dive into a full Hitchcock movie after watching the clips. Especially notable is the amount of time that Cousins devotes to the less usual suspects. There are the silent films and early movies pre-Hollywood, but also plenty of love for techniques in his late films that show him fully in command of his craft.

Even the classics that have been analyzed to death show off new themes. If you want more on the shower, well… there’s an entire movie for that. It was novel to sit with some of the other parts of movies like Psycho or North by Northwest without getting caught up on “that scene.”

The documentary’s strict adherence to showing us “what’s on the page” has some limits, though. Hitchcock’s wife, Alma, gets a section of the movie. But it doesn’t do justice to her role, not just as beloved muse, but extremely influential collaborator. 

And then there’s the voice. Hitchcock gets a writing and voice credit at the start of the film, and it isn’t a spoiler to point out that Alfred Hitchcock is not writing new scripts in this century. The voice belongs to English impressionist Alistair McGowan, who does a solid job sounding equally plummy and put-upon.

But it’s an affectation that wears across the two-hour runtime, especially when it shouldn’t be a surprise reveal to tell the audience that this was just part of the artifice of film. Cousins’ script, plus the exceptionally deep range of highlights, stand on their own without the gimmick. The shots speak for themselves to reveal even more than the voice of the director himself ever could, if you buy into the psychology behind the movies. And Cousins makes a decent case that you should.

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Something Personal to Say

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Chasing Chasing Amy

by Hope Madden

Nearly 30 years ago, Kevin Smith did what he does best. He made a film so simple, so personal, so deeply human, so profoundly myopic, so densely problematic, so deeply heterosexual-white-dude that it was hard not to simultaneously hate and love it. In fact, of all Smith’s movies, his 1997 straight-boy-falls-for-lesbian romcom Chasing Amy fits that (rather lengthy) bill best.

Hell, just being the indie darling of 1997 – pinnacle Weinstein era – creates additional problems, let alone the way Smith’s script funhouse mirrors his offscreen relationship with the star (Joey Lauren Adams, who earned a Golden Globe nomination for her vivid performance).

Whew, that’s a lot to unpack, and it’s not even the primary focus of Chasing Chasing Amy. For documentarian Sav Rodgers, stumbling across Smith’s film in his parents’ stash of Ben Affleck flicks as a kid saved his life. Literally. During his toughest times, Rodgers would watch the film every day. He’d never seen queer people in a film before. And he wanted to believe that one day he would find the kind of love Holden (Affleck) expressed for Alyssa (Adams).

And yet.

For many (most?) in the LGBTQ community, Chasing Amy is nothing if not problematic. So, what begins as Sav’s odyssey through the film’s New Jersey landmarks turns into an investigation into the movie’s queer depictions, then becomes an enduring friendship with Smith himself before turning into a remarkable examination of the seedy state of independent film in 1997. And that alone would be more than worth the price of admission.

Indeed, Rodgers gets better, more insightful talking head interviews for this doc than I’ve seen in any documentary in the last several years. Guinevere Turner (who wrote 1997’s Go Fish and partly inspired the character of Alyssa), in particular, is a treasure.

But even as Rodgers’s film metamorphosizes, so does its filmmaker. Because Rodgers is himself a large part of his film – the film’s impact on his own life did inspire the documentary – the director cannot help but document his own journey. And not his journey as a filmmaker, but as a trans man.

Rodgers possesses sharp storytelling instincts and a cinematic presence so sincere and authentic it could break your heart. You come away from this film hoping genuinely for his happiness and waiting eagerly for his next film.

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You’ve Got a Friend in Me

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Will & Harper

by Hope Madden

Harper Steele loved traveling America and spent years upon years hitchhiking and driving from town to town, dive bar to dive bar, stock car race to pool hall to backwater, savoring every minute of it. But since she transitioned a couple of years ago, she’s afraid to do it anymore. She’s afraid to travel these roads in the same way any woman would be, and she’s afraid to travel them in the way that only a trans woman would be.

Her friend thinks maybe she can reexplore the country she loves as her true self if she has a man with her. Preferably a big, lumbering, lovable, friendly, famous friend willing to shift attention away from her whenever she might want him to. All she has to do is agree to go to stop at least once so Will Ferrell can get a traditional glazed at Dunkin Donuts.

There are so many reasons to watch Will & Harper, not the least of which is to see two of the smartest comedic minds (the two met on SNL when Steele was head writer for the show) riff.

And it’s not just the two of them. Their trip leads to run ins with some great SNL alum and a reminder that Kristin Wiig is insanely talented.

Another great reason to watch Will & Harper is that this film fits so beautifully into that American cinematic tradition of emotional, thrilling, deeply human road picture: one relationship changes and deepens with the landscape as America itself is more clearly revealed.

Because Steele’s America is not what anyone would consider a safe space for trans people—but where, really, is that space?

The friends begin in NYC with an SNL reunion and an awkward-at-best hug from Lorne Michaels. At a Pacers game, Indiana governor Eric Holcomb is eager to meet Ferrell, and it isn’t until a little googling after the photo op that he and Harper learn about the Republican politician’s aggressively anti-trans and anti-LGBTQ2+ policies. The scene leads to the first of many brazenly honest and emotional moments between the friends.

Ferrell’s tenderness and endearingly bumbling protectiveness is deeply lovely, even when—maybe especially when—it’s almost desperate. The deeper into red state territory the two travel, the more attention seeking Ferrell seems, almost certainly to try to create a protective shield around his friend. It doesn’t always work, and his own grief at his shortcomings as her friend are heartbreakingly lovely.

But it’s Steele whose openness and forthrightness breaks any but the coldest and most ignorant heart. And what she does—she and her buddy—that’s so important is to show how utterly and undeniably normal it all is: hating the way you look in a bathing suit, wanting and failing to love the sound of your own voice, wondering what it’s like to have boobs for the first time.

Will & Harper just makes you wonder how it can be possible for anyone to be upset by another person’s transition. It also makes you hope those who feel too stigmatized to do it realize that there is a better life.

“From the moment I transitioned, all I wanted to do was live.”

God I hope people see this movie.

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The Great Escape

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In the Rearview

by Brandon Thomas

Cinema has always sought to find beauty and humanity in even the worst of times. Wars are often those worst of times. The new documentary In the Rearview seeks to put the spotlight on human stories as war ravages the country of Ukraine. 

A driver, a cameraman, and refugees fleeing their homes: these are the real life characters that exist within In the Rearview’s running time. It’s not a film trying to unravel a great mystery or highlight the life of a famous person. No, this is a film that seeks only to share the stories of people whose entire lives have been upended by war. As the driver traverses dangerous situations, military checkpoints, and damaged roads, the camera captures these people talking about the lives they are leaving behind and the lives they hope to return to.

The despair felt by the people fleeing their home country is palpable. Many are leaving family pets behind or loved ones who are unable to make the journey. It’s devastating to watch families torn apart in real time – not knowing when they might see each other again. 

The footage is matter of fact and presented without sensationalism. The war is only seen through images of bombed bridges, tank tracks, military run checkpoints, and the haunted faces of the van’s passengers. This lack of polish makes In the Rearview stand out from most contemporary documentaries. 

In the Rearview is a riveting look at how the destructive power of war impacts more than just flesh and bone.

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Back for Seconds

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Food Inc. 2

by Rachel Willis

I’ll admit I didn’t watch 2008’s Food, Inc., but the first film is not a prerequisite for watching Food, Inc. 2—an updated, critical look at the system that feeds us.

What director Robert Kenner addressed in the first film is, in part, revisited—this time with co-director Melissa Robledo. Has much changed since Food, Inc. was released 15 years ago? What role did the COVID-19 pandemic play in exposing the weaknesses in our food system? And what is ultra-processed food doing to our health?

Producers Michael Pollan and Eric Schlosser once again join Kenner in tackling the issues that come with food consumption in America. While farmer’s markets are now a staple in many American cities, and organic and free-range food is readily available in big chain grocery stores, much of what we eat is still controlled by only a handful of companies.

The point is made early that what was started with the original Food, Inc. wasn’t enough.

The filmmakers make a strong case for the fragile nature of our food supply. The COVID pandemic brought into sharp relief the problems with having so few suppliers for our food. Footage shows milk being dumped, pigs euthanized, and produce wasted while store shelves stand depleted. It’s a harsh fact brought to light: the food industry is based on predictability. When something unpredictable happens, people go hungry.

One issue highlighted is that 80% of the infant formula market is controlled by only two companies. When one of those companies had to shut down one of their factories in 2022, parents were left desperate to find the food necessary to feed their babies—just one of many examples that demonstrate the fragility of our most important system.

Several interviews focus on the exploitation of workers harvesting and producing crops for pityingly low wages in inhumane conditions. One man makes the point that “the work is essential, but we’re treated as disposable.” In the 100+ years since The Jungle was published, it seems little has changed.

Michael Pollan is quick to highlight the war between Big Ag and nature. Moving dairy farms to the desert is unsustainable, yet regulations are few and land is cheap. When cows need water from aquifers to produce milk, people go without water.

Food, Inc. 2 raises urgent issues. It’s essential that we listen.

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Music Maker, Dreamer of Dreams

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Remembering Gene Wilder

by Hope Madden

Maybe the smartest choice director Ron Frank made when putting together his affectionate documentary Remembering Gene Wilder was to pull audio from Wilder’s own autobiography. Sure, we hear from many who loved the comic actor—Mel Brooks, Carol Kane, Alan Alda among them. But everything they tell you about his authenticity, humility, humanity, and perfect comic timing you can hear for yourself as Wilder spills the beans on his life.

You remember the hair, of course. And probably those eyes. But that voice proves, in case you have forgotten, that there was something deeply, bubblingly, undeniably delightful about Gene Wilder. And he could act.

Frank, working with writer Glenn Kirschbaum, hand picks some of Wilder’s best scenes. Not necessarily the most iconic, but the most confounding, the scenes where he made a creative decision no one else would have considered, creating an indelible moment on screen.

This is a film that loves Gene Wilder, and it makes a pretty good case for that.

We hear about is childhood, about Willy Wonka, Young Frankenstein, Richard Pryor, Gilda. Each story showcases the gentle, charming creature that was Gene Wilder. Though Frank doesn’t break any new ground cinematically—talking head interviews flank home movies, film clips surround family photos—the mellow approach belies a deep emotional connection.

Remembering Gene Wilder is not just a greatest hits. Although the film does not delve into any of the actor/director’s box office or critical missteps—nor does it devote a single moment to anything that would make Wilder out to be anything other than a treasure—it acknowledges low times. Even those just make you want to hug him.

Not every film or character of Wilder’s has aged well, but his good nature and talent shine none the dimmer. Remembering Gene Wilder certainly does not unearth any ugliness, bares no startling truths. It’s clearly the product of a filmmaker who truly loves his subject.

He doesn’t seem wrong, though.  

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Play Me a Memory?

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They Shot the Piano Player

by Hope Madden

An unusual hybrid of documentary and narrative, music and animation, They Shot the Piano Player pulls you into a political mystery.

Jeff Goldblum voices the character of a New Yorker journalist writing a book about bossa nova, or so he thinks. He travels to Brazil to dig into the history of this groundbreaking musical movement and finds himself drawn to the story of one particular pianist.

Inside the chaos of color, vibrant animation and remarkable soundtrack, directors Javier Mariscal and Fernando Trueba unveil a particularly turbulent moment in history. The discovery and quick popularity of Brazilian bossa nova—literally the “new wave” of samba and jazz fusion—ran headlong into a continent-wide collapse into violent, oppressive military regimes.

Goldblum is one of a handful of actors whose fictional storyline collides with archival interviews with some of the musical movement’s greats. Little by little, the investigation sidesteps music to focus on the 1976 disappearance of Francisco Tenório Júnior.

The filmmakers bridge audio commentary concerning the disappearance, the desperate search, and the inevitable truth with Goldblum’s fictionalized storyline. The result, much elevated by Goldblum’s characteristically offbeat performance, generally works. The filmmakers attempt to do more than uncover one of hundreds of thousands of stories of innocent lives lost to Central and South American despots beginning in the 1960s.

Mariscal and Trueba want you to know Tenório, to see all that was lost when he was disappeared: father, friend, artist. And with him, the entire beautiful new wave of music and art that had been blooming across the continent.

Unruly and fresh as the music it dances to, They Shot the Piano Player sometimes loses its train of thought. The outright documentary content is probably compelling enough—even if told via animation—to omit the fictionalized sleuthing. But the way Mariscal and Trueba couch the heartbreaking loss of one life within the larger artistic loss of an entire art form is melancholy magic.

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Self Portrait

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Frida

by Rachel Willis

Director Carla Gutiérrez lets Frida Kahlo speak through her words, photos, and most movingly, self-portraits (including images from her illustrated diary) in the documentary Frida.

The film moves through the years of Kahlo’s life, weaving in her own words and images from her young life. Film from the time period helps set the scene of Frida’s childhood in Mexico. Photos of Kahlo and her parents illustrate her spoken memories.

The documentary makes impressive use of Kahlo’s paintings to bring the legend to life. This is a documentary that puts the soul of the artist front and center of her own story.

When Frida tries to bring in its own artistry, it suffers by comparison. The choice to highlight certain sections of black and white film in bright colors feels tacky compared to the rich paintings. Used to better effect are animations that enliven the artist’s works.

In addition to Kahlo’s own words, voices from those who knew her pepper the film. Classmates, former boyfriends, and friends add layers to the portrait the film paints.

It is impossible to study Kahlo’s life without examining her relationship with fellow artist Diego Rivera. His influence on her life was profound, as was hers on his.

Kahlo’s emotional highs and lows allow the audience to know her in a way that enhances an understanding of her art. Like so many artists, the true impact of her work would only be understood after her death. But in life, it brought her joy.

For those unfamiliar with Frida Kahlo, this is a lush and impressive introduction to her life and art.