Obit. (Amazon Prime)
Obit., the fantastic documentary about the men and women who put together the obituary section of the New York Times every day, paints one of the most painfully realistic portraits of the act of writing I have ever seen in a movie. The film journeys through the entire process of writing an obituary, from deciding who merits an article to striving to come up with a narrative that reads fittingly to deciding what facts are important and what picture best captures their life. It is a balancing act of honoring the dead while also being truthful to who the person is and respecting their struggles. Along the way, we visit with photo editors, stop off at the one-man “morgue” of clippings that captures the entire history of the Times, and get glimpses into the lives of those who were deemed worthy of citation. We watch one writer spend precious time debating between making a word an adjective or a verb and which sounds better, while another berates himself for a retraction that could have been avoided had he not been so detailed in his word choice. Nothing comes easy in this job, and the film doesn’t shirk away from that truth at all. Anyone who has ever written anything, especially on deadline, can relate; as I try to piece together this review, the irony of struggling to write about their struggle to write is not lost on me.
My Scientology Movie (Netflix)
British documentarian Louis Theroux has made a specialty of in-depth portraits of segments of the population, going into their often sheltered worlds and spending time with them to really try to understand who they are and what leads to beliefs and choices that are often at odds with the world around them. For My Scientology Movie, now on Netflix, he hits a wall pretty early. Scientology is famous for its unwillingness to let outsiders inside the walls of their church and that is true from the get-go here. Theroux instead relies on former members to tell stories about what their life was like in Scientology and casts actors to play major characters in the organization — a choice that seems to be echoing Scientology founder L. Ron Hubbard’s desire to fill the religion with actors to help spread his beliefs.
Check It (LouisCK.net)
Louis CK has used his website in recent years as a way to get his own material directly out to his fans, but with Check It he is now using it to get work he needs to be seen out to a wider audience. The documentary, which he saw at the Tribeca Film Festival and which has only played other festivals without a distributor, is certainly the sort of tiny documentary that could easily fall through the cracks without a push like this. Fortunately, it is also certainly a documentary that should be seen by more.
Check It follows a Washington D.C. gang called Check It, made up of almost 200 hot-tempered African American teenagers from some of the roughest sections of the capital. What makes Check It different, though, is that all of these teenagers are members of the LGBTQ community. Check It isn’t about crime but about protection, knowing that there is safety in numbers and using violent tempers in a way of defense against the constant terror members can feel on the streets. Filmmakers Dana Flor and Toby Oppenheimer get a powerful honesty out of the subjects of the film, who wear their hearts on their sleeves and can snap at a moment’s instance.
Get Me Roger Stone (Netflix)
Get Me Roger Stone, the new Netflix documentary about political operative Roger Stone, tells his story by mostly focusing on the man who most famously got Roger Stone: Donald J. Trump. Stone is the self-proclaimed architect of Trumpian America, and Get Me Roger Stone might do more than anything else I’ve seen recently to explain what Trump is thinking and how he got to where he is. The answer is merely, he got Roger Stone. By telling the story of how Stone, who has wanted Trump to run for president for thirty years, got Trump to the White House, Get Me Roger Stone illuminates that journey for those of us who witnessed it in real time. Along the way, it also sheds light on the history of Roger Stone, from his pride at being the youngest person to testify in the Watergate hearings to his boasting that he devised the scheme to get George W. Bush in the White House. Stone is a constant figure in the film, narrating his own successes and failures and not apologizing for any of them. In his own words, it is better to be infamous than not be famous at all. For anyone trying to make sense of America today, this is required viewing.
Tower and Newtown (Netflix)
I often find myself, when watching a documentary, asking if I would rather be watching the dramatized version of the film. Does the reflection of the participants help the story, or would I rather be put in the moment of the story and watch it unfold for myself? Tower manages to do both in what must be one of the most powerful and tense documentaries to come out in years. It tells the story of the 1966 shooting at the University of Texas at Austin that led to 16 deaths and dozens of wounded victims. Director Keith Maitland isn’t satisfied merely telling us what happened in the horrifying hour-and-a-half on campus, however. He must show it to us also. So, as we hear the story of the people on the ground during the shooting, we watch rotoscoped animations of reenactments of the events, where live action is drawn over the photographed image to give it a not-quite-natural but still-very-real feeling to the violence. We are put right in the middle of the action, not looking back on a bygone event but watching it unfold in real time.
The Music of Strangers: Yo-Yo Ma and the Silk Road Ensemble (HBO Now)
Morgan Neville has made a career of documentaries about rock and roll musicians, peaking with his Oscar-winning 20 Feet from Stardom, and while on the surface his new film might seem a little different, it covers a lot of the same territory. The Music of Strangers, which HBO aired last month, is the story of cello virtuoso Yo-Yo Ma and the Silk Road Ensemble, a group of European, Middle Eastern, and Asian musicians who play together in a melting pot of world music. They infuse their own cultures with each others’, taking non-Western instruments and using them in new and exciting ways. The film goes back to capture what brought them together in the first place, but focuses mostly on them now and spans the globe as we begin to understand where key members of the ensemble came from and what they bring to this new class of music they are creating.
Life, Animated (Amazon Prime)
Life, Animated, the Oscar-nominated documentary from Roger Ross Williams, is as life-affirming as a documentary gets. It follows Owen Suskind, who at the age of three was diagnosed with autism and who is graduating high school 20 years later when the film begins. Owen spent several years unable to communicate with his family until one day began talking to a stuffed animal of the parrot Iago from Disney’s Aladdin. Disney movies became a way for him to understand the world around him, and a means of communication between his family and himself. As we meet Owen as a young adult, he holds meetings of a Disney fan club where he and other young people with disabilities watch Disney movies and discuss the lessons that they teach (warning: their discussions get deeper than any I have ever had about a Disney film). Throughout the movie, he is able to graduate high school, move into his own apartment, get a job, and try his hand at a romantic relationship. Life, Animated celebrates each of these moments as a triumph of Owen and his amazing support team and explains how Disney movies have prepared Owen for each of these stepping stones.
Gleason (Amazon Prime)
I do not follow football, and the name Steve Gleason meant nothing to me heading into Gleason. The documentary opens with a short recap of Gleason’s career, including the blocked punt that made him a legend in New Orleans, but football is not what Gleason is about. Instead, it focuses on Gleason’s life post-career, as he starts to raise a family while also battling ALS. The film is full of frank footage as Gleason’s football player body quickly deteriorates, following Gleason and his family every step of the way. His wife, who finds out she’s pregnant two weeks after Gleason’s diagnosis, is at first an unwilling participant, but we watch her slowly start to understand the power of this project. It brings to light so much pain in such a personal way.
The film doesn’t hold back as we watch everything in the Gleasons’ lives: Gleason’s video journals to his unborn son; his struggling to control his own bladder; his growing reliance on family and friends; his desire to help the cause of ALS research and reach out to others in his circumstance; his debates about his faith with his father; and his periodic return trips to the New Orleans Saints, each one with more help needed to get him to the field to greet his fans. Gleason the film is a document of a disease, giving us a detailed look at each physically debilitating step of the process, and Gleason the man is an unwaveringly honest subject, giving us a look at each emotionally debilitating step of the process.
Under the Sun (Netflix)
Most documentaries try their hardest to hide from the viewer the moments that have had to be contrived so that they can always give the appearance of authenticity; Under the Sun puts those moments front and center. The film, which gives us an inside look at a family living in the dictatorship of North Korea, opens with an explanation that in order to make the film, the filmmakers had to agree to let the government of North Korea script and frame every moment of the film. Every moment is perfectly chosen to show how happy and prosperous the people of North Korea are. Every location is pre-chosen by the government. The citizens of North Korea hold hands and sing songs, celebrate holidays, are assigned jobs that they feel great pride in, and praise the Generalissimo Kim Jong-un. It feels part utopia, part The Wicker Man, part The Truman Show, and part David Lynch fantasia.
Not every moment of Under the Sun is North Korea sanctioned, though. There are moments where the camera keeps lingering, in what you have to assume was footage that wasn’t signed off by the government, and see what is happening behind the scenes. We watch as the family members are fed lines, as scenes are repeated, and where the little girl in the center of things is taught how to be more “authentic.” We see the same conversations almost a dozen times in some cases, each time tweaked a little bit in order to get the exact feeling the handlers want the film to give. At one moment, we visit a sick child in the hospital in what turns out to be a staged scenario to show how wonderful the medical system is. The patient’s dialogue, which is coached to death, sounds more like a bad local commercial than a true conversation. It is a frightening portrait to watch unfold, letting us not only understand how a world foreign to us exists, but what allows it to exist as harmoniously as it does.
The Witness (Netflix)
By this point, most of us only know the Kitty Genovese story as the briefest of stories in a sociology textbook: a young woman was brutally murdered in Queens while 38 witnesses stood by and did nothing to help her. The Witness, the debut documentary from James D. Solomon, goes back and tries to figure out exactly what happened to Kitty on that fateful night and how much of her story is actually true. It follows Kitty’s brother Bill, only 16 when his sister was murdered, as he tries decades later to piece together his sister’s story.
The first half of the film acts as a straightforward detective tale. Bill discovers witness stories that were never complete, reads trial transcripts of a trial he and his family never attended, and returns again and again to the scene of the crime to wrap his own head around the 37 minutes his sister was struggling for her life. As the film goes on, though, you realize that the details of the crime are only part of the story. Only the Macguffin. Instead, we are watching Bill try to make sense of his own life, a life that he defined by his sister’s murder, and discover that his sister was a lot more than he ever understood her to be. We watch him struggle with her death in new ways and try to come to terms with almost 50 years of history.
More of a cinematic essay than a straight-out documentary, Ava DuVernay’s 13th traces the African-American experience from the 13th Amendment, abolishing slavery, to today’s Black Lives Matters movement. Her main thrust is the continued forced labor of black men post-slavery, as they have been increasingly incarcerated and the prison numbers in America have stacked up. We are now home to a quarter of all the incarcerated people of the world. Perhaps the most powerful images in the film are the graphs of how many prison inmates there are in America, which she returns to again and again as we see it rise gradually and then skyrocket in the past 40 years. It is a horrific statistic, and DuVernay makes sure we don’t ignore it.
Holy Hell (Netflix)
At first glance, Buddhafield, the cult at the center of the new documentary Holy Hell, can seem a tad more innocuous than the cults we normally see in documentary films. There are no drugs, no compounds, no stockpiles of ammunition, no uniforms, no talk of Armageddon, and no one seems forcibly trapped anywhere. It is a society based on love, ballet, and a willingness to follow “The Teacher,” a Speedo-clad guru who believes that “the orgasm of meditation is stronger than the orgasm of sex.” Will Allen, the film’s director and twenty-year member of Buddhafield, paints an idyllic picture of what this must have been like. He has gathered other former members and they give us a side of the story that we normally don’t get. Holy Hell is concerned, first and foremost, with figuring out what drew these people to “The Teacher” and what kept them there. No one is a zealot or an outcast; these are normal people looking for a place in life and finding it here.
Your level of patience with Hitchcock/Truffaut, Kent Jones’ documentary tribute/video essay on the classic film book, may stem from how highly you hold the book and its subject in esteem. I knew about the book for many years (Hitchcock was a teenage favorite of mine, and still is) before finally tracking down a copy on a trip to the Cinema Bookshop in London the summer before college, at a time when it was near impossible to find a copy in America. It became one of several film bibles to me, especially as it came to define two of my all-time favorite filmmakers.
There is a lot in Jones’ film to love. Watching the ideas of Hitchcock/Truffaut put together with moving scenes from Hitchcock’s films, much more fluid than the collection of grainy black-and-white stills that populate the book, is a marvel to witness for any fan of the book (or of Hitchcock in general). Hearing some of the great minds of modern cinema, including personal favorites David Fincher, Wes Anderson, and Olivier Assayas, talk about Hitchcock and the films that speak to them the most is just as marvelous. Taken in little pieces, this film is a gorgeous piece of video essay: dissecting the greatest work by arguably the greatest filmmaker of all-time, in both his own words and images and the words of those who most passionately followed in his footsteps. There isn’t a moment of Hitchcock/Truffaut that doesn’t sparkle in cinematic splendor. It made me want to rush out watch all of these films again, then take my battered copy of the book Hitchcock/Truffaut off my bookshelf and read all about them.
A brief synopsis of Suited, the new Lena Dunham-produced documentary, is simple: Rae Tutera and Daniel Friedman are New York-based tailors who specialize in custom-made suits for transgender and gender non-conforming clients who have trouble feeling comfortable in off-the-rack options. The film, by first-time documentarian Jason Benjamin, does a lot more than merely tell the story of one store. It expands itself to include six different customers who come through the doors of Bindle & Keep. It follows these customers home and lets their individual stories come to life: they need suits for their weddings, birthdays, court appearances, bar mitzvahs, and job interviews, and Benjamin uses the common thread of Bindle & Keep merely as a launching pad to dive into each of their own struggles and accomplishments.
If this sounds like a typical documentary, in many ways it is. There is nothing novel about the structure of Suited, which has been used hundreds of times before, nor the way that that structure plays out. What is unique is the honest way that Benjamin tells these stories. He manages to get the most out of each of his subjects, all of whom have a similar yet vastly different journey to share and none of which are afraid to let their pain and hope play out on screen. The camera often lingers on them for a little longer than may seem comfortable, especially at the times when Tutera and Friedman’s clients try on their suits for the first time, but it lets you register the mix of emotions going on. These moments are incredibly powerful, but they are only a small piece of the power of Suited. Every moment spent with these men and women, meeting the families that support them, hearing about the families that shun them and witnessing the daily difficulties they face, is a powerful reminder of the humanity behind each and every one of these people. Benjamin puts a face on a topic that is increasingly political and makes a beautiful case that everyone deserves the basic human right to feel comfortable in a piece of clothing.
O.J.: Made in America (ESPN.com)
After 20 years of obsessing over the O.J. Simpson trial, from my teenage years glued to the live coverage of the trial to various TV specials to Jeffrey Toobin’s definitive The Run of His Life to the recent FX miniseries The People vs. O.J. Simpson, I thought I was done with the O.J. Simpson trial. I didn’t really feel like I needed any more of the story at this point, nor did I feel like there was much about the case that I still had to discover. Ezra Edelman’s seven-and-a-half hour O.J.: Made in America, which played in five parts on ESPN as part of their 30 for 30 series, proved me completely wrong: I needed a lot more O.J., and there was a lot more to learn.
Nicole Brown Simpson and Ron Goldman aren’t murdered until well into the third hour of Made in America, and the trial ends with an hour still to go, which may be the smartest move Edelman makes in this film. Up to the murder, we get the most in-depth account I have seen into what drove O.J. Simpson. Edelman captures the contradiction that Simpson would become a hero of the black community after he had disregarded them for so long effortlessly. He crosscuts Simpson’s rise in football and Hollywood with the story of the civil rights movement during Simpson’s life, emphasizing how disengaged from the African-American community Simpson made himself and how little interest he showed in civil rights (every piece of this seems to come back in the end and make O.J.’s life a full circle, from Howard Cossell to the Black Panthers fist to the common theme of O.J. always running). The later fall of Simpson, not only the trial but Simpson’s attempt at refueling his career post-acquittal, is tragic, and Edelman paints a picture of a man both made by America and broken by America. Shots of a middle-aged O.J. partying with college students and making a prank TV show would be embarrassing to watch regardless, but after seeing the man in his prime we truly understand the dark side of our celebrity culture.