The tenth anniversary of 9/11 is now behind us, and along with it the litany of commemorative broadcasts, special presentations, and memorial tributes. While I’m not particularly bothered by the abundance of event coverage, I know there are lots of people who are burnt out on anything concerning the terrorist attacks on America. Still, there are some great documentary films that manage to overcome the typically sensational, overly maudlin trappings. Rebirth is certainly one of those projects that memorializes the events of that day by focusing on the people who were directly affected and the way in which they were forced to deal with unforeseen tragedy.

Director Jim Whitaker focuses on five people — all with very different stories — who lost loved ones or were injured on September 11th. He follows them for over a decade, breaking down the very personal healing process — both mentally, and physically — into chapters divided by year. In 2002, emotions run high and the shock has yet to wear off. Those who have lost loved ones are still overwhelmed by the disbelief that their mother/fiancee/friend is really gone. The fallout of the terrorist attack has changed everything. Families fall apart, future plans disintegrate, and physical wounds are still fresh. A teen who lost his mother resents his father for remarrying so quickly. A fiancee struggles with the concept of moving on and pursuing love. A woman’s burns turn to scars, pulling on her skin and limiting her mobility. Much like Michael Apted’s Up Series, we get to watch people grow as initial feelings of despair, hatred, and helplessness slowly subside as time passes. For a woman who lost her fiancee, the thought of finding love again was once unthinkable. Watching her come to the realization that it’s okay to move on is quite remarkable and you can empathize with that sort of internal struggle.

The film also contains time lapse footage of the reconstruction of ground zero, which works brilliantly against the more human ‘rebuilding’ taking place throughout the rest of the film. Fourteen 35mm motion picture film cameras are rolling 24 hours a day, capturing what will be the world’s longest running time lapse film in history. Rebirth contains much of this footage, but the project will continue until 2015, capturing the final construction of the 9/11 memorial and the ‘Freedom Tower’. One can’t help but be reminded of Koyanisqaatsi as the high speed urban imagery plays out through the film, accompanied by a great new score by Philip Glass. Although Rebirth is made up of mostly talking head interviews, there are some great cinematic moments throughout the film that are definitely heightened by Glass’ score. However, there are also some song choices that are less than inspired, including a cover of Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah and Israel Kamakawiwo’s cover of ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’; two songs which are criminally overused in movies. I suppose an argument could also be made for the overuse of Philip Glass in non-fiction filmmaking, but I still love his work.

I’m not sure Rebirth will successfully curb whatever cynicism some might have towards 9/11 and everything that surrounds it. All I can say is the film is less focused on the events of the day and more interested in the stories of the people and how they dealt with tragedy. Anyone who finds the ambitiousness of the Up Series intriguing should definitely check out Rebirth. — Jay C.

Okay, so this is THE ultimate World War II documentary. Plain and simple. The World at War was produced in the early seventies by British television production company Thames Television (remember their awesome logo?) and features narration by Sir Laurence Olivier. It covers the entire second World War across 26 hour long episodes and it’s now available on Blu-ray for your viewing pleasure. So how does this 37 year old series hold up on high definition?

First, let me talk a little bit about the actual content of the series. The episodes are broken down in a loose chronological order, starting with “A New Germany (1933-1939)”. We get some history on the rebirth of Germany and how the Nazi party grew into a position of power, leading to the eventual outbreak of war. From there, the series of events is broken down in great detail, with episodes focusing on Japan, North Africa, Italy, and other landmarks throughout the war. The episodes themselves consist of a mix of stock footage, photo stills and talking head interviews. Generally, it’s full of great information presented in a fairly engaging fashion. While it does feel a bit didactic at times, it still manages to maintain a sense of story that succeeds in capturing the atmosphere at the time of the war. Sir Laurence Olivier handles the narration perfectly, providing a dictatorial yet accessible accompaniment to the images. It goes without saying that the 36 hours in this series require at least a minimal interest in the war for any viewer to experience any sort of enjoyment or enlightenment.

Okay, so let’s talk about the technical aspect of this Blu-ray release. First off, I do think it looks pretty great, considering its age and the varied selection of stock footage presented throughout the series. The entire show was shot on film (obviously) and mixes colour and black and white footage, resulting in a bit of a hodgepodge of film stocks, some having aged better than others. Every now and again a pretty banged up shot will appear on screen, full of dirt and scratches, but these are few and far between. Generally everything looks appropriately aged but still great. The interview footage shot specifically for this series also holds up quite well, although the limitations of the original film stock does show through a little in comparison to what some might be used to nowadays. Personally, I found the look of the film to be faithful to what I imagine the filmmakers had in mind at the time. The set includes a number of special features including documentaries on the making of the series (one of which is a feature length retrospective), and a short that details the restoration process behind this high definition release. There are also additional bonus episodes — for a lack of a better term — that look at various aspects of the war. These include ‘Secretary to Hitler’, ‘The Two Deaths of Adolf Hitler’, ‘Warrior’, ‘Hitler’s Germany: The People’s Community 1933-1939′, ‘Hitler’s Germany: Total War 1939-1945′, ‘The Final Solution: Parts 1 and 2′, and ‘From War to Peace’.

NOW, on to the one major sticking point. Many have pointed out the fact that this newly restored version of The World at War is presented in a 16:9 aspect ratio to fit your HD television screen. The problem here is the series was originally shot for a traditional 4:3 aspect ratio. While some might be relieved that the picture will fill up their screen without the need to stretch or zoom (“I paid for my screen and I want to make use of every inch of it!”), others might find the extreme cropping of the image slightly claustrophobic at times. In general I found the stock footage held up fine to the aspect ratio change but some of the talking head interviews definitely suffered. There are many occasions where the image struggles to capture the on-screen text — someone’s name, generally placed near the bottom of the screen — without cutting off the top of the interviewee’s head in the process. Some of them are so tight that the top of the framing actually ends just above the eyebrows of the interview subject and, eventually, you’ll notice a very slow frame re-adjustment after the text disappears. It’s not really a deal-breaker but it’s certainly something that will stick in the craw of purists looking for the originally intended presentation. It’s my understanding that this was a compromise met while negotiating the costs of restoring the series. If a broadcaster is going to put money into such a project, they want to make sure it will take full advantage of their HD signal. I just wish there was an option to view it in it’s original 4:3 form. Otherwise, The World at War is a great Blu-ray release and a must-have for anyone interested in the second world war. — Jay C.

The Times of Harvey Milk
Directed by Robert Epstein
United States, 1984
88 minutes

Criterion’s relationship with non-fiction filmmaking is an interesting one. They’ve certainly given some classic documentaries the releases they deserve (Salesman, Gimme Shelter, Harlan County USA, For All Mankind, etc.) but I really wish they’d open their minds a bit and stray from their more conservative line up. Having said that, it was definitely a surprise to see Rob Epstein’s Academy Award winner The Times of Harvey Milk on their list of upcoming releases–certainly a refreshing choice but also a reminder that they’ve barely tapped the surface of a reservoir of amazing non-fiction films that are floating around in sub-standard DVD limbo. Hopefully this release is a sign of things to come.

For those unfamiliar with the story of Harvey Milk, I’ll kindly lay out the details for you: Harvey Milk was the first gay man to be elected to public office in California. He was influential within the gay community and was known for his fight to keep the government out of the private sex lives of citizens. Apparently, he’s also fondly remembered for his stance against dog poop in public parks. There’s actually a great scene in the film where Milk meets the press in a park and steps in a pre-planted piece of doggy doo. He was definitely an underdog in his circle of politicians but managed to gain the respect and support of his peers, including the mayor of San Francisco, George Moscone. One man who didn’t support Milk’s overtly liberal politics was Dan White, member of the San Francisco Board of Supervisors and an overall clean cut, conservative American. He frequently clashed with Milk — and other members on the board — on various issues and eventually resigned from his position as a seat supervisor. It wasn’t long before he changed his mind and wanted his job back but Mayor Moscone refused to accept his offer to return to his position, causing White to sneak into city hall — through the window no less — and gun down the Mayor in cold blood. He then reloaded his weapon and walked over to Harvey Milk’s office and shot him point blank, killing him.

At this point the film focuses on the trial of Dan White in the murders of Harvey Milk and George Moscone. It’s here we learn of the infamous “Twinkie Defense”, in which White’s defence team claimed that his out-of-character over consumption of junk food was a characteristic of a man who was severely depressed. They insisted his mental state was not compatible with one of a motivated killer. The fact that he carried a gun into the office, along with a pocketful of bullets, was explained simply as a form of routine; White was an ex-cop and a police officer friend of his explains this as a normal thing for cops to do. He was strategically painted as a man who was suffering from severe stress, simply trying to do what’s best for his community and support his family. The jury members were forced to tears when they heard White’s audio confession, sympathizing with what they thought was a well-rounded, conservative American boy who’d lost his way. Ultimately, they decided in his favour and found him guilty of voluntary manslaughter instead of first degree murder. The result sent shockwaves through the community and sparked the “White Night Riots”. Police clashed with angry citizens in a response similar to the 1992 Rodney King case and its resulting LA riots. Once the dust settled, thousands of people gathered for a candlelight vigil in honour of both Milk and Moscone.

Director Robert Epstein approaches this material in a fairly conventional manner but he still manages to create an inspiring and thrilling tale, even if you know how everything ends. This film is truly the definitive telling of Harvey Milk’s story. Epstein utilizes a traditional narrator in the film but subverts expectations by hiring the raspy voiced Harvey Fierstein to handle the vocal duties. Definitely a courageous choice and certainly appropriate considering the subject matter. Even with narration, the film never really gets too didactic, maintaining a heavy stream of information in a consistently engaging fashion. Talking head interviews are spread throughout along with a wide variety of stock footage and still photography. Although the story is told in a retrospective fashion, it still feels very in-the-moment. Those aware of the tragic ending will find themselves hoping that somehow Milk’s story might end differently. I felt this same way when watching Paul Greengrass’s ‘United 93′, letting the power of the storytelling convince me that the film will somehow change history and end on a positive note. While Gus Van Sant’s Milk was a great dramatic take on this story, I think The Times of Harvey Milk truly captures the sorrow felt by the community with the loss of such a charismatic and important political figure and the resulting frustration with the legal system and their incompetent handling of Dan White’s trial.

Quality wise, The Times of Harvey Milk looks pretty great on blu ray. The film was originally shot on 16mm film and the transfer retains the quality and intent of the filmmaker. There’s also a great deal of stock footage from varying sources that holds up fairly well throughout the film. Having said that, The Times of Harvey Milk isn’t really known for its striking cinematography. Outside of the news footage and stills, the film is made up mostly of talking heads. Still, it’s always refreshing to watch a documentary that’s actually shot on film. As for the bonus features, you get an audio commentary from direct Robert Epstein, co-editor Deborah Hoffmann, and photographer Daniel Nicoletta, deleted interview clips, a new documentary on the film featuring interviews with Gus Van Sant and James Franco, and a rare collection of audio and video recordings of Milk, among other features. This is exactly why I wish Criterion would handle more docs. If there were a brand of filmmaking that benefits the most from bonus features, it’s documentaries! Get on it, Criterion!! — Jay C.

The idea of Middletown was inspired by the work of cultural anthropologists Robert and Helen Lynd and their landmark 1929 and study ‘Middletown: A Study in Contemporary American Culture’. They focused on Muncie, Indiana, choosing to keep the town and the people anonymous. Peter Davis (Hearts and Minds) decided he would also set his film in Muncie, focusing on the same categories of social research as outlined in the original study: work, play, family, religion, education and politics. The crew filmed for three years and ended up capturing some fascinating and sometimes surprising stories.

It’s interesting watching Middletown as a series from beginning to end. While each episode works as a standalone film, the series is best when viewed in sequential order. The entries get progressively controversial, starting with the more mild aspects of Muncie (mayoral campaign, high school basketball game) and ending with the more challenging topics (fundamental religion, teenage interracial relationships). Middletown definitely pushed the boundaries of public television and ultimately was met with a cancellation of the final film in the series, Seventeen. But now, for the first time on DVD or home video, the entire series is available thanks to the fine folks at Icarus Films.

FAMILY BUSINESS
Directed by Tom Cohen

As soon as I read the synopsis of Family Business I knew immediately I would love it. The film follows the Snider family as they work together to keep their Father’s franchise pizza restaurant, Shakey’s Pizza Parlour, from going bankrupt. Our first look at the family business reveals a vibrant, friendly atmosphere as brothers and sisters joyfully pull pizzas from the oven and interact with their loyal clientele. Moments later, Howie (Dad) is in the back room making phone calls to the Shakey’s head office in a desperate attempt to convince them to help him out. With his wife crying in the corner, Howie’s mention of a second mortgage is a sign he’s clearly in trouble.

In a way, Family Business is ahead of its time as a sort of pre-reality programming program. It’s pretty easy to draw comparisons between the Snider family’s story and such popular shows as Restaurant Makeover and Kitchen Nightmares, made popular by cable channels like The Food Network and TLC. Although the general synopsis might be ripe for reality television (apparently the family were approached about starring in their own show in the years after the release of this film) the drama that we see on screen aims much higher than your typical television fare. The climax of the film sees Howie calling for a family dinner in which he reveals some news about the state of Shakey’s. As he pleads his case, his sons slowly break down as they try to subtly convince their Father to abandon the sinking ship and spend the rest of his years enjoying his time with his wife and kids. In one moment a son suggests his Father has lost the pride he once had when serving in the Marines. A truly dramatic revelation that caps off an otherwise inspiring and entertaining look at the workplace dynamics of a family run pizza joint in Muncie, Indiana.

COMMUNITY OF PRAISE
Directed by Richard Leacock & Marisa Silver

Richard Leacock and Marisa Silver’s Community of Praise focuses on religion, chronicling the life of a fundamentalist family and their every day issues. Everything from the daily routines on the family farm to their daughter’s severe scoliosis are examined through the lens of religion. It’s a family of born again Christians, embracing religion as a response to some sort of life crisis, be it poor health or addiction. The father, who married into the family after a divorce, has trouble adjusting to his step-kids undisciplined work ethics and overall attitudes. He expresses his urge to beat them, insisting that when he was a kid he didn’t think twice about doing his chores on the farm. This new generation of kids simply don’t appreciate hard work and responsibility! If there wasn’t a date on this film, you’d be hard pressed to pinpoint the decade in which this film is set based on some of the primitive perspectives.

While it might be easy to portray fundamentalists as crazy, it’s still interesting to spend some time with people who allow their beliefs to dictate every element of their lives. In one scene, the family brings their daughter to the local veterinarian, who apparently spends his off hours as a minister of sorts. When he’s not healing animals, he’s attempting to drive scoliosis out of a child by simply laying his hands on her and speaking in tongues. It’s a decision that seems rooted in desperation rather than ignorance, but there’s no questioning that the treatment is obviously misguided and the people involved are delusional. It’s a strange and even humorous scene but the overall earnestness of the piece manages to curb any real sense of sensationalism or exploitation. All of these people have issues and the easiest way for them to deal with life is to look above for inspiration. They push forward, continually existing on the verge of a complete breakdown, trusting that their religion will keep their family together.

THE CAMPAIGN
Directed by Tom Cohen

The series starts with director Tom Cohen’s look at Muncie’s mayoral race between very different candidates with contrasting campaign strategies. Jim Carrey (Democrat) is the affable joker whose confidence and ability to schmooze with the townspeople has made him a strong forerunner. That’s not to say he doesn’t have his detractors. It turns out Carrey has a criminal record in his past involving gambling and accepting bribes. In the eyes of some, he’s nothing but a crook. Oddly enough, he was also at one time the town sheriff, making him a truly complex individual. His opponent, Alan Wilson (Republican), is the soft spoken upper class criminal lawyer who hasn’t completely won over the working class vote. He seems to spend more time at fundraising functions and taking advice from a team of media consultants. Still, he’s a family man who simply wants to do what’s best for Muncie, even if he’s the underdog.

It makes sense that The Campaign is the opening entry in Middletown as it’s definitely one of the more conventional entries in the series. The story is inherently engaging and dramatic — like many of the ‘tournament’ style documentaries that are popular nowadays — and both candidates are likeable in one way or another. It’s interesting watching each candidate approach their campaign in their own style, giving us a sort of microcosmic representation of national politics. With one man clearly favoured over the other, it’s a tense and suspenseful race right to the end.

THE BIG GAME
Directed by E.J. Vaughn

Like The Campaign, director E.J. Vaughn presents an inherently engaging and dramatic look at the rival between two high school basketball teams: Muncie Central and Anderson High. There have been so many basketball documentaries that it almost seems to be a sub-genre in itself, but The Big Game is definitely one of the earlier examples of obsessive coaches pushing their players to the limit in hopes to give them an academic future via their love of the sport. We get to meet both teams and their coaches, giving us the opportunity to either choose sides or struggle to pick a favourite. While this film is certainly the most conventional of the bunch, it still benefits from some motivational moments between student and coach and you can’t help but be caught up in the excitement of the sport. Interestingly, one moment catches a glimpse of both Jim Carrey and Alan Wilson (featured in The Campaign) sitting in the bleachers, giving the viewer a true sense of the community of Muncie, all gathered to support their team and their love of basketball. Note: this is the only film in the series to be partially shot on video.

SECOND TIME AROUND
Directed by Peter Davis

Second Time Around follows two divorcees as they prepare themselves for their second shot at marriage. While the film does focus on some of the banal details of organizing a wedding, the most interesting aspects explored are those of class and marital expectations. Seeing as David and Elaine have been through both the process of marrying and divorcing before, they want to make sure they get things right. Their search for a new home finds Elaine growing attached to high priced houses that are way beyond their budget range, especially considering she doesn’t seem willing to work to support her share of the bills. Once they find something more reasonable — a run down bungalow in a bad neighbourhood — depression sets in. Maybe they’re jumping in to things too quickly?

This uncertainty permeates throughout the film, adding a sort of unsure sense of suspense. Will they go through with the wedding? Each argument suddenly feels like it could be their last. In one scene in which the two attempt to cut back on monthly expenses, Elaine breaks out into hysterics as David tries to explain his monthly subscription to a stamp collecting club. Clearly this wasn’t something he brought up on their first date. Meanwhile, David’s Mother hovers around in the background, commenting on every detail of the wedding, including the choice of black for the brides maid’s dresses. Elaine thinks it’s modern while Mother says it reminds her of her husband’s funeral. I tend to agree. This is 1982 and at this point, black isn’t the new anything, it’s just black. It all adds up to an interesting, intimate look at love a second time around in Muncie, Indiana.

SEVENTEEN
Directed by Joel DeMott & Jeff Kreines

For a video clip of Seventeen, click here.

Out of the entire Middletown series, Seventeen is definitely my favourite (just above Family Business) and will likely make its way onto my personal list of favourite documentaries. Joel DeMott and Jeff Kreines’ look at a group of teens Muncie teens is by far the most controversial and revealing film of the bunch. It tackles interracial dating, sex, drugs and all of the emotional ups and downs this group of friends experience when facing the end of their senior year of high school. The result is a truly scandalous and shockingly honest piece of work that immediately reminded me of the films of Harmony Korine and Larry Clark.

Seventeen begins in a home economics class as a desperate teacher in her late sixties (at least) attempts to hold together a group of rambunctious teens who refuse her every order. It’s here that we’re introduced to Lynn, a mouthy and energetic girl who eventually becomes the main focus of the film. We learn that she’s engaged in an interracial relationship that results in some strong emotional responses from the other kids in the school. At one point, Lynn’s mother finds a burnt cross on their front yard. When Lynn confronts one of kids on the phone she warns her that her mom has a gun and isn’t afraid to use it. It’s a moment that could be chalked up to teenage bravado if it wasn’t backed by the equally irresponsible mother indulging in the drama and letting it all happen.

One extended sequence captures an all night party at Lynn’s house as her friends (and parents) get wasted — including a kid who can’t be more than twelve years old. It’s here that we’re introduced to Keith, who’s friend ‘Church Mouse’ is in critical condition after a car accident. He wanders around the house drinking everything in site and struggling to contain his rage. He appears again later on in the film when the neighbourhood kids gather for a fight; retaliation for a friend who was jumped. I don’t know if it’s scary or hilarious that each kid brings a weapon, and Keith decides his best line of defence is his trusty bull whip! Truly amazing. Of course, some parents show up in a pick up truck with a case of beer, waiting for the showdown to take place. Unfortunately for them, the rival gang is a no-show.

I guess it’s not surprising that the film proved to be too controversial for PBS. Seventeen’s national broadcast was cancelled and eventually the filmmaker’s decided to release it theatrically, going on to win the 1985 Sundance Grand Jury Prize for Best Documentary. Apparently the subjects in the film weren’t too thrilled about the final product either. Some of the kids — and many of the parents — felt that the filmmakers took advantage of their situation and misrepresented their story. Some even claimed the kids were acting out merely due to the presence of a camera. Either way, Seventeen is an amazing piece of documentary filmmaking that must be seen by all fans non-fiction.

The film is an hour-long portrait of country blues and string band musician Howard “Louis Bluie” Armstrong. Not unlike Zwigoff’s follow-up feature Crumb, this film divides its screen time by giving the viewer a bit of a history lesson on country blues music while still maintaing a solid in-the-moment character profile of Armstrong’s modern lifestyle. Much of the film is spent reminiscing about the good ol’ days as Armstrong reconnects with old friends for some on-camera jam sessions. At times the film seems as though its leaning towards some sort of comment on the less-than-glamorous lifestyles led by these once-were-heroes musicians, suggesting they’ve been swallowed up and made irrelevant by modern living. They spend much of the film hanging out in a sparse, white walled living room eating Kentucky Fried Chicken and plucking away at their instruments. In the end, Zwigoff never really commits to perspective. Instead, the lives of these men are celebrated — along with the history behind the music they created — and we learn that there are still enough nooks and crannies within society (there’s a great scene of Armstrong participating in a jam session inside an old barn) for them to exist comfortably and still indulge in the things they love about life: music and art.

One surprising aspect of Louie Bluie — to someone who’d never seen the film or heard of the subject — was Armstrong’s interest in art. At the start of the film, he describes himself as a sort of Dr. Jekyll and Mr.Hyde, juggling his interests in music, art and poetry. The music seems to be his most obvious achievement, but after watching his friends thumb through some of his sketch books, it’s clear that Louie Bluie’s abilities as a visual artist are just as formidable. Oddly enough, the colourful comic-book style drawings are reminiscent of the work of Robert Crumb, planting the thematic seeds for Zwigoff’s future filmography. Probably his most impressive piece of work is a giant book he constructed titled ‘The ABC’s of Pornography’ which contained page upon page of handwritten stories (sometimes using different coloured markers to write each sentence) and curvaceous drawings of beautiful women, confirming the Crumb connection. Like Charles — brother of Robert — Crumb’s books of unintelligible tiny writing, it takes a certain brand of dedication (or obsession) to create a work of such detail. It would be pretty amazing to experience Armstrong’s ‘The ABC’s of Pornography’ first hand. Something tells me his perspectives on women and sex are probably quite interesting and probably hilarious.

Like most of Zwigoff’s work, Louie Bluie contains a cynical overtone in its depiction of the modern American lifestyle. He’s drawn to characters that are of a different time, constantly measuring and comparing the convenience of the digital world against the more comfortable and familiar analog past. This is most evident in the music itself. While some artists might feel the urge to progress, it seems as though the universe in which Zwigoff inhabits insists upon an antiquated authenticity in the output of its musicians. The second they try to modernize their sound or retroactively update their classics, the purists take offence. I suppose this is best summarized by the obsessive record collecting on display throughout most of his films: the ultimate argument for ‘old is better’ (I’m also reminded of the scene in Crumb where Robert turns the colour down on the TV insisting the black and white looks better). There’s a great moment in Louie Bluie when an avid record collector hands over one of his precious 78s for Howard to autograph. The second he gingerly passes the disc along to the musicians, you watch as these guys man-handle this artifact as though they’re completely unaware of its value. I can only imagine the conundrum faced by the owner, watching his most prized record on the verge of being dropped by the very people responsible for the music it contains.

Howard also takes some time to share his feelings on art. In one scene, we follow him into the heart of Chicago as he visits Picasso’s famous untitled steel sculpture in Daley Plaza. “I’d hate to wake up anywhere and see that. A whole lotta money, a big bunch of bullshit went down the drain.” The scene is immediately followed by a gallery exhibition of Armstrong’s own work. Interestingly, Zwigoff focuses on a discussion between Howard and a little girl about his childhood in which he would have to pull hairs out of a cat’s tail to make his brushes and use the running ink off of a wet newspaper for his paint. It’s the ultimate rendition of the classic ‘when I was a kid, I had to walk 30 miles in the snow to get to school’ story. This child should be thankful for the ease with which she can purchase a variety of colours and brushes from her modern, fancy art stores. Interestingly, we don’t hear too much critical or professional commentary on Armstrong’s artwork. While I’d be curious to see how he might react to an art critic analyzing his work, it’s refreshing to view his pieces through the eyes of his friends and himself.

As I watch Louie Bluie I find myself caught up in a sense nostalgia, not unlike the characters in the film. In a time when the documentary film has been relegated to the more cost-effective and broadcaster friendly digital shooting formats, it’s refreshing to watch something that’s shot on film. I suppose the good ol’ days of the 16mm or 35mm documentary are behind us and it’s time to embrace the future of non-fiction filmmaking. While it might be socially and mentally detrimental to remain continually fixed on your affection for the past, it’s certainly fun to revisit the ‘simpler times’ through the eyes of Terry Zwigoff and his cast of eccentric characters. — Jay

Robert Crumb found fame in the 1960s as a co-founder of Zap Comics, a movement of LSD-inspired adult-oriented underground comic books originally written and illustrated by Crumb. Curiously, he never really fit in with the hippie culture that embraced his work. He illustrated album covers for The Grateful Dead and Big Brother and the Holding Company (with Janis Joplin on lead vocals), but insists he was never a fan of the music. Instead he collected vintage 78s, indulging in country blues and jazz artists of the 20s and 30s. This love of music and record collecting is one of many obsessions shared with director Terry Zwigoff. Their genuine friendship off-camera is valuable in sustaining the level of intimacy featured throughout this film. Crumb comes across as the kind of guy who’d be turned off by such a project, giving in only due to the constant pestering of a close friend, as though his participation is more a favour to Zwigoff than a vanity piece for himself. Having said that, Crumb actually agreed to a BBC documentary on his life — written by Crumb himself — right in the middle of filming with Zwigoff: a decision that almost ended Zwigoff’s film. There was clearly no room in the world for two documentaries on the life of Robert Crumb so Zwigoff, feeling betrayed and defeated, decided call it quits. Luckily the final BBC film was quite different from Zwigoff’s, so he decided to continue shooting. Needless to say, his is the much better film.

The level of eccentricity and inner turmoil on display in Crumb may provide detractors (are there any?) with a clear target for claims of exploitation and sensationalism, but any such accusations would be totally missing the point. This isn’t a film about a dysfunctional family; it’s a film about a dysfunctional world as seen through the eyes of its characters. Familial dysfunction is neither uncommon nor is it inherently interesting. To write off the complex family dynamics at work in this film is, in my opinion, short sighted. While Crumb’s brothers might share some extreme eccentricities, the way in which they interact with each other is what’s truly magnificent. As Charles talks about his severe depression and heavy medication Robert thumbs through an old comic book, offering the odd chuckle as they reminisce about the time his brother drank furniture polish in an attempted suicide. Meanwhile his other brother Maxon recalls a time when he couldn’t resist but to pull down the pants of an unsuspecting woman at a local convenience store. Robert seems completely desensitized to such events, almost ignoring them and playing down their severity. It’s this sort of alternate perspective on the world that makes Crumb interesting. This is everything I love about character-driven documentaries.The non-fiction format is at its best when it’s exploring the human condition.

Much has been said about Crumb over the years but one thing I’ve always found interesting is the obvious kinship between the filmmaker and the subject. Crumb’s world is seemingly an exclusive one, open only to close friends and family but we get an inside look via Zwigoff and his personal relationship with Robert. One of the great details in the film is the way in which all of the people close to Crumb talk. They all share this slow, belaboured rhythm of speech, emphasizing the first syllables in every other word as though every sentence is a struggle; a quirk that’s especially evident during ruminations on the unbearable nature of modern living. After hearing Zwigoff’s commentary track you’ll find he shares this same style of speech. Many groups of friends tend to share similar verbal traits after spending long periods of time together and I found this small detail to be quite profound evidence of Crumb’s connection and influence on his family and friends. There’s also a moment in the film in which Robert thumbs through one of his many sketchbooks and points out a drawing saying ‘there’s Terry’, referring to Zwigoff. All of these little details add up to an interesting display of the documentarian/subject relationship and how a strong bond between the two can result in a natural, intimate observational film.

Criterion’s Blu-ray release of Crumb provides a clean, faithful representation of Zwigoff’s film. While it might not make the home theatre enthusiasts’ ‘demo’ list, it’s certainly a beautifully rendered 1.33:1 transfer of the original 16mm photography. The special features include the previously recorded commentary track featuring director Terry Zwigoff and Roger Ebert. As usual, Ebert offers some great insight on this track and helps Zwigoff relax a bit by throwing him some good questions. For this new release, Zwigoff has recorded a brand new solo commentary and while there is some repetition between the two, it’s still a great new addition. On top of that, Criterion has assembled more than fifty minutes of deleted scenes — presented in 1080p — with commentary by Zwigoff on a select few. Finally, there’s a reproduction of Charle’s Crumb’s art school entry form as featured in the documentary. Definitely cool. It’s such a rare opportunity to see a documentary given this level of treatment and I’m hoping Criterion continues dipping into the non-fiction world for their future Blu-ray releases. — Jay C.

The opening ten minutes of Close-Up manages to lay out the entire plot of the film while still keeping the audience completely in the dark. Two dashboard mounted cameras capture a taxi ride — in what seems to be real time — as a journalist and two police officers arrive at the home of an upper-class family to arrest a man who’s been fraudulently impersonating Iranian filmmaker Mohsen Makhmalbaf. We slowly learn that the suspect, Hosein Sabzian, had told the family he was Makhmalbaf, convincing them to invite him to their home under the guise that he was scouting locations for his latest film. After his arrest, Sabzian is approached by Kiarostami — the director of this film appearing on screen as himself — in jail, recreating their initial real-life meeting as they discuss the idea of retelling his story on film. From here we meet the judge of the case in another recreation in which permission is granted Kiarostami to tape Sabzian’s trial. Although the request is met with a question; why this trial? It’s such a mundane case in comparison to some of the more violent or sensational crimes. Kiarostami explains that it’s the connection to cinema that intrigues him. At this point, the film begins integrating real life video footage of the trial, using it as a sort of framing device connecting the recreations throughout the rest of the movie.

This sort of mixing of documentary and drama is nothing new, but what Kiarostami is doing here is beyond your typical docudrama. Close-Up reminds me of the films of Peter Watkins (The War Game, Punishment Park) or more recently, Paul Greengrass. In fact, the most modern equivalent that comes to mind is United 93. Both films re-enact real events using the actual people who were involved (well, obviously United 93 had some actors as well) in a shockingly convincing fashion. The interesting thing about Close-Up is the main characters love of art and cinema. His whole reasoning behind engaging in this fraudulent activity comes from his love of film; more specifically, the films of Mohsen Makhmalbaf. During the documentary trial footage, we learn that Sabzian had no intention of robbing or taking advantage of the family he deceived. Taking on the role of Makhmalbaf simply brought him closer to his love of art. Sabzian, through whatever circumstances — social, economical, etc. — is forced to play-act the role of a director in some sort of attempt at self-validation. The family slowly begin to realize Sabzian’s intentions weren’t entirely criminal.

Any initial reservations about Sabzian’s character are dealt with by the end of the film in an extremely touching and genuine fashion. It’s such an unusual circumstance in which this story is presented; a man so desperately wanting to be a part of cinema playing the role of himself in a film about himself going to such extreme lengths to be in the movies. A total meta mind fuck in the best possible way. There’s a moment during the trial when Sabzian is asked whether or not, after successfully maintaing this charade, he thinks he would make a better actor than director. He responds “I don’t want to be presumptuous, but I’m more interested in acting. I think I could express all the bad experiences I’ve had, all the deprivation I’ve felt with every fibre of my being. I think I could get these feelings across through my acting.” When asked what part he would like to play, he answers “My own”.

Criterion presents Close-Up in it’s original 1.33:1 aspect ratio. The newly restored high-definition transfer looks great but those bothered by the occasional scratch or speck of dust might be put off because the source isn’t quite 100% clean. Personally, I didn’t mind at all. The cinematography is fairly raw — although at times quite beautiful — and the occasional flaw simply retained an appropriate authenticity considering the content. The supplemental materials include an audio commentary by Mehrnaz Saeed-Vafa and Jonathan Rosenbaum, authors of Abbas Kiarostami; The Traveler, director Abbas Kiarostami’s first feature; “Close-Up” Long Shot, a documentary on Close-Up’s central figure, Hossein Sabzian; a new video interview with Kiarostami; and A Walk with Kiarostami (2003), a documentary portrait of the director by Iranian film professor Jamsheed Akrami. — Jay C.

This review was originally published at Film Junk.com.

There’s a lot of debate within documentary circles about the idea of truth in non-fiction filmmaking, and it’s certainly given some screen time in this film. In particular, I found it interesting hearing stories about the staging of certain scenes from Werner Herzog’s ‘Little Dieter Needs to Fly’ and Errol Morris’ ‘Gates of Heaven’. Two films from two of my favourite filmmakers, both sidestepping the rules of documentary in pursuit of great cinema. To me, these little manipulations are as harmless as telling a white lie; when a close friend asks ‘do you think I look good in these pants?’, it might better for both you (the filmmaker) and your friend (the audience) if you just say ‘Yes. You look great’, regardless of how frumpy his/her ass may look. Back to films; as long as the broad factual elements are sound, a cinematic presentation at the expense of some documentary conventions is fine by me. ESPECIALLY if it elevates the medium in a fresh and exciting way.

Capturing Reality really benefits from the DVD format in that it’s a film that can work as a reference guide. The menu seems to encourage unusual timeline navigation, taking in the information however you might like to. The bonus disc is comprised of hours of extra materials (more interviews) that are separated by subject and filmmaker. Very handy and all very interesting. It’s also worth mentioning that the National Film Board’s official website for the film is pretty mind blowing and contains a great deal of material as well. Again, this material might not transcend its subject matter and audiences uninterested in documentary filmmaking will likely be checking their watch. The good news is there’s tons of great clips from documentaries scattered throughout the film, so the talking head interviews are given a rest now and again.

Overall, Capturing Reality is a great release that’s packed with interesting content, making it a worthwhile purchase for anyone interested in documentary filmmaking. The film is available for purchase through First Run Features in the and Mongrel Media in Canada.

I’ve only just began watching this show for this review, so I’m a little behind. I’m not sure if previous seasons have covered the basics of the universe (I imagine so) but it certainly seems that four seasons deep, things have gotten a little more hypothetically dark. Many episodes tend to focus on apocalyptic scenarios, suggesting possible outcomes to Earth shattering events (literally). Science enthusiasts might be a little put off by this, but I found these episodes to be pretty fun. Watching a bunch of professionals talk about their favourite ways to end the world is pretty entertaining and the accompanying visuals are actually fairly impressive. While some of the CG work might not hold up to feature film standards, I think the majority of the space shots are quite beautiful. This is definitely where the HD shines.

The Universe is presented in full 1080p and features a PCM 2.0 uncompressed audio soundtrack. The video quality is definitely impressive and could probably make for some great ‘blow the minds of your neighbours’ reference video. The only time the video takes a hit is when the show cuts to archival footage. In this case, it’s all dependent on the quality of the source material. Otherwise, talking head interviews and the computer generated space footage is pretty brilliant.

So for fans of space and doomsday scenarios, I would say The Universe season 4 is a fun watch. Click here for more information on the series and how to purchase it online.

The high school prom has been a staple in modern cinema for as long as I can remember. So many great films have climaxed with a killer school dance: Carrie, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Back to the Future, Sixteen Candles. With Prom Night in Mississippi, director Paul Saltzman throws his chips on the table, trading in time travel and pig’s blood for…small town racism! After all, this is prom night in Mississippi, not Hill Valley.

So apparently Charleston, Mississippi still holds segregated proms. How messed up is that? I guess it’s not totally surprising that there are still pockets of the United States that haven’t progressed socially or politically in the last 40 years. (We’ll just leave it at ‘small pockets’ for the sake of this particular review. If this film were about a gay couple attending prom, ‘small pockets’ would grow exponentially.) Prom Night in Mississippi attempts to shed a light on who’s responsible for this primitive attitude, and in the process, discovers that apparently it’s not the kids. Enter Academy Award Winning actor Morgan Freeman. If I were a cynical person, I might accuse Mr.Freeman of using this film as some sort of vanity piece, but I’m not one to bash celebrities for using their fame/fortune for doing good. Apparently he lives in Charleston, MI, and certainly has his reasons (duh) for getting involved in attempting to de-segregate the local high school prom. He talks about outsider perceptions of his home town and simply cannot excuse — obviously — the idea of a segregated prom. He had previously attempted to offer to pay for a single prom in 1997 but was met with rejection. This time, with some trepadation, his request is granted and the kids start planning their special night with a no-limits budget supplied by Mr.Freeman himself.

I felt that Prom Night in Mississippi was at its best when the heavy discussion of racial segregation took a backseat to the details of the prom itself. I’m not saying that the issue at the heart of the film isn’t an important one, but I just felt that a more subtle — and possibly more powerful — point might have been made in allowing the prom play as more of a catalyst, which could naturally bring all of the racial issues bubbling to the surface without the need for so much talking head editorializing from the students and parents. Seeing the kids getting along and working together towards this common goal is much more interesting to me then hearing them talk about their thoughts on race to their ‘diary’ cams. I suppose it just felt a little traditional and cliched. I also wasn’t a huge fan of the court room/comic book renderings of certain aspects of the story. This just seems like a go-to technique that has become a little too common in docs for my taste. However, having said that, I’m not totally sure what else they could’ve done in this case, so maybe I should shut my stupid mouth.

Overall I had a pretty good time with Prom Night in Mississippi. It was great seeing these kids taking the control from the older generations and re-evaluating their relationships with their peers from a perspective that isn’t totally influenced by their parents.

Prom Night in Mississippi is available on DVD from Docurama.

Co-directed by Joshua Leonard (The Blair Witch Project), this film is a moving portrait of the artists and an inspirational tribute to the creative spirit. Subjects include filmmaker Harmony Korine, skateboarder Ed Templeton, graffit artist Barry McGee, filmmaker and album cover designer Mike Mills, and creator of the Obama Hope posters, Shepard Fairey. Each artist has their own interesting backstory and quirky personality, and the movie has its share of heartfelt moments, particularly in regards to the late Margaret Kilgallen.

As you might expect from a movie about artists, there are plenty of gorgeous images on display here, but the film is also quite beautifully shot and ends up being a work of art unto itself. It does delve a little bit into the tricky relationship between art and commerce, but mostly it’s about the way that artists come together to support and encourage each other. Despite the wide variety of styles and mediums that are featured, they all share that same creative spark. I came away from this movie feeling inspired, and I would say it is a definite must-see for anyone that has even the slightest creative bone in their body. Highly recommended.

The series presents recently uncovered colour footage of the war in 1080i high definition, combined with modern day interviews with war veterans as they tell their stories. An impressive group of actors — including Rob Lowe, Josh Lucas, Steve Zahn and Ron Livingston — take over as the younger versions of these men and women, providing narration to their individual tales. It’s actually pretty effectively pulled off and adds a little drama to each episode. In fact, I actually preferred how this was handled in WWII in HD versus Ken Burn’s The War series.

The series doesn’t shy away from adding a little excitement to the combat footage — mainly through the rapid editing and use of music — while still retaining the respect the subject matter deserves. There’s nothing worse than a war film that downplays its cinematic responsibilities in order to avoid accusations of sensationalism. There are ways to present these stories of heroism and horror in an energetic and visceral fashion without being completely tasteless, and WWII in HD seems to succeed in this sense.

The picture quality of WWII in HD is generally great, but every now and again a piece of stock footage will pop up with some heavy artifacting. It’s almost as though some of the footage was pulled from a poor digital source. Luckily, this is a rare offence as the rest of the disc looks pretty great. The modern interview footage, shot in HD, is striking and most of the war stock footage retains its original filmic qualities. It’s definitely a mixed bag, but it’s to be expected from a production that contains so much material from so many different sources.

Overall, this is a great series for anyone interested in WWII. You can follow the links below to order a copy for yourself.

Order the DVD set:

http://shop.history.com/detail.php?p=108161&v=history_show_wwii-in-hd&pagemax=all

And for the Blu-ray edition:

http://shop.history.com/detail.php?p=108164&v=history_show_wwii-in-hd&pagemax=all