April 2008

Shadow of the Holy Book (Pyhän kirjan varjo)

Shadow of the Holy Book (Pyhän kirjan varjo) (2007, Director: Arto Halonen): I read about this film when it played at IDFA in Amsterdam and was so intrigued by the premise, I emailed Hot Docs pro­grammer Sean Farnel imme­di­ately to ask him to bring it to Hot Docs. He emailed me back to say that he and the dir­ector had been drinking vodka the night before and that it would likely be screening here. What had me so excited? Here’s the premise: Turkmenistan is a central Asian country with huge reserves of oil and nat­ural gas. It’s also one of the most repressive dic­tat­or­ships in the world. After ruling since 1985, dic­tator Saparmurat Niyazov declared him­self “President for Life” in 1999 and pub­lished a book called the Ruhnama in 2001. Turkmens are over­whelm­ingly Muslim, but Niyazov placed the Ruhnama above the Koran as a holy book and required all cit­izens to study it. So far, so bizarre, right? But the really inter­esting thing is that the film­maker found that for­eign cor­por­a­tions doing busi­ness in Turkmenistan had gained favour by “spon­soring” trans­la­tions of the book into their own lan­guages and by oth­er­wise pro­moting Niyazov’s strange cult of per­son­ality. At least, that’s how they por­trayed them­selves to Niyazov. In reality, the com­panies kept all of this quiet in their own coun­tries, not wanting to be seen as bribing a dic­tator just to gain luc­rative contracts.

Despite the fas­cin­ating concept of exposing cor­porate mis­chief in a strange and repressive country, the film frus­trated me at every turn. Finnish dir­ector Halonen enlists the help of American journ­alist Kevin Frazier and the two make an odd couple. The dour Finn and the nebbishy American with the slight lisp set out to con­tact many of the cor­porate vil­lains but are hope­lessly inept. Much of the film’s run­ning time is footage of the two of them in hotel rooms in various cities failing to get through to the right cor­porate con­tacts. As well, the use of sev­eral tacky sound effects (a cash register “cha-ching” each time a corporation’s profits are men­tioned, a type­writer intro­du­cing every on-screen title) drove me to dis­trac­tion very quickly. By the time the film­makers arrive in America to track down exec­ut­ives from Caterpillar and John Deere, the film enters Michael Moore ter­ritory, except without any of Moore’s (debat­able) cha­risma. One baff­ling Moore-like stunt has Frazier reading Ruhnama excerpts on the New York City subway, after refer­ring to America’s con­sti­tu­tional right to freedom of speech.

Overall, the travelogue approach wears thin pretty early. More prom­ising were inter­views with some Turkmen human-rights act­iv­ists and polit­ical dis­sid­ents. Unfortunately, though, far too much use is made of some crude Flash anim­a­tions cre­ated by the son of one of the act­iv­ists. By the end of the film, we realize that the pair have not been able to put together a single sub­stan­tial inter­view. Though they do get to travel to Turkmenistan on two occa­sions, they have to film clandes­tinely and are really only able to show us some of the massive con­struc­tion pro­jects awarded to the for­eign firms. We learn later that the numerous English-language Turkmen “news­casts” and Ruhnama “reading circles” were re-creations.

There were some important alleg­a­tions uncovered by the film, and some brave and dan­gerous under­cover work was per­formed by a Finnish dip­lomat. Hopefully, some of the material uncovered in the film will lead to changes in cor­porate beha­viour. But as a doc­u­mentary film, I think Shadow of the Holy Book is a bit of a missed opportunity.

Here is the Q&A with dir­ector Arto Halonen and writer Kevin Frazier from after the screening:

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Duration: 16:36

Official site for the film
Trailer
Freedom for Sale, estab­lished by the dir­ectors to focus atten­tion on human rights and free speech issues in dif­ferent coun­tries, starting with Turkmenistan.

6/10(6/10)

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Steypa

Steypa (2007, Directors: Markús Thór Andrésson and Ragnheidur Gestsdóttir): I’m not a con­tem­porary art con­nois­seur by any means, but my reason for choosing Steypa was simple. It’s about Iceland. My hus­band and I are trav­el­ling to the island country in September this year for the Reykjavik International Film Festival, so any chance I get to see the Icelandic cul­ture and envir­on­ment, I jump.

Steypa is an enjoy­able film. The film’s title has two mean­ings. Steypa is the word for con­crete, as in the material used in con­struc­tion. It also can be used to refer to some­thing that is weird, dif­ferent or unusual. And looking at the con­tem­porary art scene in Iceland, weird, dif­ferent or unusual is cer­tainly fit­ting. The dir­ectors focus on seven artists, fol­lowing them as they choose their mater­ials, dis­play their art in gal­leries and work on their cre­ations. Amid the quirky pieces of art, how­ever, I found myself more amused and charmed by the artists them­selves. Or rather, at their Icelandic sense of humour (if you’ve seen films by Icelander Robert Douglas, you’ll know what I mean). One artist fills Fanta bottles with Pepsi, but admits that he is actu­ally using Coke. “It’s cheaper,” he says. Another steals plant clip­pings from a seniors’ apart­ment, noting that no one will really notice if they’re missing.

Even though I would not actu­ally hang any of the artists’ work in my apart­ment, I appre­ciate their focus and integ­rity to their art. There is no limit to their resource­ful­ness and creativity.

The one cri­ti­cism I have is that even though each artist is always titled (through a rather snazzy bit of rainbow-coloured anim­a­tion), I found it rather con­fusing to remember which artist was which. Barring that, Steypa really is true to a North American meaning of con­crete: solid, but with a little weird thrown in.

Trailer

7/10(7/10)

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Beyond Our Ken

Beyond Our Ken (2008, Directors: Melissa Maclean and Luke Walker): I knew this was going to be an inter­esting screening when I started to see leaf­lets in the hands of some of the audi­ence accusing the film­makers of slander and the film of being a fraud. The sub­ject of Beyond Our Ken is an Australian reli­gious move­ment called Kenja, founded in 1982 by Ken Dyers and his wife Jan Hamilton (the name is a com­bin­a­tion of their first names). Now, any move­ment that inspires intense per­sonal loy­alty to one person will often be labelled a cult, and Kenja is almost always referred to in this way in the Australian media. Over the years, the group and Ken Dyers in par­tic­ular have also been the sub­ject of invest­ig­a­tions into alleg­a­tions of child sexual abuse. Directors Maclean and Walker, fresh out of film school, wanted to show the world what Kenja was really about. Was it a cult? What do mem­bers actu­ally believe and prac­tice? Remarkably, they were able to gain intimate access to the group and con­ducted many inter­views with Dyers and Hamilton. They also inter­viewed many former and cur­rent mem­bers to see if the alleg­a­tions had any merit.

What struck me imme­di­ately while watching the film was how sim­ilar the cul­ture, beliefs and prac­tices of Kenja sound to Scientology (including the prac­tice of “energy con­ver­sion” which takes place in private ses­sions between two people, and the use of vocab­u­lary such as “pro­cessing,” “clear,” and “attached spirits”), and lo and behold, according to Wikipedia (granted, not author­it­ative), Dyers was a former Scientologist. His life and work had many par­al­lels with the life of L. Ron Hubbard, including a spotty mil­itary ser­vice record which was later exag­ger­ated for pat­ri­otic effect. The dir­ectors make no men­tion of these par­al­lels, per­haps out of fear of stir­ring up another organ­iz­a­tion, but I think it would have been inter­esting to see what rela­tion­ship exists between the two groups.

Kenja claims to teach a tech­nique for rid­ding a person of neg­ative thoughts and the body of “attached spirits” leading to a gen­eral state of well-being. But toward the end of the film, we wit­ness a com­plete melt­down by Dyers in which he rages about having to defend him­self against charges and alleg­a­tions for more than ten years. The master seems not to have learned from his own tech­niques. Tragically, after a fresh series of sexual abuse alleg­a­tions sur­faced, Dyers took his own life in July 2007, just around the time the film was being completed.

Far from being slan­derous, the film actu­ally seems to go out of its way to give Dyers, Hamilton, and other Kenja prac­ti­tioners time and space to explain them­selves. Clearly, how­ever, they were not happy with the final film, and actu­ally flew two of their mem­bers to Toronto to not only hand out leaf­lets, but to con­duct their own inform­a­tion ses­sion. It will be held Thursday April 24th at 7pm at the OISE Building, Room 2–211, 252 Bloor Street West. I’m hoping that the dir­ectors show up to that since the Kenja people were at the screening. In my recording of the Q&A, Luke Walker lets them ask their ques­tions at the end and I wish it had been able to go on longer. It’s a bit funny, too, that all the protests from Kenja mem­bers will prob­ably just pique people’s interest in the film and give it a wider audience.

Here is the Q&A with dir­ectors Melissa Maclean and Luke Walker from after the screening:

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Duration: 16:14

Official site for the film
Trailer

Kenja’s response to the film. The trailers for their own “mock­u­mentary” seem par­tic­u­larly bizarre.

8/10(8/10)

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Nursery University

Nursery University (2008, Directors: Marc Simon and Matt Makar): Marc Simon and Matt Makar are both single, child­less law­yers who have made a film about the com­pet­itive pro­cess that par­ents in Manhattan face get­ting their chil­dren into the best nursery schools in the city. My wife and I went to see this together, and were expecting to be very annoyed with the sub­jects. You see, we’re also child­less, but after more than a decade together, the issue is far from resolved for us, and we both have strong opin­ions about par­enting. Though Toronto isn’t Manhattan, we do have a sim­ilar cul­ture of older pro­fes­sionals having chil­dren for the first time, and the par­ents’ gen­eral sense of enti­tle­ment is naus­eating. As well, they’re driven by both guilt and fear to try to give their chil­dren every advantage in a very com­pet­itive cul­ture. This type of envir­on­ment usu­ally leads to over­sched­uled and stressed-out chil­dren and par­ents, and doesn’t neces­sarily lead to the desired res­ults of fame and for­tune for the little ones.

But Simon and Makar have a light touch, and even though the par­ents ranged from middle-class bohemians living in Greenwich Village to an obvi­ously super wealthy couple living on the Upper West Side, all of them were sym­path­etic char­ac­ters, with the pos­sible excep­tion of one couple who could serve as the poster chil­dren for “entitled”. All of them knew how ridicu­lous the pro­cess looked, but felt power­less to opt out for fear of put­ting their beloved child at a dis­ad­vantage. And remark­ably, all of the chil­dren seemed bright and, at least in the final cut, well-behaved.

The strength of the film was that it was not just parent-focused. Administrators and teachers from all of the top schools were per­suaded to take part, most at the insist­ence of the remark­able Gabriella Rowe from the pres­ti­gious Mandell School. The pres­sure on these school dir­ectors is enormous, with 15–20 applic­ants for each avail­able space. The situ­ation has been driven by what the dir­ectors refer to as a “post 9/11 baby boom” that has driven tuition rates as high as $20,000 per year and cre­ated a market for “admis­sions con­sult­ants” whose ser­vices can also cost a family sev­eral thou­sand dol­lars. The admin­is­trators in this film sym­pathize with the par­ents, but laugh­ingly dis­miss their wor­ries that not get­ting into the right pre-school will affect their child’s chances of get­ting into the right col­lege one day.

Though we were pre­pared to hate these people, my wife and I found ourselves won­dering what we would do in their shoes. In Canada, at least, our public school system is still rel­at­ively healthy, so we don’t have to worry about which nursery is the right “feeder school” for the primary school we want our child to attend. Large cities like New York also face a tangle of reg­u­la­tions that make starting a new school dif­fi­cult, not to men­tion the price of real estate. For the fore­see­able future, get­ting a child into school in the city is bound to be a stressful and expensive pro­pos­i­tion. Many couples end up forced to move to the sub­urbs, des­pite their desire to raise their chil­dren in the cul­tural rich­ness of New York City.

The film was also careful to bal­ance the stressful pro­cess with the reasons why par­ents endure it. There are many images of the riches of Manhattan, and many more of the joy and delight these chil­dren bring to their par­ents. In the end, these people do it because they love their chil­dren and they love their city, and they’ll do whatever they can to ensure that they can keep both. Good luck to all of them.

Here is the Q&A with dir­ectors Marc Simon and Matt Makar from after the screening:

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Duration: 13:43

Interview with dir­ector Marc Simon in the Wall Street Journal’s Law blog

8/10(8/10)

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The True Meaning of Pictures: Shelby Lee Adams' Appalachia

The True Meaning of Pictures: Shelby Lee Adams’ Appalachia (2002, Director: Jennifer Baichwal): In 2002, Jennifer Baichwal dir­ected this fab­ulous film about Shelby Lee Adams’ con­tro­ver­sial photos of the poor people in the Appalachian Mountains.

Adams was born in Kentucky and has spent 30 years doc­u­menting and pho­to­graphing the poor fam­ilies in the various hollers of Appalachia. He’s become very good friends with some of these fam­ilies and has com­pletely gained their trust.

Most of us would look at Adams’ photos and describe the people in them as hill­bil­lies or “banjo people”, straight out of the film Deliverance. Is he trying to exploit them or is he merely doc­u­menting their way of life?

The sub­jects in Adams’ photos feel that his work is harm­less and a true rep­res­ent­a­tion of their cul­ture. As a viewer, you get the sense that Adams truly feels he is doc­u­menting the Appalachian way of life. Several art critics fea­tured in the film feel oth­er­wise. Adams stages some of his photos and uses the­at­rical lighting to great effect. His work is incred­ibly beau­tiful, com­plex, and more fine art than doc­u­mentary photography.

He’s exhib­ited his photos around the world, sold prints and pub­lished many books about the Appalachian people. He’s become very suc­cessful and made a good living by being a pho­to­grapher. Baichwal doesn’t make any judge­ments in the film. But at a Q&A after­ward, she ques­tioned how people at a Berlin gal­lery of Adams’ work would read his pho­to­graphs while sip­ping cham­pagne and eating smoked salmon. They’re prob­ably going to see the ste­reo­type instead of the friendly people that Adams has gotten to know over the years.

I haven’t men­tioned the slaughter of a hog, the prac­tice of snake hand­ling, pipe smoking gran­nies, inbreeding and the high mor­tality rate up in the Appalachian hills. For that, you’ll have to watch the film and it’s a good one.

9/10(9/10)

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