From the category archives:

Hot Docs

Last Train Home
Editor’s Note: Doc Soup is a monthly doc­u­mentary screening pro­gramme run by the good folks at Hot Docs. It gives audi­ences in Toronto, Calgary, Edmonton and Vancouver their reg­ular doc fix each year from the fall through to the spring, leading up to the Hot Docs fest­ival itself.

Last Train Home (Director: Lixin Fan): China is argu­ably the world’s most important eco­nomy at the moment and the past fifty years have seen incred­ible changes, polit­ic­ally, eco­nom­ic­ally and socially. Many film­makers have emerged from the country, including a number of excel­lent doc­u­ment­arians. Chinese-Canadian Lixin Fan can proudly stand among them with Last Train Home, just his first fea­ture film as director.

In my lim­ited exper­i­ence, to make a great film about China, you must encom­pass the country’s vast­ness, both in terms of geo­graphy and of pop­u­la­tion, but also be able to focus in on indi­vidual stories. In this case, we are intro­duced to the Zhangs, a family of migrant workers, just as the par­ents are about to make their yearly journey home to their vil­lage to cel­eb­rate Chinese New Year. Along with 140 mil­lion other migrant workers, this is often the only occa­sion they get to spend time with their chil­dren and par­ents. Making their way from the indus­trial city in which they work to their vil­lage in the coun­tryside is an exhausting and stressful multi-day journey of more than 2,000 kilo­metres. Traveling by train, bus and ferry boat, they arrive exhausted and are able to spend only a few days with their son Yang (10) and daughter Qin (17), who have grown up under the care of their grandparents.

Despite the eco­nomic real­ities which make it neces­sary for fam­ilies to be divided this way, the Zhangs feel they are doing it so that their chil­dren will have better lives. They con­stantly badger their chil­dren about their grades, per­haps because they really have nothing else to talk about. Daughter Qin is reaching the stage of adoles­cence where she begins to rebel against her par­ents. She com­plains that they’ve essen­tially aban­doned her and her brother and a few months after they’ve returned to the city, she drops out of school to become a migrant worker her­self. The boredom of rural life for a teen­ager looks very dif­ferent from the per­spective of her par­ents who have been away for 16 years working in hor­rific con­di­tions just to provide their kids with this pro­tected upbringing, but that’s lost on Qin, who wants the “freedom” of working in a factory.

While this is a crushing blow for her par­ents, who wanted to see her finish her studies, by the next year, they’re ready to travel home again for the New Year hol­iday. They’ve been pres­suring Qin to return to school, and it looks as though she’s reluct­antly agreed. But this year’s migra­tion is affected by a snowstorm which knocks out the elec­trical grid and delays the trains for days. The scenes of huge crowds pushing each other are har­rowing. While the trip home is a huge hassle at the best of times, it become a ter­ri­fying ordeal when sched­ules don’t run smoothly. When they finally board their train, it’s clear that Qin is not speaking with her par­ents, and she spends the whole trip in sullen silence.

Things come to a head during the hol­iday, and Qin’s insolence leads to a phys­ical con­front­a­tion with her father. Eventually, like all par­ents, they resign them­selves to let­ting Qin go her own way, hoping that son Yang can finish school and sup­port the family. In the mean­time, they return to the city again, back to their mono­tonous factory jobs.

My syn­opsis makes this sound like a fic­tion fea­ture, and for all the intimacy the film­makers achieve, it might as well be. It’s helped tre­mend­ously by some very crisp editing, as well as some sweeping cine­ma­to­graphy of the lush Chinese coun­tryside. Last Train Home suc­ceeds in cap­turing both the epic scale of the changes sweeping today’s China and their impact on the indi­vidual fam­ilies strug­gling with them.

Two addi­tional notes. First the dis­claimer: my com­pany (Kinosmith) is the Canadian dis­trib­utor for this film. And second, the film is headed to the Sundance Film Festival, where it will com­pete in the World Cinema Documentary Competition.

Here is the Q&A with dir­ector Lixin Fan from after the screening:

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (ver­sion 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest ver­sion here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

Duration: 15:48

Official site of the film

9/10(9/10)

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Objectified
This is a very late leftover from Hot Docs but I’m posting it now because I want to give people access to the recorded Q&A as well as to let you know that you can buy the film on DVD and Blu-ray from the offi­cial site.

Objectified (Director: Gary Hustwit): Gary Hustwit was always going to have a hard time fol­lowing up Helvetica. The sheer nov­elty of a doc­u­mentary exam­in­a­tion of a typeface would be hard to top. Instead, Objectified simply takes the first film’s approach and broadens the view­finder. Instead of looking at pieces of text, Hustwit aims his camera at the everyday objects around us. Who designs them, and what goes into the process?

As in the first film, the cam­er­a­work is fant­astic, teasing out gor­geous details in objects we often take for granted. And the inter­views are just as solid and cover a fair spec­trum of design philo­sophies. It’s no longer a nov­elty, but the film is solid and enjoy­able. And it hints at the larger issues that trouble the best designers. That is, do we really need more stuff? What good is a beautifully-designed object that just ends up in a land­fill some­where? I would have liked to dig even deeper into these issues but I do think Hustwit makes a real effort to address the run­away con­sumerism that is the under­lying problem with design fetishism.

I have to draw par­tic­ular atten­tion to the exem­plary job Hustwit does of building a com­munity around his films. His use of the web to pro­mote and sell his work is nothing short of amazing, and if he ever decides to stop making films him­self, I think he has another career teaching film­makers how to con­nect with their audiences.

That being said, I have no desire for him to stop making such beau­tiful and thought-provoking films. He’s prom­ised to wrap up his design tri­logy with his next film, though he’s given no hints yet about the film’s sub­ject. But I can say with con­fid­ence that if you liked the first two, you’re sure to enjoy the next one.

Official site of the film

Here is the Q&A with dir­ector Gary Hustwit from after the screening:

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (ver­sion 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest ver­sion here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

Duration: 19:20

9/10(9/10)

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October Country
Editor’s Note: Doc Soup is a monthly doc­u­mentary screening pro­gramme run by the good folks at Hot Docs. It gives audi­ences in Toronto, Calgary, Edmonton and Vancouver their reg­ular doc fix each year from the fall through to the spring, leading up to the Hot Docs fest­ival itself.

October Country (Directors: Donal Mosher and Michael Palmieri): Photographer Donal Mosher has been cre­ating photo-essays of his family for many years. When cine­ma­to­grapher Palmieri saw them, he sug­gested they make a film. From that simple idea came this lovely, haunting por­trait of a troubled American family. Mosher’s family live in Ilion, a small town in upstate New York, and the film covers a period of one year, begin­ning and ending with Hallowe’en. The title and Hallowe’en theme fit per­fectly, since this is a family that seems haunted by the ghosts of the past.

Patriarch Don is an emo­tion­ally remote Vietnam vet, strug­gling with what he wit­nessed (and per­haps par­ti­cip­ated in). He’s com­pletely estranged from his sister Denise, a lonely Wiccan who has always found solace in other worlds. Don’s wife Dottie seems to be the centre and the rock of the clan, loving everyone even when her hard-bitten wisdom is ignored, which is pretty much all the time. Her daughter Donna, who has become a grand­mother in her thirties, sees her own daughter Danael making exactly the same mis­takes that she once made. Then there’s Desiree, just entering her tur­bu­lent teens and won­dering if she can escape the cycles of des­pair that the rest of the family seem doomed to repeat. Making occa­sional appear­ances (when he’s not in jail or partying with his friends) is Chris, Don and Dottie’s foster son, who has returned their patient love by rob­bing them on more than one occasion.

In this remark­ably intimate film, each family member speaks openly about their troubles, and their efforts to break out of their destructive pat­terns, but some­thing always stops them. It doesn’t help that their town is eco­nom­ic­ally depressed, with the only steady jobs avail­able at the local gun plant. Wal-mart is not only their only place to shop; its parking lot has become some­thing of a town square, where everyone gathers to watch fire­works. Danael escapes one violent rela­tion­ship with her baby’s father only to fall into another one. Her choice of men is as lim­ited as her choice of career. The older mem­bers of the family smoke rue­fully and shake their heads.

And yet. For all the gloom in the film, we can’t help caring deeply for each member of this admit­tedly dam­aged family. They are artic­u­late, honest, and often funny, and we root for them, even when we know that nothing much can really change. Palmieri’s camera catches numerous moments of beauty in the Moshers’ lives, and Dottie admits that even with all the town’s liab­il­ities, it’s still her favourite place to be.

Mosher and Palmieri have allowed us into the lives of people who make up a much larger pro­por­tion of the pop­u­la­tion than movies and tele­vi­sion would ever lead us to believe. Their lives are hard, but not without meaning. The one curious omis­sion in the film is Donal Mosher him­self. It would have been much more inter­esting to see his inter­ac­tions with his family, espe­cially con­sid­ering that he’s one who did “get out” and make his way in the larger world. You’ll hear some of his reas­oning for not appearing in the film in the audio Q&A, but for some­thing that started out so per­sonal, he seemed determ­ined not to impose his own feel­ings onto the film.

October Country is brave and unflinching. It’s inter­esting to note that the film­makers gave the family mem­bers final cut of the film. Their hon­esty and elo­quence in the midst of their troubles dis­play some of the best qual­ities that human beings can embody, and the film is a beau­tiful por­trait of these imper­fect lives.

Here is the Q&A with dir­ectors Donal Mosher and Michael Palmieri from after the screening:

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (ver­sion 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest ver­sion here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

Duration: 14:31

Official site of the film

8/10(8/10)

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The September Issue
Editor’s Note: Doc Soup is a monthly doc­u­mentary screening pro­gramme run by the good folks at Hot Docs. It gives audi­ences in Toronto, Calgary, Edmonton and Vancouver their reg­ular doc fix each year from the fall through to the spring, leading up to the Hot Docs fest­ival itself.

The September Issue (Director: R.J. Cutler): Vogue’s September issue is its largest and most important of the year, and work begins on it almost a year in advance. R.J. Cutler and his small crew were granted unpre­ced­ented access to the pro­cess of put­ting the whole thing together.

The film begins with Vogue’s Editor in Chief Anna Wintour opining that fashion intim­id­ates a lot of people, and there­fore those people mock it. She could very well have been speaking about her­self. Infamously lam­pooned by Meryl Streep in the film The Devil Wears Prada (based on a memoir by a former Vogue intern that por­trays Wintour as a bit of a tyrant), Wintour has a repu­ta­tion for mean­ness and ici­ness that has always seemed a bit undeserved to me. In fact, I’ve always had a bit of a crush on the so-called “Ice Queen.” My wife worked for sev­eral years as a copy editor at a fashion magazine here in Toronto, and her stories have made me feel a lot of sym­pathy for Ms. Wintour. She seems to be someone who doesn’t suffer fools gladly, and the world of fashion seems over­pop­u­lated by fools.

Cutler’s film has only con­firmed my opinion of Wintour, although there are com­par­at­ively few fools on dis­play. When she’s asked late in the film what her greatest strength is, she unhes­it­at­ingly replies, “Decisiveness.” It’s what has pro­pelled her and Vogue to the top of the notori­ously fickle fashion world. She is an editor, someone who is called upon every day to decide between com­peting cre­ative work, and that calls for a cer­tain ruth­less­ness. Fashion is cre­ative, but it’s also a busi­ness, and without someone making hard decisions, Vogue would cer­tainly falter.

We meet two other types of people in The September Issue. The cre­ative and gen­er­ally hard-working people who act as writers, editors, pho­to­graphers, art dir­ectors and designers. And then there are the syco­phants, the air-kissers and ass kissers. The latter type is refresh­ingly more absent than I’d feared, but the examples on dis­play (the buf­foonery of André Leon Talley, the spine­less­ness of design dir­ector Charles Churchward) add a healthy dose of humour to the film, even if we’re cringing as we’re laughing.

The film actu­ally spends more time with Creative Director Grace Coddington than it does with Wintour. The fire to Wintour’s ice, Coddington is a former model who has has worked with Wintour at Vogue for more than twenty years. Despite the fact that she was ini­tially hos­tile to the film­makers, she ends up opening up the most to them, and her pas­sion, cre­ativity and candor warm up the film con­sid­er­ably. One gets the sense that her ongoing battles with the editor over photo shoots are an integral part of what makes the magazine so con­sist­ently excellent.

But back to Wintour for a moment. As she talks about her English upbringing and the achieve­ments of her sib­lings (“What I do amuses them, I think”), what comes through to this Canadian is reserve and per­haps shy­ness (why do you think she wears the sunglasses so often?) rather than any sense of hos­tility. I think Americans are simply a more gregarious people than most, and so her gen­tility comes across as some­thing more sin­ister. She’s con­sid­er­ably more relaxed around her daughter, Bee Shaffer, and the scenes showing her sup­port of young designer Thakoon also showed me a more tender side.

I found The September Issue hugely enjoy­able, both for the inside look into the work of so many people coming together to create the magazine, and also for the revealing por­trayal of the dynamic between a few of the people sur­rounding Anna Wintour. Although she barely lets her guard down, the little bit she does show dis­pels the myth that she’s heart­less. If any­thing, it shows that she’s just incred­ibly busy, and her effi­ciency is a sur­vival tactic. The film has only heightened my respect and admir­a­tion for her. Which is just a fancy way of saying that my crush is not only intact, it’s increasing. When she does finally retire, I des­per­ately hope she’ll write a memoir. Maybe she can call it, Yes, I Wear Prada. You Gotta Problem With That?

The September Issue opens in Toronto on Friday October 23 at the Varsity Cinema.

Interview with Grace Coddington about the film

Official site of the film

9/10(9/10)

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When We Were Boys

When We Were Boys (Director: Sarah Goodman): I was a big fan of Sarah Goodman’s first film Army of One (review) which premiered at Hot Docs in 2004 and so when I saw she had another film at Hot Docs, I was eager to see it. Unfortunately, it’s taken me sev­eral weeks longer than anti­cip­ated to finally sit down and watch it.

When We Were Boys is a vérité por­trait of a private boys’ school here in Toronto, and it par­tic­u­larly focuses on the friend­ship between two boys. Noah is sens­itive and polite, a good stu­dent and a standout in the choir. Colin is louder, more ram­bunc­tious, able to charm his teachers into let­ting him get away with things. We pick up the story in Grade 8, with the boys razzing each other while playing video­games. As Goodman’s camera fol­lows them over the next year, we become immersed in the barely-controlled chaos that is school. Despite the boys’ priv­ilege, they are just as ener­getic and rest­less as any other kids at that age. Many of them try to manip­u­late and charm their teachers, which although it hap­pens else­where, seems par­tic­u­larly men­acing given that within ten years, most of these kids will make more money than their teachers ever will. It’s hard to determine whether their sense of enti­tle­ment is just part of their gen­er­a­tion or whether it has any­thing to do with their fam­ilies’ wealth. Goodman begins the film with a long shot of the pro­ces­sion of expensive cars that drop their sons off each morning, and it very clearly makes the point that these boys are spe­cial. Their teachers drive the point home repeatedly as well, that they have great respons­ib­il­ities to go with their priv­ilege, but of course the mes­sage is lost on 13-year-old boys.

As the film fol­lows the boys into Grade 9, some of the minor char­ac­ters drop into the back­ground even fur­ther as it becomes apparent that Noah is being ostra­cized for some reason. It’s never clear exactly why he’s no longer pop­ular, although it could have some­thing to do with the fact that other stu­dents seem to think his family is wealthier than the rest of them. Noah takes it stoic­ally, but some of the shots of him sit­ting alone at lunch or walking home are heart­breaking. His rejec­tion by Colin is espe­cially painful to watch.

But then sud­denly, the film skips another year into the future, and Noah and Colin are back in Noah’s base­ment playing video­games together. Noah tent­at­ively asks Colin what happened, but doesn’t get an answer. That’s sort of the pos­i­tion the viewer is put in, as well. Goodman has beau­ti­fully cap­tured the energy and shifting alle­gi­ances of boys at this age, but there’s very little sense of the boys’ inner lives. By picking boys rather than girls, she’s staked out par­tic­u­larly dif­fi­cult ter­rain. Boys hardly talk to anyone about what’s going on in their heads at this age, never mind doc­u­mentary film­makers. So all we can see is their out­ward beha­viour, which is guarded and superficial.

The end result is that the viewer is left to pro­ject his own remem­brances of adoles­cence onto the boys. The soundtrack almost encour­ages this, helping the film feel nos­talgic even as events are hap­pening. Ultimately, though, that didn’t feel sat­is­fying to me. Noah seems like a very inter­esting char­acter, and there is one scene where he talks some­what freely to his barber about the expect­a­tions being put on him, but for me that was almost a tease. I sup­pose that wanting to know things the boys them­selves may not know is put­ting unreal­istic expect­a­tions on the film, but I can’t deny that I am still left wanting some­thing more.

Official site of the film

7/10(7/10)

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