Documentaries

Commune

by James McNally on December 23, 2007 · 1 comment

in Documentaries,DVD

Commune

Commune (Director: Jonathan Berman): Black Bear Ranch is 300 acres of land which was pur­chased in 1968 by a group of “hip­pies” who wanted to live com­mun­ally. They raised the $22,000 to pur­chase the land by soli­citing dona­tions from musi­cians like Frank Zappa, The Monkees and The Doors. Jonathan Berman’s film uses archival footage and present-day inter­views with many of the people who chose to abandon what they felt was a cor­rupt American society to try some­thing new.

All of us have heard stories about “hip­pies living in com­munes,” but this is a mostly clear-eyed look at what it was really like. The coun­ter­cul­ture of the 1960s was a mish­mash of dozens of dif­ferent causes, polit­ical move­ments, and reli­gious explor­a­tions, not to men­tion people who were just curious or lonely. What happened when a group of people came together under the slogan “free land for free people” was per­haps pre­dict­able in hind­sight, but in the heady days of coun­ter­cul­tural revolu­tion, they thought any­thing was pos­sible. We meet sev­eral mem­or­able char­ac­ters, prin­cip­ally Richard Marley, who with his wife Elsa was one of the founders of the com­mune. Already in his mid-30s at the time, he might have thought of him­self as a father figure. He’d been a labour organ­izer and was dis­ap­pointed that these ideal­istic young­sters didn’t seem to want to be organ­ized at all. Despite that, he and Elsa decided to stay and see what these “anarch­ists” might teach them. A remark­ably resi­lient com­munity grew out of these humble begin­nings, and though it’s not com­pletely clear from the film, Black Bear Ranch still func­tions in many ways as a com­munity for altern­ative living.

Not that there weren’t a lot of bumps along the way. The group grew beyond Richard and Elsa’s expect­a­tions, and nobody ever really asked what they hoped to achieve. People came to Black Bear for dif­ferent reasons, and because human nature never really changes, idealism was accom­panied by a lot of blind spots and hypo­crisy. There were issues of sexism, racism and classism which were touched on, but I was hoping the film would be more insightful here. Why, for instance, did everyone seem to be white? Why did they all seem to come from affluent homes? The phys­ical labour required in this kind of “back to the land” homesteading revealed men and women reverting back to their tra­di­tional gender roles at first, which caused some con­tro­versy. Soon enough, women were out cut­ting wood with the men. But des­pite that, their exper­i­ments in com­munal par­enting and free love seemed to end in miser­able failure, and many couples even­tu­ally moved away to find schools for their chil­dren. More explor­a­tion of why they thought things went wrong would have helped the film here.

One chilling incident occurred in 1979, when the com­mune invited an itin­erant group called the Shiva Lila to join them. The Shiva Lila had all the trap­pings of a cult, fol­lowing the teach­ings of one man, drop­ping lots of acid and wor­ship­ping chil­dren. After a while, the ori­ginal Black Bear inhab­it­ants had to ask them to leave, a sobering real­iz­a­tion for people who thought everyone could get along.

Human beings are end­lessly ideal­istic, but we are also petty, jealous, power-hungry, lustful, lazy and self-righteous. Jonathan Berman’s film provides a look into the muddled and beau­tiful mess that was the 60s coun­ter­cul­ture. Listening to people with col­ourful names like Cedar, Mahaj, Wakan, Osha, Creek, and Kenoli made me smile. Sure, they were a bit too optim­istic, but they actu­ally went out and tried to live their idealism. It was heart­ening to see that many of these rainbow war­riors are still involved in com­munity act­ivism and social justice, but they’re wistful about those years when it looked like they might actu­ally be able to change the whole world. Perhaps the com­munes of the 21st cen­tury won’t look like Black Bear Ranch, but the people who lived there still have a lot to teach us.

Buy Commune from Amazon.ca

Buy Commune from Amazon.com

Black Bear Ranch web site

7/10(7/10)

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Audience of One

Audience of One (Director: Michael Jacobs): I’m finally reviewing this utterly unique doc­u­mentary that screened at the Toronto After Dark Film Festival way back in October. I was lucky enough to speak to the dir­ector by phone tonight and though my recording is (at this point) almost unus­able (crappy analog “phone taps”!!), I’ll try to work in some of the stuff we talked about into the review proper.

Richard Gazowsky is the pastor of the Voice of Pentecost church in San Francisco, and didn’t see his first movie until he was 40. But what an exper­i­ence it must have been, for soon after he dis­covered the joys of cinema, he exper­i­enced a “divine call” to make the greatest bib­lical epic ever. Audience of One fol­lows Gazowsky as he takes his con­greg­a­tion along on the almost incon­ceiv­able journey of making Gravity, a sci­ence fic­tion epic based on the bib­lical story of Joseph. Though he’s never dir­ected a film before, Gazowsky con­fid­ently takes the reins, and forms WYSIWYG (“What You See Is What You Get”) Christian Film Works. Accustomed to dreaming big, he announces that Gravity will be shot in 70mm at 60 frames per second. Despite an all-volunteer cast and crew, the pro­duc­tion soon decamps to Italy for some loc­a­tion shooting. Many prob­lems ensue, from bad weather to mech­an­ical prob­lems to a gen­eral lack of pre­par­a­tion. Gazowsky presses on, con­fident that God wants him to com­plete the film.

Michael Jacobs’ camera cap­tures the drama over a period of 18 months, from the con­fident begin­ning through the trials of pro­duc­tion and finally to what appears to be Gazowsky’s very public melt­down. Throughout, the pastor seems like an affable man, albeit a little obsessed with the idea of being a film­maker. Mysteriously prom­ised European funding fails to mater­i­alize, the bills pile up and the erstwhile dir­ector becomes more and more para­noid, sus­pecting the major stu­dios of trying to steal his script. The whole enter­prise spins fur­ther out of con­trol and by the film’s end, it appears that Richard Gazowsky has painted him­self into a corner. His obses­sion is com­pounded by his faith that God wants him to devote his life to making this film.

Though it doesn’t shy away from the reli­gious aspects of Gazowsky’s “quest,” this is really a uni­versal char­acter study. We see the pastor’s mother, a preacher her­self who founded the church, haunting the pro­ceed­ings with a sad look on her face. “I never should have turned the church over to him,” she laments. Gazowsky is a familiar char­acter, reminding me of Klaus Kinski’s indelible Fitzcarraldo and Harrison Ford’s Allie Fox (from The Mosquito Coast). But in this case, Gazowsky’s pride is unas­sail­able since he claims to be doing God’s work. But it also means he can never admit he was wrong.

Jacobs told me that Gazowsky has sup­ported the film and even par­ti­cip­ated in some Q&A ses­sions after screen­ings. But instead of admin­is­tering a much-needed wake-up call, it seems to have re-energized him to con­tinue raising funds to com­plete the film. Despite the immense amount of time and money spent already, only two scenes have been com­pleted, and although they weren’t shown in the film, Jacobs prom­ises to include them on the DVD release.

It seems ironic that, des­pite the title of his film being Gravity, nothing seems to be able to bring Richard Gazowsky back down to earth.

Official site for the film

8/10(8/10)

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

A Table In Heaven (2007, Director: Andrew Rossi): Sirio Maccioni first opened Le Cirque in New York in 1974, after years and years of working his way up from busboy to waiter to maître d’hôtel. His star rose through the 70s and 80s and the res­taurant attracted the rich and famous, including Henry Kissinger, Pope John Paul II and President Ronald Reagan. But as the film begins in 2004, the place has grown a bit stale, and the crowd of old reg­u­lars (and the emphasis is clearly on “old”) are dying off and no new cus­tomers are repla­cing them. Sirio decides to close and reopen in a new loc­a­tion. With his three sons Marco, Mario and Mauro, he sets out to plot the future of the family busi­ness. A new res­taurant will be a fresh start, with a new loc­a­tion, a new chef, a new menu, and a new atti­tude. At least that’s what the younger gen­er­a­tion wants. Sirio is from the old school, though, and is not willing to give up his micro­man­aging ways. Andrew Rossi’s camera was there to cap­ture it all: Sirio’s charming tale of an uneducated Tuscan immig­rant made good, his years of building rela­tion­ships with New York City’s most rich and famous den­izens, the gradual fading of his repu­ta­tion, and then his family’s often frac­tious effort to get their groove back. Though it seems at times like a par­tic­u­larly rancorous episode of the Food Network’s Opening Soon, there are greater forces at work in the Maccioni story. Sirio com­plains bit­terly of get­ting old, and refuses to retire. And yet the res­taurant cul­ture has changed and passed him by. His sons recog­nize this and want des­per­ately to attract a younger cli­en­tele, but Sirio’s loy­alty is to the people who helped him make it, and it hurts his new ven­ture. Resistance to change is really about the fear of obli­vion (through death and for­get­ting) and Sirio’s struggle is one that all of us can understand.

Luckily, the story doesn’t end when the film does, and it appears that the new Le Cirque is finally adapting to the new envir­on­ment. Instead of singling out celebrities and treating everyone else as second-class cit­izens, the new cul­ture prefers that everyone have the same exper­i­ence, and from all accounts, they’re trying. The menu has been freshened as well, des­pite Sirio’s objec­tions. A bad review from the New York Times, along with the footage of the opening, made it pain­fully obvious that the res­taurant needs more than nos­talgia and a cha­ris­matic owner to appeal to the new gen­er­a­tion of diners.

Rossi has cap­tured more than a res­taurant or a family story. He’s given us a glimpse of a man on the run from his own mor­tality, a man who’s cul­tiv­ated “friend­ships” among the most vis­ible and powerful only to realize that it won’t save him in the end. It’s heart­breaking and a little bit ter­ri­fying. For me, the most sat­is­fying moments are not in the res­taurant at all, but around the table when Sirio’s long­suf­fering wife Egidiana serves up a simple meal of pasta to the whole family. It’s a shame that the man has so little time for that sort of meal.

Here is the Q&A with dir­ector Andrew Rossi from after the screening. Hot Docs/Doc Soup pro­grammer Sean Farnel mod­er­ates and asks the first few ques­tions himself:

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: 13:46

Official site for the film

7/10(7/10)

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Heima

Heima (Director: Dean De Blois, 2007): Ever since Bob blogged about the trailer way back in August, I’ve been des­perate to see this film. Screenings have been care­fully con­trolled, and I was for­tu­nate to attend the first Canadian screening last night. Although the film was released on DVD a few days ago, there is really no com­par­ison to seeing a film like this on a big screen with a decent sound system, among a group of like-minded music fans. Sigur Rós is a band from Iceland whose music is nearly indes­crib­able. It’s orches­tral and epic and spir­itual and beau­tiful and moving. I’d seen the band per­form at Massey Hall a few years ago, and I’d com­pared the exper­i­ence to “seeing God.” The film does not disappoint.

First of all, des­pite the film­makers’ stated desire to avoid the “touristy” shots of Iceland, it’s impossible to make the country look any­thing but breath­taking. My wife and I plan to visit in 2008, and this just got me even more excited. I liked the way the film travels with the band to dif­ferent places in the country to per­form free con­certs for the pop­u­la­tion. And I loved that everyone came, from babies to grand­par­ents. It reminded me of my travels in Newfoundland, where even­ings at the pub were attended by almost everyone. The music was superb, and by the time I fin­ished watching the film, it was quite pos­sible to believe that Sigur Rós is the only band that mat­ters. The inter­views with the band mem­bers didn’t add a lot in terms of insight into the music itself, but it was nice to see them in relaxed set­tings speaking their quirkily-accented English.

I will say without shame that I dozed a little at cer­tain points. That’s not an insult to the music or the imagery. It just felt like the line between waking and dreaming was so thin that was easier to cross over. It didn’t hurt/help that the screening began at 11:15pm and that I’d spent the early part of the evening drinking beer.

I’ll look for­ward to seeing this again and again when my DVD arrives, but I’d recom­mend trying to see this in a cinema if you can.

Buy from Amazon.ca

Buy from Amazon.com

Official site for the film (US)

Official site for the film (UK)

9/10(9/10)

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

Manda Bala (Send a Bullet) (Director: Jason Kohn): First-time dir­ector Jason Kohn’s film was a con­tro­ver­sial winner of the Grand Jury Prize at Sundance this past year, and after seeing it, I can under­stand why. It’s a travelogue of sorts, whisking us around Brazil to talk to police, politi­cians, pro­sec­utors, busi­nessmen, vic­tims of kid­nap­ping, and even a kid­napper him­self. The film’s tagline is “When the rich steal from the poor, the poor steal the rich” and the basic out­line is that it’s a film about a cul­ture of theft. We see all the pre­cau­tions the rich are forced to take to avoid the ransom kid­nap­pings that are now wide­spread in cities like Sao Paolo. They buy bul­let­proof cars, they take heli­copters and con­tem­plate implanting micro­chips under their skin. We hear from a kidnap victim who had both of her ears sliced off, a common tactic of the kid­nap­pers to show how ser­ious they are. Kidnapping is such a growth industry that now plastic sur­geons have developed ways of cre­ating new ears from rib car­tilage. On the other hand, we’re intro­duced to cor­rupt politi­cian Jader Barbalho, whose graft included the estab­lish­ment of frog farms to launder gov­ern­ment grant money. Recurring images of the frogs, including a mem­or­able sequence of one frog devouring another, seem to work as a crude meta­phor. With a pop­u­la­tion of 20 mil­lion, Sao Paolo’s res­id­ents are just as crammed together as the hap­less frogs, and the res­ulting anarchy is almost inevitable.

Kohn’s film is full of start­ling and often beau­tiful imagery, and his con­scious decision to shoot on film and in ana­morphic widescreen tells me a lot. Along with a jaunty soundtrack of Brazilian samba, the gor­geous images look better than they have a right to. I caught myself asking whether a film about such ugli­ness had a right to look so pretty. And I think that’s where my problem with the film lies. It feels like a carefully-constructed object that was planned around aes­thetic, rather than moral, con­cerns. It looks great, but I’m just not sure there’s a real heart to the film. Many of the director’s choices seem cal­cu­lated to dis­tance the viewer from the hor­rors he’s observing. For instance, Kohn made the decision to forego sub­titles in many of the inter­views, including the kidnap victim’s. Instead, we hear the dia­logue in Brazilian Portuguese, and then hear the trans­la­tion in English from the trans­lator, who is also in the frame with the sub­ject. It’s a strange effect. As well, there is no attempt at any ana­lysis of the prob­lems of Brazil, other than a throwaway line about how the Portuguese estab­lished Brazil simply to plunder it.

I remember hearing as a young stu­dent about how Brasilia was designed from the ground up as the new cap­ital of Brazil, and the film does convey some of the tar­nished futur­istic optimism that was coming out of the country in the 60s and 70s. Kohn described the film as a kind of “non-fiction science-fiction” film, and I think he does a pass­able job of con­veying the feeling that Sao Paolo’s sin­ister land­scape may soon seem very familiar to the rest of us.

But I’m still con­vinced that this is more an exer­cise in style than substance.

7/10(7/10)

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