family

Kati with an I
Kati with an I is screening on Monday February 14 at 8pm at the Big Sky Documentary Film Festival in Missoula, Montana.

Kati with an I (Director: Robert Greene): Shot mostly over a tumul­tuous three-day period leading up to Kati’s high school gradu­ation, this moving por­trait, dir­ected by her older half-brother, offers an intimate window into one par­tic­ular life at one par­tic­ular time and in the pro­cess achieves a beau­tiful sense of uni­ver­sality. By cut­ting in older home movies of his sister, Greene makes the documentarian’s cap­ture of passing time even more poignant. We see this con­fident little girl growing into a slightly less-confident young woman on the verge of leaving her rural Alabama hometown and her child­hood friends.

Her sense of panic mani­fests itself most keenly in her clinging attach­ment to boy­friend James, a sens­itive young man a few years older who’s con­tent to work at the local McDonald’s. After gradu­ation, she’s moving to North Carolina to rejoin her par­ents and attend col­lege, and she’s insistent that James come with her. He’s clearly hes­itant to leave his own family, but pro­fesses his love with seeming sin­cerity. Yet her des­per­a­tion seems to para­lyze him, and he can’t promise her when they’re going to leave. Graduation day approaches, and her par­ents are coming to see her. They want her to return with them, but she’s ter­ri­fied that if she leaves without James, he won’t follow.

The camera trails her every­where in these emo­tion­ally fraught days, as she enjoys pre­cious time with friends she may lose forever and as she pre­pares to face an unknown future as an “adult.” Seeing the shots of her as a younger child rein­forces the fact that in many ways, she hasn’t grown up. This rite of pas­sage seems an absurd and arti­fi­cial border into an adult­hood she doesn’t want to enter just yet. Clinging to James is her adoles­cent equi­valent of clinging to a teddy bear. Her romantic illu­sions about James are intact but she seems aware that they’re pre­carious. There are some abso­lutely lovely moments of them together, espe­cially when the two join in singing along to a CD of “their song” while riding in the car. The pres­ence of her older brother, even unseen, cap­turing these fleeting moments adds depth to the moment and makes it nos­talgic even as it’s hap­pening. The whole film is suf­fused with a keen sense of these moments passing away even as they’re captured.

Despite the fact that this is a deeply per­sonal film, and that the sound and video quality are at times uneven, there is a lot to love about Kati with an I. Like a few other recent docs (October Country, Billy the Kid, 45365, The Way We Get By), this film shows us a part of America not usu­ally seen in the movies: rural, white, deeply reli­gious and con­ser­vative, full of flawed but genuine people trying to get by. And by turning the camera onto a member of his own family, Greene is expressing some­thing of his own feel­ings about his roots. Although some may find the film uncom­fort­ably intrusive, it’s never exploit­ative. On the con­trary, Kati with an I is a powerful expres­sion of love, from a brother to a sister, from an adult to a child, and from an urban soph­ist­icate to his rural roots. It’s moving and lovely and par­tic­u­larly alive. Like Kati.

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Life With Murder

Life With Murder (Director: John Kastner): 20-year-old Mason Jenkins murdered his 18-year-old sister with mul­tiple shotgun blasts to the head on January 6, 1998. The crime occurred in the home he resided in with his only sib­ling and par­ents, in the small town of Chatham, Ontario, and Mason was con­victed of first-degree-murder after his shaky alibi was deemed not cred­ible. Mason main­tained his inno­cence until 2007, when he finally relented and provided a strange, irra­tional reason for having shot his sister, with whom he’d appar­ently always been close. Despite the hell their son put them through, the par­ents, Leslie and Brian, still choose to keep him in their lives, making reg­ular visits to Mason at Warkworth Institution, a medium-security cor­rec­tional facility.

Director/writer/producer John Kastner, a three-time Emmy winner, has a ver­it­able gold­mine of bizarre, intriguing details to work with in Life With Murder, with a fairly equal bal­ance given to both a dis­sec­tion of the crime, and its con­sequences and after­math. Neither side is easy to watch, espe­cially the latter. Kastner presents a thor­ough probing of the case, having gained access to police inter­rog­a­tion videos, the 911 call, crime scene doc­u­ment­a­tion, and inter­views with detect­ives from the case. The inter­rog­a­tion videos are quite fas­cin­ating to watch, but the inter­views with the grieving par­ents, some from just mere hours after the murder occurred, are dis­turbing and uncom­fort­able viewing. The fact that the mother her­self made repeated requests to the Chatham police to release the tapes for inclu­sion in the film doesn’t make the exper­i­ence of watching them feel any less invasive or wrong.

Credit Kastner with dig­ging deep to uncover pre­vi­ously unheard details about the case, including an explor­a­tion of Mason’s belated con­fes­sion, not to men­tion a blind­siding bomb­shell about the crime that ratchets up the creep factor by sev­eral notches. Despite the rich ingredi­ents with which it has to work, Kastner’s movie left me feeling unful­filled and empty, like it should have had much more of an impact. Leslie’s state­ment that “you don’t throw a kid away” and the uncon­di­tional love she and Brian have for Mason, even after what he did (and espe­cially after that bomb­shell, which I won’t spoil) just seem totally at odds with logic and reason, and only added to my frus­tra­tion with the movie. Another mys­tery: the par­ents never moved out of the home where the murder took place. The film also ends up playing as some­thing less cine­matic and more suited to tele­vi­sion, like an extended ver­sion of the CBC’s “The Fifth Estate” (which isn’t a knock on that pro­gram, as they do a lot of excel­lent work).

Official site of the film

5/10(5/10)

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Family Tree (L'arbre et la forêt)
Family Tree (L’arbre et la forêt) screens on Friday May 28 at 7:15pm at the ROM Theatre. Buy tickets here.

Family Tree (L’arbre et la forêt) (Directors: Olivier Ducastel and Jacques Martineau): Tackling issues of gen­er­a­tional mani­fest­a­tions of repressed iden­tity and their reper­cus­sions, along with notions of the self as a con­struct of per­sonal his­tor­ical sig­ni­fiers, Family Tree gives a layered, subtle and thoughtful look at three gen­er­a­tions of a family built on deceitful, but sin­cere, inten­tions. While decidedly dif­ferent in its alleg­or­ical implic­a­tions, defying the notion of estate as dying legacy and ignoring glob­al­iz­a­tion out­right, under­stand­ably, it shares styl­istic and them­atic sim­il­ar­ities to Olivier Assayas’s recent mas­ter­piece, Summer Hours (review).

Likewise, this tale of unspoken angst takes place almost entirely at a lush and capa­cious estate, here sur­rounded by a family tree plant­a­tion. Aging grand­par­ents Frederick (Guy Marchand) and Marianne (Francoise Fabian) Muller plan the divi­sion of wealth between their sur­viving son Guillaume (Francois Negret) and grand­daughter Delphine (Sabrina Seyvecou), selling off a por­tion of their forest to take a trip to the South Pole while they still have time.

Things open with the funeral of Charles, Delphine’s father, which Frederick skips much to the dis­ap­point­ment and rage of other family mem­bers. What they don’t know, and soon learn, is that this father and son pairing hated each other, mainly due to a secret that Frederick has long hidden from his family.

In sheer virtue of this film playing at a gay and les­bian film fest­ival, we can guess what that secret might be, but this is less a film about homo­sexu­ality than it is about not let­ting your past, or labels, over­take who you are, or the legacy you’ve built. It shows a dys­func­tional but caring family trying to under­stand each other without having the lan­guage, or shared under­standing, to do so. And in this, the appeal is uni­versal, whether it is pri­or­it­izing inan­imate accu­mu­lated objects, or eso­teric notions of hap­pi­ness, dif­fering and shared per­spect­ives unite and dis­tance these people with equal gravity.

Some family exchanges can feel a little too on-the-nose and expos­i­tional, with Marianne pointing out to her ex-daughter-in-law that she wasn’t entirely a passive victim without a great deal of sub­tlety, and the par­allel of self-hatred in Frederick and Guillaume being all but shown in point form. But this doesn’t hurt the overall effect of a quiet, gorgeously-filmed and well-acted story of finding one’s place in a world con­stantly cat­egor­izing and imposing morality.

If the meta­phor of a family tree looming over the family house with slight instability seems trite, this exer­cise in reclam­a­tion and let­ting go is nothing of the sort, offering a com­pas­sionate glimpse at flawed people doing their best to work with what life has offered.

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The Kids Grow Up

The Kids Grow Up (Director: Doug Block): Personal film­making at its rawest, The Kids Grow Up is some­thing of a follow-up to Doug Block’s pre­vious film, 51 Birch Street. In the earlier film, Block explored his par­ents’ mar­riage and how his mother and father’s choices had affected him and his sis­ters as adults. It was also a film about get­ting to know your par­ents as people and not just as the roles they played in your upbringing. In his latest film, he explores how his daughter Lucy’s impending depar­ture for col­lege is affecting him and his wife Marjorie. Both films are about let­ting people break free of their familial roles, but in this one, it’s less about uncov­ering a mys­tery and more about dealing head-on with the pas­sage of time.

Since he is a doc­u­mentary film­maker, he’s been filming his daughter since she was a baby and so he has an abund­ance of material to show her growing up. I par­tic­u­larly liked a sequence where from behind the camera, he asks his daughter, then 10 years old, “How was your child­hood?”. The quick-witted Lucy doesn’t miss a beat. “Daddy, I’m 10 years old. I’m still a child!” The dir­ector isn’t quite as self-aware, at least until it dawns on him that Lucy’s leaving home must signal the end of his own arrested adoles­cence. In his zeal to be the polar opposite of his own dis­tant father, he’s become his daughter’s “buddy” and is feeling her very neces­sary sep­ar­a­tion from him as aban­don­ment. To make mat­ters worse, Marjorie, who had seemed more at ease with the trans­ition, sud­denly suf­fers a major depressive episode and can barely leave her bed for sev­eral months. Doug’s help­less­ness during this period made me think that his real anxiety over Lucy’s depar­ture was about how his rela­tion­ship with Marjorie would change. They would no longer have Lucy as a shared focus, but would instead be back to focusing on each other.

The Kids Grow Up

The Kids Grow Up is a wonderfully-edited film that doc­u­ments an important time in the life of Lucy Block, but more import­antly, it doc­u­ments a time of mat­ur­a­tion for her father. Lucy comes across throughout the film (even as a young child) as remark­ably self-assured and inde­pendent. We know that she will be fine at col­lege, and wherever she goes after that. But along with her father, we mourn her child­hood a little bit, knowing that she has to leave it behind. She doesn’t need the film to help her grow up, but we come to realize that it’s an important mile­stone for Doug. In mourning her childhood’s passing, he’s also mourning his own, but it helps him enter into a new phase of adult­hood. By the end, he’s even becoming more com­fort­able calling him­self grand­father to his stepson’s little boy. When I first heard the title of this film, I thought it was just an expres­sion that par­ents used when they spoke to each other. But I came to realize that in the case of Doug Block and his daughter Lucy, he was talking about two kids, his daughter and him­self. And it’s almost as much fun watching the father grow up as the little girl.

Official site of the film

8/10(8/10)

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Last Train Home
Update — January 2011: I’m happy to report that KinoSmith is releasing the film on DVD in March 2011. Order your copy here.
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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