poverty

Waste Land

Waste Land (Director: Lucy Walker): Last summer in Toronto we had a garbage strike, and after a few weeks garbage began being piled up in out­door skating rinks and other city prop­erty. Suddenly our trash wasn’t some­thing we could throw away and forget about; we were living next to it, and it stunk. I sin­cerely hoped that when the strike was settled, people wouldn’t forget the images and the smells, and that it might lead to a more thoughtful approach to recyc­ling, com­posting and other ways of redu­cing the amount of stuff we toss away. I’m sad to say that the cit­izens of our city went right back to our old ways, but it’s always good to be reminded about our garbage. Lucy Walker’s film does that and a whole lot more.

Brooklyn-based but Brazilian-born artist Vik Muniz grew up poor on the streets of Sao Paolo. Now suc­cessful beyond his wildest dreams, he decides that he wants to give some­thing back to the poor of his home­land. Always an innov­ator in using inter­esting mater­ials in his art, he becomes inter­ested in the Jardim Gramacho, Rio de Janeiro’s (and indeed the world’s) largest land­fill. At this massive facility, “pickers” are paid to extract recyc­lable mater­ials from the enormous moun­tains of trash. Like worker ants, they swarm over each new load of garbage as it is dumped. There are 3,000 of these pickers, and they are rep­res­ented by an asso­ci­ation, headed by the cha­ris­matic Tiao. We meet Tiao along with a whole group of pickers who will become par­ti­cipants in Muniz’s most ambi­tious pro­ject to date. He will use garbage to con­struct large-scale por­traits of some of the pickers, posed as if they were in classic paintings.

Along the way, we dis­cover that the pickers have a rich sub­cul­ture, and while some are proud of their work, others long to leave the dump. Many were part of lower-middle-class fam­ilies until unex­pected tra­gedies forced them into a life of scav­en­ging. Many have worked at the land­fill since they were chil­dren, and they claim with dig­nity that they do honest work, and that is better than selling drugs or pros­ti­tuting them­selves like so many other poor Brazilians.

As the pickers col­lab­orate with Muniz on the huge mosaics, he tells them of his plan to sell pho­to­graphic prints and return all the money to them. But quite apart from the money, the oppor­tunity to use the mater­ials they work with every day to create art has a pro­found effect on them. Some find new dig­nity in what they do, while others gain the con­fid­ence to leave picking to try some­thing else. While I was slightly ambi­valent about Muniz using these people as material for his work, Walker wisely includes a scene where he and his wife and col­leagues argue about just this topic. In the end, he feels that doing any­thing is better than doing nothing, and I tend to agree.

One of the very beau­tiful themes of the film is that art is trans­form­ative. Muniz talks about that moment when the raw mater­ials (paint, sand, even garbage) is trans­formed into some­thing dif­ferent. When we look at a painting, for instance, we move closer and fur­ther from the canvas to observe this effect, and with Muniz’ giant trash mosaics, the effect is even more pro­nounced. But quite apart from the lit­eral meaning, we can see that the raw mater­ials of these pickers’ lives are being trans­formed by this pro­cess into some­thing even more beau­tiful than paintings.

Reminiscent of Born Into Brothels, Waste Land will hope­fully have just as pro­found an effect on the lives of at least a few of its participants.

Official site of the film

Here is the Q&A with dir­ector Lucy Walker and pro­ducer Angus Aynsley from after the screening, con­ducted by Hot Docs Director of Programming Sean Farnel:

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Duration: 21:21

9/10(9/10)

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Wendy and Lucy

Wendy and Lucy (2008, Director: Kelly Reichardt): I had heard a lot about Kelly Reichardt after her last film Old Joy won both crit­ical acclaim and a number of awards. Though I still haven’t seen it (what? another film I haven’t seen? someone’s about to revoke my film blogger’s union mem­ber­ship soon!), I’ve been led to believe it shares a sim­ilar slow and med­it­ative pace with her latest film. But while Old Joy examined the nature of male friend­ships, Wendy and Lucy explores darker ter­ritory. Michelle Williams plays Wendy Carroll, a young woman on her way from Indiana to Alaska, where she hopes to pick up a well-paying job in a can­nery. Though we get hardly any back­story, it’s clear that Wendy is from a poor family and has a lim­ited edu­ca­tion. We watch as she care­fully tal­lies her cash and keeps a record of her spending. She’s very much alone on this journey, except for her dog Lucy, who seems more like a family member than anyone she’s left behind. An unlucky car break­down in a small rural town in Oregon leads to a dis­astrous chain of events that tears away the shock­ingly thin sense of security Wendy clings to. First she loses Lucy, and then has to leave the car in for repairs. In one fell swoop, she’s lost her family and her home (she’d been saving money by sleeping in her car). It’s very clear from Reichardt’s film how pro­foundly rural life has changed in the last fifty years or so. Everyone she encoun­ters is either indif­ferent or hos­tile, with the excep­tion of a fath­erly security guard, and even his modest attempts at kind­ness seem creepy in light of the town’s over­whelming inhos­pit­ality. So much for the kind­ness of strangers.

Despite the rel­ative lack of dia­logue, there are a few choice lines in the script. A super­market employee sneers, “If a person can’t afford dog food, they shouldn’t own a dog.” And when Wendy asks the security guard for change to use the payphone, he hands her his cell­phone instead, observing that “no one uses a payphone any­more.” I’ve been reading a lot of James Howard Kunstler’s books lately, and his cri­tique of sub­urbia rings very true in this film. Car cul­ture has des­troyed our sense of com­munity, and tech­no­logy has only suc­ceeded in sep­ar­ating us from our neigh­bours. Wendy has been told by her gov­ern­ment that she’s on her own, that she should pull her­self up by her own boot­straps, and she is willing to try. But what if some­thing unex­pected hap­pens. Don’t we all need a little help some­times? The thought that kept run­ning through my head was that if this could happen to a pretty white girl with a cute dog, then what about a Hispanic single mother, or a black man? These are the people who are strug­gling right in front of our eyes, and our indif­fer­ence or hos­tility is con­demning them to dif­fi­cult and lonely lives.

Michelle Williams is never less than com­pel­ling in this unglam­orous role. I’d been impressed with the depth she brought to her sup­porting role in Brokeback Mountain, but here she’s in every frame. Her stoicism and determ­in­a­tion barely cover her vul­ner­ab­ility and loneli­ness. In one scene, she’s con­fronted in the middle of the night by a deranged home­less man. As he demands she keep silent, her eyes express the terror of not knowing whether she’ll live or die. After he leaves, she quickly gathers up her things and runs back into town. As she enters a gas sta­tion restroom, her break­down is heart-wrenching. The film’s ending is ambiguous, which under the cir­cum­stances is the best way it could have ended. People like Wendy are sur­vivors, and with or without friend­ship or sup­port, they’ll go on. Hopefully, this por­trait of one of the “invis­ible” poor among us will help us to pay a little more attention.

Here is the Q&A with dir­ector Kelly Reichardt from after the screening:

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Duration: 15:45

8/10(8/10)

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