about Ken Burns' film "The Roosevelts"

Ken Burns' most recent entry in the American encyclopedia is "The Roosevelts: An Intimate History." This film constructs a narrative of Theodore and Franklin and Eleanor Roosevelt. Teddy, a Republican, served as 26th President of the United States, and Franklin, a Democrat, the 32nd. The documentary film begins with the birth of Theodore in 1858 and ends with the death of Eleanor in 1962. The production is superior, fueled with solid writing, crisp pacing, and sharp editing.

The film relies on loose eye-witness accounts from the Roosevelt's family and friends and the speculation and psychoanalysis of historical writers, such as Doris Kearns Goodwin and David McCullough, whose work sells because they dramatize history. The first episode inscribes an origin story for each future President. The narrative willingly indulges the Great Man theory, that idea that history is the result of the charisma, intelligence, and skill of the heroes and giants of the age. In the case of the Roosevelt Presidents as depicted in this documentary, both are born sickly and, merely by living, miraculously defy death. Describing baby Franklin in the arms of his mother, the narration quotes a family member who likens the pair to a Madonna with child. Rather than simply say that the family was proud of their kin, this testimony is treated as bearing some deeper insight and truth. In another segment, the narrative depicts Teddy's time in the badlands as a trial from which he emerged transformed, like Jesus returning from the desert.

something about the documentary film "Into the Abyss" by Werner Herzog

In his review of "Into the Abyss," Roger Ebert starts off with this:

"Into the Abyss" may be the saddest film Werner Herzog has ever made. It regards a group of miserable lives, and in finding a few faint glimmers of hope only underlines the sadness.

Well said. And here, at this cross-stitch of crime and poverty, the value of life runs threadbare.

Herzog documents the people and events surrounding a triple homicide in the small city of Conroe, Texas. The crime is violent and pointless, the sentences inconsistent and accidental. We hear from the convicted suspects, the families, investigators, and prison staff. With this crowd, Herzog has stumbled into a special kind of poor--a subculture of white, angry desperation that doesn't seem to know any other way. Herzog's approach is distanced, and he rations his usual pithy but insightful commentary.

When I think of an abyss, I think of a space in which blackness persists where the eye looks for light. The film's most glaring abyss is death row inmate Michael Perry: Seeing his youthful face, we expect--almost demand--him to show us something redeeming, something innocent. But it never comes. He is incapable probably of redemption or innocence.

But an abyss is also marked by its limitlessness, and even in this senseless loss, the victims' family attempts to salvage something. And another glimmer of hope (for those opposed to capital punishment) comes from a Death Row guard's turn away from death in favor of a universal right to life.

This is a very fine documentary, an effective and subtly powerful example of the form. Through Herzog's lens, overarching pointlessness and defeat lie naked. Presented with the abyss of the human soul, we find two thoughts juxtaposed: (1) No one has the right to take a life, and (2) some people don't deserve to live. There is no answer. Just traces of a spirit deeply buried within flaws and sad stories.

about "Believing Is Seeing" by Errol Morris

In Believing Is Seeing, Errol Morris investigates our relationship with photos--how we view them and what they mean to us. He uses several well-known photographs to flesh out some solid insights. One of the first insights is that we tend to look for motivations in a picture. What was the photographer trying to say? What is the guilt or innocence of the person in the picture? But Morris dismisses such attempts to infer anything beyond what the picture shows. Photos, he says, merely record data. But because we privilege vision, we imagine that photos provide a door to the truth. And in our imagining, we make false inferences and draw hasty, faulty conclusions.

Morris also questions and ultimately dismisses the idea that posed photos cannot serve as documentation and are inauthentic; the fact that something is always excluded from view (intentionally or not) while other things are included means that all pictures are posed to some degree. (This vein of discussion mirrors parts of modern rhetorical theory.)

Most of Believing Is Seeing is a super interesting read. My only complaint is that Morris strayed too far into the weeds in the last section when he forensically examines a set of documentary photos and their related documentation from public works projects of the Depression. 


Note:
The book's full title is Believing Is Seeing: Observations On the Mysteries of Photography.

About "Going Solo: The Extraordinary Rise and Surprising Appeal of Living Alone" by Eric Klinenberg

Klinenberg wants us to know this is a big deal--"the most significant demographic shift since the Baby Boom—the sharp increase in the number of people who live alone". And the volume and proliferation of these people, annoyingly called "singletons" here, has never happened before. The book attributes the shift to four eco/techno/socio-cultural developments: (1) women's lib, (2) conveniences of technology, (3) longer lifespans, and, the biggest factor, (4) increased urbanization.

Klinenberg's revelation is that, rather than worry about this increased atomization making a nation of shut-in brats, we should see this as a neutral or even ultimately positive thing because these singletons are healthy, happy, and engaged. Indeed one of the book's big goals is to dispel myths and assumptions about people who choose to be alone. In support the book rallies scores of miniature profiles of singletons, quoting and amassing their differing and converging impressions and reasons. These mini bios also try and humanize the subject, to make flesh and blood out of a growing mass of loners.

The book's message is inherently anti-climactic: Hey, this is happening but it's OK (as long as we govern accordingly). I guess this is why I found the book so dull.

Two documentaries, one with humanity

Recently watched Grizzly Man directed by Werner Herzog. Along with filmed interviews of people in and around the action, Herzog uses footage shot by Timothy Treadwell during the thirteen seasons he lived amongst wild grizzly bears in Alaska. We are shown that Treadwell is a troubled man; we see him cuddling a fox in one scene, awestruck by bear dung in the next, and later we see him in a tent, cursing God in Heaven for the drought. This film works for me.

I was especially interested in hearing Herzog's reflections--he has a quiet infatuation with Treadwell and his footage. Throughout the film, Herzog's voice-over describes the story as he sees it. And he sees a great deal.

Treadwell gained measurable fame by living with the bears, and now he has become immortal largely because he died with them when one ate him in 2003.

I enjoyed this documentary much more than I did The Parking Lot Movie. The latter gives voice to the various attendants working in a busy college town parking lot. There is a two-way street of dehumanization traveled by these drivers and the attendants.