Kim Novak’s Vertigo, on DVD

Sadly, with the recent death of Eva Marie Saint, she and Tippi Hendren are the last living classic Hitchcock blondes. Frankly, Kim Novak probably remains the most iconic of them all, thanks to Hitchcock’s classic 1958 psychological thriller, even though she only has 34 IMDb acting credits. Nevertheless, her early semi-retirement was very likely a healthy life-choice. She largely sees it that way herself, as she explains at length to Alexandre O. Philippe in his documentary profile Kim Novak’s Vertigo, which releases this Tuesday on DVD.

Having appeared in previous Vertigo documentaries, Novak duly expresses almost entirely positive sentiments regarding her signature film throughout “Her Vertigo.” The only possible exception being her admission the dual role held awkward personal resonance for her. However, her warm affection for her co-star Jimmy Stewart (with whom she also starred opposite in Bell, Book, and Candle) will make any classic film buff smile.

She is less nostalgic regarding other aspects of the industry, particularly the early years of her career, when she was exclusively contracted to Columbia Pictures and under the thumb of studio boss Harry Cohn. Given the title, and Philippe’s previous films (including 78/52, a documentary devoted entirely to the shower scene in Psycho), most viewers will logically expect a deep dive into Vertigo. Yet, that doesn’t really happen. Instead, the film consists entirely of long sit-down interviews Philippe conducted with Novak, in which he lets the star discuss whatever she so desires.

Essentially, the film is an audio autobiography, touching on her Great Depression-hardened childhood and her struggles with her studio-crafted identity as a “sex symbol,” and her admiration for Greta Garbo, whose own retirement possibly served as an inspiration for Novak. After Vertigo, her breakout hit Picnic probably gets the most attention, followed by Jeanne Eagels, a fictionalized biography of the silent-era star, again perhaps for its ironically apt commentary on Hollywood exploitation.

Throughout the film, Philippe accompanies her reminiscences with brief clips from her film oeuvre, which best illustrate her themes. However, he weirdly overlooked Novak’s second Hitchcockian role in the remake of “The Man from the South,” produced for the 1985 reboot of Alfred Hitchcock Presents.

Becoming Hitchcock: The Legacy of Blackmail, on TCM

At this point, is there anything left to say about Alfred Hithcock? Hopefully yes, because filmmakers and publishers keep releasing new documentaries and books about him—and we keep buying them (or reviewing them). In a relatively recent book Henry K. Miller analyzed The Lodger, which Hitchcock himself dubbed “the first true Hitchcock.” However, director-screenwriter Laurent Bouzereau and the narrator, film critic Elvis Mitchell (who presumably agrees with him), make a compelling case for Blackmail, which released two years (and seven films) later. Whether they agree or not, any Hitchcock fan will have a jolly time watching the clips they use to illustrate their argument in Becoming Hitchcock: The Legacy of Blackmail, which airs late-night Wednesday (early Thursday morning) on TCM.

In 1929, Blackmail represented only the second legit thriller Hitchcock helmed, following The Lodger. It is also significant as the director’s first soundie (in fact, Blackmail was the very first British soundie, according to the studio marketing). It didn’t start out that way, but the production was converted to sound midway through (while a silent version was still produced and eventually released). Consequently, there is a good deal of fascinating behind-the-scenes details.

Regardless, Hitchcock arguably grasped the potential dramatic aspects of sound quicker than most filmmakers. Yet, what really makes Bouzereau’s analysis so entertaining are the echoes of Blackmail he identifies in subsequent Hitchcocks. For instance, the central character played by Anny Ondra stabs her would-be assailant in much the same manner as Grace Kelly in Dial M for Murder. Meals and paintings are important motifs that reappear in subsequent films, such as Rope and Vertigo, respectively. Yes, Ondra also launched the tradition of Hitchcock’s “classic blonde” heroines.

Mark Cousins’ My Name is Alfred Hitchcock

Perhaps fittingly, few have so regularly defied death and straddled the “uncanny valley” as has Alfred Hitchcock. For instance, his original introductions for Alfred Hitchcock Presents were “resurrected” and colorized for the 1985 reboot of the classic anthology series. Now, he narrates his own documentary from beyond the grave. Of course, it really isn’t Hitchcock. It is narrator Alistair McGowan emulating his voice and persona. One can imagine the questions Hitch might have asked about these projects, like how much was his estate paid and did the checks clear? Regardless, Hitchcock is still quite entertaining in Mark Cousins’ My Name is Alfred Hitchcock, which opens this Friday in New York.

At times, McGowan’s Hitchcock sounds somewhat like Howard Suber in The Power of Film, especially during discussion of his first theme—his characters’ pursuit of “escape”—which echoes Suber’s emphasis on metaphorically and physically “trapped” central characters. However, in the case of Hitchcock, it feels considerably more valid.

Cousins’ other themes should strike Hitchcock fans as equally sound: “desire,” “loneliness,” “time” (which should be speeded up or slow-down, to the protagonist’s discomfort), fulfillment, and a truncated discussion of “height.”  Indeed, considering Hitch’s use of Rushmore in North by Northwest, the bell tower in Vertigo, and the Statue of Liberty in Saboteur, Hitchcock was arguably the king of commanding heights.

Naturally, Cousins incorporates extensive film clips, including shrewd and liberal use of Psycho and The Birds. Although often unfairly overlooked, Torn Curtain and The Trouble with Harry also get substantial screentime, but poor Topaz remains a red-headed stepchild amid his filmography. Still, Cousins serves up a reasonable survey that might prompt viewers to revisit films they maybe have not seen in years, like I Confess, starring Montgomery Cliff, a refreshingly sympathetic portrait of a Catholic priest, “trapped” in a Hitchcockian situation.

Alfred Hitchcock Presents: Man from the South

With the success of Wonka, Roald Dahl’s kid’s books are selling like crazy, but for cool readers, his macabre stories are where it is at. Alfred Hitchcock was a fan. He “presented” six of Dahl’s stories on his famous anthology show. This one was later remade by the 1980s Alfred Hitchcock Presents reboot and the Dahl anthology series Tales of the Unexpected, but the first was the best. Fittingly, “Man from the South” screens tomorrow as a part of “Good Evening,” a program of Hitchcock’s TV work at UCLA.

When the young “Gambler” meets the young “Woman” in a casino café, sparks immediately fly, even though they are each recovering from a hard luck night. That is why he is initially annoyed when the mysterious Carlos invites himself to their table. However, his interest perks up when the rich weirdo offers him an unusual bet. If the Gambler can light his zippo ten times straight without fail, he wins Carlos’s convertible. However, if he misses just once, Carlos chops off the Gambler’s little finger.

This is a familiar story, because Tarantino spoofed it in his segment of the anthology film Four Rooms, the only good “room.” Yet, the original Hitch Presents production is still surprisingly tense, because Norman Lloyd’s direction is so tight and focused. (Lloyd, the prolific character actor, also co-starred in Hitchcock’s Saboteur and Spellbound, and later produced a dozen episodes of Tales of the Unexpected, but not the “Man from the South” remake.)

Of course, the legendary cast is another big reason why this is absolutely classic television, starting with Peter Lorre’s massively creepy performance as Carlos. He looks like a man who really wants another finger. He took his share of corny gigs late in his career, but this is the vintage Lorre we know from M, Mad Love, and, of course, the Hitchcock films Secret Agent and The Man Who Knew Too Much.

Argento at Lincoln Center: Do You Like Hitchcock?

Dario Argento is considered a Giallo master, but has also taken on classic staples of horror, including Dracula, the Phantom of the Opera, Poe, and to some extent the terrors of wax museums. It totally makes sense he would also try to channel Alfred Hitchcock, who basically started the whole slasher tradition. You can also see some precursor Giallo elements in Dial M for Murder, especially those gloves. The homages are pretty clever in Do You Like Hitchcock, which screens as part of the ongoing Beware of Dario Argento retrospective at Film at Lincoln Center.

Giulio is your stereotypical film geek, who often observes his sexy neighbors Rear Window-style, especially Sasha Zerboni. As a result, he can’t help noticing Zerboni and another attractive woman bonding in the video store over Strangers on a Train. When Zerboni’s wealthy but controlling mother is subsequently murdered, at a time when her daughter was conveniently alibied, Giulio immediately suspects they arranged to “switch murders.”

Of course, his girlfriend Arianna (who really ought to be out of his league) thinks he is a nut. However, when an unseen stranger breaks into his apartment, Giulio realizes he might be on to something, so he starts obsessively snooping around both women.

The stripped-down simplicity of DYLH really serves it well. Compared to Argento’s previous films, there is considerably less blood and gore in this made-for-Italian-TV production, but there are still all the hallmarks of Argento’s hallmark Giallo style (like the close-ups on gloved hands and tumblers turning in locks). Perhaps most importantly, Argento really gives us a full sense of the Torino neighborhood, very much like Hitchcock did for the building facing Jimmy Stewart’s apartment in Rear Window.

Guy Maddin’s The Green Fog

We tend to forget it was the ungrateful citizens of San Francisco whom Inspector “Dirty Harry” Callahan so diligently protected. That alone makes the Golden Gate City one of the leading movie towns for mystery-thrillers. Yet, it’s still not as ubiquitous as New York or LA, so it had just the right degree of difficulty for Guy Maddin. His latest film “rhapsody” consists of excerpts snipped from other films and TV shows shot on location in San Francisco, or the surrounding environs. Along the way, it also became a pseudo-remake of the SF-set Vertigo, in spirit, rather than the beat-for-beat narrative. San Francisco looks appealingly noir as it gets the Winnipeg treatment in Guy Maddin, Evan Johnson, and Galen Johnson’s The Green Fog (trailer here) which opens this Friday at the IFC Center.

If you do not know Hitchcock’s Vertigo, Maddin’s Fog will most likely leave you thoroughly confused. By the way, you really ought to know it, but conveniently the IFC Center will present the two films together as a double-bill during select screenings. Regardless, there are plenty of men hanging off buildings, just like poor Jimmy Stewart. There are also quite a few femme fatales, very much in the Kim Novak tradition. To further reinforce the Hitchcockian connection, Jacob Garchik’s score, performed by the Kronos Quartet, doubles, triples, and quadruples down on Bernard Herrmann nervy jangliness.

Frankly, while watching Maddin’s pseudo-narrative montage, it makes you wonder why more productions do not more frequently take advantage of the city’s distinctive landmarks. Obviously, some films were enormously helpful to Maddin and company, including classics like Vertigo itself, Dark Passage, The Lady from Shanghai, Sudden Fear, The Towering Inferno, The House on Telegraph Hill, They Call Me Mr. Tibbs!, and the Dirty Harry series.

Perhaps not so surprisingly Jagged Edge and Philip Kaufman’s 1978 Invasion of the Body Snatchers turned out to be especially useful. Maybe the happiest surprise is how often Chuck Norris pops up in clips from An Eye for an Eye. There are also moments of high camp or nostalgia (take your pick) when the Winnipeg filmmakers mine unexpected vanes, such as McMillan & Wife and The Love Bug.

The Green Fog is definitely a film for film buffs. The right kind of viewer will have jolly good fun trying to I.D. each film fragment (double points to anyone who picks up on Mr. Ricco, which sadly does not include any of Chico Hamilton’s groovy soundtrack). Essentially, you can consider it the most idiosyncratic Chuck Workman film ever. Recommended for Maddin devotees and adventurous Hitchcock fans, The Green Fog (and Vertigo) open this Friday (1/5) in New York, at the IFC Center.

Sundance ’17: 78/52

Marli Renfro is a former Playboy Bunny and cover model who participated in truly groundbreaking cinematic history. She was Janet Leigh’s body in Psycho and there was quite a bit of doubling for her to do—78 set-ups and 52 cuts in total—and what cuts they were. The construction and legacy of the iconic/notorious shower scene in Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho are lovingly analyzed in Alexandre O. Philippe’s 78/52, which screens during the 2017 Sundance Film Festival.

Sure, there are knowing homages (like the prologue to Scream), but no film has really come close to the shock of presumptive star Janet Leigh’s first act death in Hitchcock’s 1960 masterpiece. Of course, she was dispatched while taking a shower. If you haven’t seen Psycho several times already than shame on you, but keep in mind Philippe will “spoil” Norman Bates’ big secret almost immediately. This is a film for film lovers that presupposes intimate familiarity with Psycho, the Hitchcock canon in general, and the slasher and Giallo films it inspired.

Technically, Philippe shoehorns in some wider discussions of Psycho, such as the rainy driving sequence that in many ways foreshadows the shower scene in question. He also gives some solid “making of” background. Sadly, neither Hitch nor Leigh is still with us, but Renfro stills looks great and is happy to discuss her role in the film. Without question, her recollections will be the most newsworthy for fans. In addition, Philippe also incorporates commentary from a host of genre superstars, including Jamie Lee Curtis, Guillermo del Toro, Eli Roth, Karyn Kusama, Richard Stanley, Leigh Wannell, Mick Garris, and Elijah Wood.

Frankly, there are not a lot of groundbreaking revelations in 78/52, but Philippe’s deep dive provides a useful methodology for taking stock of the film’s artistry and cultural influence. Some diehards might complain that composer Bernard Herrmann’s instantly recognizable themes get somewhat short shrift. He also mercifully spares Gus Van Sant an awkward discussion of his ill-conceived 1998 shot-by-shot remake.

Without question, Psycho is one of the most important genre films ever made and the shower murder is clearly its defining scene (although some of us will argue the epilogue in which Simon Oakland explains it all is a close second). Philippe’s feature-length analysis easily sustains itself and the decision to render the film in black-and-white was rather inspired. Recommended with affection for fans of Hitchcock and nearly every subsequent psycho-stalker film, 78/52 screens again tomorrow (1/26) in Park City and Saturday (1/28) in Salt Lake, as part of this year’s Sundance.

Hitchcock/Truffaut: Auteur Interviews Auteur

Few directors ever became a popular celebrity like Alfred Hitchcock. His imprimatur and famous profile were used to brand books, magazines, and even a television show. Yet, as bizarre as it seems to us today (with Vertigo recently eclipsing Citizen Kane on the Sight & Sound critics poll), in the early 1960s, Hitchcock was not widely hailed as an artist. The exception was in France, particularly among Cahiers du Cinema’s grubby circle of critics and filmmakers. That most definitely included François Truffaut. He convinced the Master of Suspense to sit for an epic eight day interview that would eventually be edited into of the most treasured film books of all time. Kent Jones uses the fiftieth anniversary of its publication as a springboard to celebrate the films it analyzes in Hitchcock/Truffaut (trailer here), which opens this Wednesday in New York.

In 1962, Hitchcock only had a handful of films ahead of him, but that would include iconic films like The Birds and Marnie, as well as Frenzy, the late career masterwork the public really missed the boat on in 1972. By this time, Hitchcock had completed signature films like Vertigo that would largely out of public circulation for decades. In the pre-video era, reading Hitchcock/Truffaut became the only way to get a shot-by-shot sense of the master’s work.

In case we doubt that fact, Jones enlists a relatively small but eminent cast of filmmakers to explain how much the book has meant to them. Not surprisingly, many are alumni of the New York Film Festival, including Martin Scorsese, who often appears in filmmaking documentaries and David Fincher, who is considerably less ubiquitous. There are no slouches in H/T, but it seems a strange how little screen time Kiyoshi Kurosawa gets, considering he is probably the closest to Hitchcock stylistically.

Frankly, Jones’ wandering focus makes it tricky to nail down his precise intentions. Although he incorporates considerable excerpts from the surviving audio tapes, he is not solely concerned with the book and interview. There is some background context provided for both titular filmmakers, but he clearly privileges Hitchcock well above Truffaut. In fact, Jones does not even explore Truffaut’s Hitchcockian films, like Mississippi Mermaid and The Bride Wore Black. Rather, it often seems like Jones is content to follow the points raised by his cast of filmmakers and the commentary of Hitchcock himself, in an almost freely associative manner. While that makes it hard to elevator-pitch H/T, its Hitchcock-centrism still makes for fascinating viewing. Let’s be honest, most of us could happily listen to the old master discuss the catering on Topaz.

Jones simply can’t go wrong with Hitchcock. Even if we can’t precisely spell out the film’s thesis, it further buttresses our general cineaste convictions that Hitch was one of the craftiest, wittiest auteurs to ever look at the world through the lens of a camera. Abundantly watchable, Hitchcock/Truffaut is highly recommended for Hitchcock fans (and somewhat so for Truffaut and Nouvelle Vague admirers as well) when it opens this Wednesday (12/2) in New York, at Film Forum.

Night Will Fall: Documenting the Concentration Camps

It was a case of one legendary director replacing another. Billy Wilder was in and Alfred Hitchcock was out, but the project was not a suspense-thriller, like Double Indemnity. It was a Holocaust documentary that was to incorporate devastating footage shot by Allied film crews during the liberation of National Socialist concentration camps. Only years later would a partial, incomplete cut see any sort of meaningful exhibition. However, the British Imperial War Museums have recently reconstructed and restored the intended director’s cut of the bureaucratically titled German Concentration Camps Factual Survey. Yet, there is still more to the story that is finally told in Andre Singer’s documentary, Night Will Fall (promo here), which premieres this coming Monday on HBO.

Some Hitchcock completists will be familiar with what was retitled Memory of the Camps when it aired on PBS, but the print was decidedly rough and the final reel was missing. Technically, it had never been completed (a problem the restoration team rectified using the surviving screenplay and cue lists). While it was generally known Hitchcock was more of an advisor than a hands-on director, Singer and company actually make a compelling case his vision largely guided the direction and aesthetic of the planned documentary.

While Hitchcock researchers really should consider it part of his filmography, producer Sidney Bernstein was the man most responsible for its day-to-day production and editing. Unfortunately, he would not see it to completion. With signs of the Cold War already surfacing during the early days of the Occupation of Berlin, the Allies essentially put the project in turnaround. The Americans still wanted a picture to convince Germans of their national guilt, so they recruited Wilder to recut some excerpts into the documentary short subject Death Mills.

As fascinating as the story is, Hitchcock fans will be disappointed he does not factor into Night to a greater extent, but he was only assigned to the project for a month. Nevertheless, they will gain a considerable appreciation for Bernstein, his team of editors, and the brave military cameramen who recorded the nightmarish footage in the first place. Ultimately, it is a tribute to their work, which in many cases left deep psychological and spiritual scars.

There are some dramatic interviews with surviving veterans and the excerpts from the finally finished film are truly horrific. Night also supplies a good deal of explanatory context that ought to be quite familiar to most viewers, but sadly is probably necessary given the declining level of historical awareness among younger generations and the precipitous rise of anti-Semitism abroad. If you have seen the work of Lanzmann and Ophüls, you should already know full well the bigger truths, but there are still telling details to be found throughout.

At just seventy-nine minutes, Night is brisk but surprisingly comprehensive. It also further burnishes Hitchcock’s reputation and gives Bernstein his long overdue acknowledgment. One can imagine it works best screening in conjunction with the restored Factual Survey (as it did at last year’s Berlinale), but it easily stands alone (as it will on HBO). Highly recommended for general audiences and particularly for students of history and cinema, Night Will Fall debuts this Monday (1/26) and repeats on various arms of HBO over the following days and weeks.

In Contention: Hitchcock

Alfred Hitchcock, the master of suspense, largely self-financed his notorious 1960 classic, Psycho.  He picked the right film to literally bet his home on.  A spectacular success by any standard, the film that would introduce Norman Bates to the world looked like it might be his swan song during its rocky development and production stages.  Dramatizing the behind-the-scenes story of arguably his most iconic work, Sacha Gervasi’s sympathetic but bitingly witty Hitchcock (trailer here) is now in award contention for at least one and possibly two of its accomplished leads.

Hitchcock is not a story Hitch would have made.  Since we know Psycho was completed to his satisfaction and became a monster hit at the box office, there is not a lot of suspense to the tale.  However, the getting from point A to point B is quite fascinating.  As we meet Hitchcock and his patient wife Alma Reville, he is basking in the triumph of North by Northwest, which somewhat bores them both.  As a distraction, Reville starts doctoring a new spec script written by Strangers on a Train screenwriter Whitfield Cook, who is hoping she will convince Hitchcock to attach himself to it.  Of course, he has his mind set on very different property.

Based on Robert Bloch’s novel, which in turn was inspired by Wisconsin serial killer Ed Gein, Psycho is the sort of film no respectable studio director would think of touching.  That is exactly why Hitchcock is attracted to it.  As the closing titles remind viewers, Hitchcock never won an Academy Award (a fact that could either help or hinder the film’s own Oscar campaign).  Throughout Gervasi’s film, Hitchcock is clearly presented as a brilliant but ragingly insecure filmmaker.  Resenting his lack of recognition, Psycho is convincingly framed as an effort to make an exploitation horror movie that is vastly superior to the prestige pictures the studios released.  And so it was.

Yes, this Hitchcock is somewhat neurotic and there is no denying his eye for blondes.  Yet, John J. McLaughlin’s screen treatment is refreshingly forgiving of his foibles.  He was indeed a man of expensive tastes (taste being the most apt word), but the audience also sees Hitch and Alma puttering about the kitchen in slippers, like relatively down to earth people.

Both Sir Anthony Hopkins and Dame Helen Mirren are terrific as the first couple of suspense.  As the title auteur, Hopkins is Hitchy without getting kitschy or shticky.  Likewise, Mirren is the picture of mature sophistication as Reville.  Listening to them bantering like an old familiar couple is one of the film’s great pleasures. 

Yet, the supporting work of Toni Collette and Scarlett Johansson really fleshes out the film.  Collette’s smart, surprisingly attractive turn elevates what could easily have been the thankless role of the Hitchcock’s thankless assistant Peggy Robertson.  Beyond being a spooky dead-ringer for Janet Leigh, Johansson also has some wonderful scenes with both principles that really deepen their humanity.  While an Oscar campaign on her behalf might be pushing it, Hitchcock should definitely be on the bill for any future Johansson retrospective.

Gervasi commits a few missteps along the way, such as overplaying Hitchcock’s interior dialogues with the convicted and committed Ed Gein, perhaps hoping to throw genre diehards a bone.  Still, the film payoffs handsomely, especially for Hitchcock fans.  In fact, you could say it has a real Hollywood ending.  Deserving award consideration for the work of both Hopkins and Mirren, Hitchcock is recommended for the director’s admirers and those who enjoy films about the cinema.  It is now playing nationwide, including the AMC Empire in New York.

Documentary Fortnight ’10: Double Take

The name was Hitchcock, Alfred Hitchcock. He truly was an international man of mystery, but usually from behind the camera. However, Hitchcock becomes the unlikely Zelig-esque protagonist of Johan Grimonprez’s Cold War essay, Double Take, which closed this year’s Documentary Fortnight at the MoMA.

More an exercise in collage than documentary film-making, Double Take intersperses clips of Hitchcock’s self-parodying appearances from the Alfred Hitchcock Presents television series amongst archival Cold War footage and recent interviews with noted Hitchcock impersonator Ron Burrage. While there is an ostensible storyline involving Hitchcock’s encounter with his doppelganger, the film is more concerned with scoring revisionist points against easy targets from American Cold War history, like Richard Nixon.

In his interview segments, Burrage seems like a lovely gentleman, who has strange but happy connections to Hitchcock through various twists of fate. Indeed, his scenes are the film’s best moments. However, the troubles with Double are manifest.

Throughout the film, there are no attempts to provide any background or context that might lead to a deeper understanding of the Cold War. Rather, the film is consciously anti-context, trafficking in the most stilted sound bites Grimonprez could selectively edit. For instance, there is never any mention of Soviet gulags or the mass executions ordered Castro (and his Robespierre, Che) during his consolidation of power. Instead, we simply hear Khrushchev tell Nixon that Americans do not understand Communism and watch as Castro accepts the Kremlin’s offer of friendship after the apparently inexplicable Bay of Pigs invasion attempt.

Viewing Double is a depressing experience, because it does not want to inform or educate. Instead, it is a conscious effort to reduce a critically important historical conflict to simplistic slogans. Mercifully, we are at least spared a “duck and cover” sequence, but the frequent inclusion vintage Folger’s Coffee commercials to remind us yet again of America’s consumerist culture are truly tiresome clichés.

The kind of editorial discretion on display in Double ultimately cheapens the level of political discourse. This is particularly true of the film’s closing shot at Secretary Rumsfeld. Anyone who has served in public life as long as he has can have a snippet of remarks excerpted to make them look foolish. It is no fairer to use such cherry-picked quotes to condemn a public figure and their policies, than it is to dismiss Cary Grant’s dramatic talent because James Mason’s character calls him a “bad actor” in a clip from North by Northwest also seen in Double.

In one respect, Double borders on the outright offensive. There is a recurring motif a body falling from a building that will almost certainly recall memories of 9-11 for most Americans. While Grimonprez is a Belgian filmmaker and might not be expected to be as familiar with the news coverage of that event, he himself referenced images of 9-11 during the post-screening Q&A. For most people, that footage represents the tragic deaths of real people. To “sample” and “remix” that imagery is not merely callous, it is soulless to a degree approaching the vampiric.

Double was a surprisingly disappointing conclusion to what had been a very strong slate of films at Documentary Fortnight, most notably including The Miscreants of Taliwood and Vlast (Power). Problematic on multiple levels, it is a cynical film that ultimately attempts to suppress critical thinking rather than foster an understanding of recent political history.