Are you healthy enough to live in Hong Kong? That was a painfully legitimate
question to ask before the advent of the CCP-Covid virus. When 80% of the
populace is exposed to military-grade tear gas, it is certainly no city for
asthma sufferers. You also better be strong enough to take a beating from the
cops, should you be in the wrong place at the wrong time. You can see a lot of
these things happening in Anders Hammer’s short documentary, Do Not Split,
which received the Special Jury Recognition for Courage Under Fire during the
2020 DOC NYC.
Do
Not Split premiered
at this year’s Sundance, but it has clearly been revised and updated to address
the CCP-Covid outbreak (which conveniently halted protests) and the draconian
national security law that effectively criminalizes any deviation from Beijing’s
line. It is sort of a chronicle of the movement and the violent police response,
touching on big events, like the siege of HK Polytechnic University and the
Legco elections that represented an overwhelming rebuke of the CCP and its
puppet government. Yet, the reason to really watch DNS is some of the
most viscerally intense footage of the protests and the police brutality
collected in any documentary thus far.
It
is also nice to see student democracy activist Joey Siu get screen time and
recognition for her dedication and courage—or at least in would be in civilized
world, where she would not have to worry about reprisals. Like most of the
young protest leaders, she is very composed on camera. However, another thing
that distinguishes DNS is the level of profoundly felt anger that is
expressed toward China and the CCP. Judging from Hammer’s reportage, Hong
Kongers are clearly bitter, in a way that cannot be alleviated simply through
time and material comfort. These wounds run deep.
Oil and gold-rich Venezuela's dire poverty should prove once and for all that
natural resources are almost inconsequential when it comes to average people’s
standard of living. Far more important are the rule of law, transparent
governance, and a market economy. None of these things exist in the Venezuela
of Nicolas Maduro and Hugo Chavez. Filmmakers Maxx Caicedo & Venezuelan
Nelson G. Navarrete chronicle the grassroots resistance to the oppression and
privation of the Chavist regime in A La Calle, which screens as part of
the 2020 online edition of DOC NYC--now screening through the 11/20-11/29 encore.
Filmed
surreptitiously on the streets of Venezuela, from 2014 to 2019, A La Calle chronicles
the rise of the regime, starting with its glory years under Chavez to its
current state of international disrepute. Navarrete & Caicedo largely follow
events from three perspectives: formerly imprisoned opposition leader Leopoldo
Lopez, street-level activist Nixon Leal, and Randal Blanco, an average citizen
struggling to get by (with Juan Guaido, the interim President recognized by
nearly every real democracy, playing an important role in the third act).
For
those unfamiliar with the ongoing Venezuelan tragedy, A La Calle documents
step-by-step how Chavez and Maduro eroded constitutional checks-and-balances, criminalized
the opposition, and rigged the electoral system in their favor. For a while,
they were able to placate the populace with massive, irresponsible public spending
binges, but when petroleum prices started falling, the stagnant economy completely
cratered. Soon, all the people had left was a dictator who jealousy clings to
power.
It
is hard to imagine a socialist declining free stuff, but Maduro did exactly that
when he perversely refused to allow emergency relief supplies to enter
Venezuela, despite the critical shortage of food and medicine. As a result,
Venezuelans have launched what one of the film’s experts calls the largest ever
collective exodus from a country not currently waging war.
In all fairness, the American media has done a decent job of covering
events in Hong Kong—when they have bothered. Unfortunately, they have been more
interested in reporting on Teddy Roosevelt statue controversies than seven
million people losing their freedom. It is the exact opposite for the Mainland
Chinese state-controlled media’s constant, heavily biased, widely inaccurate
coverage. The exception would be Boning Li, a Chinese NYU film student, who did
a terrific job documenting the protests in the short film, Some Way Out of
Here, which screens as part of the 2020 (online) DOC NYC’s NYU short doc block.
Li
was already sufficiently cognizant of CCP propaganda, to understand how heavily
subjects like the Tiananmen Square Massacre were censored in his homeland. As a
result, he could “get” Sanmu Chan’s Tiananmen-themed protest art. He was struck
by the power of his work, as well as the artist’s grizzled charisma, so he
started recording his activities as the leader of a drum band attending the
protests.
Chan’s
gallery Green Wave Art, was a hub for dissident art, a safe haven for
protesters fleeing abusive cops, and the headquarters of a volunteer first-aid
team, but its days were numbered. For blatantly political reasons, the local
puppet government suddenly informed him his gallery required an “entertainment
license.” As Li captures the gallery’s final days, he concurrently records the
increasing tensions on the street and the escalating violence from the HK cops
and their allies, the white-shirted Triad-affiliated thugs, who perpetrated the
now infamous Yuen Long train station attack, while the police stood idly by.
American
journalists could learn a lot from Li’s film. He does not simply ask Chan
softball questions. He challenges him with the conduct of some protesters. Yet,
he follows the story where it takes him: squarely in the line of fire, choking
on tear gas that cops deliberately directed towards reporters.
This is a film that will put to shame the spate of recent legal documentaries
to shame glorifying groups that have narrowed the definition of free speech and
broadening the grounds to restrict it (looking at you, ACLU). In contrast,
Iranian attorney Nasrin Sotoudeh represented women, censored artists, and the
most vulnerable defendants facing the death penalty in Iran. For her efforts,
she has been imprisoned twice and awarded the EU’s Sakharov Prize for Freedom
of Human Thought. Filmmaker Jeff Kaufman follows the busy Sotoudeh as she
navigates Iran’s kangaroo courts on behalf of her clients and documents her
second arrest and imprisonment in Nasrin, which screens as part of the
2020 online edition of DOC NYC.
Who
are Sotoudeh’s clients? They are the Baha’i, who are denied all legal rights in
Iran due to their faith. They are minors facing execution after the police
tortured murder confessions out of them. They are the desperate mothers of
children that are being sexually abused by their fathers, whom have all custody
rights under Iran’s Islamist law. Increasingly, they are also women, like
Sotoudeh herself, who have defied Iran’s headscarf laws. In her case, Sotoudeh
did so while serving time in political wing of Evin Prison, where she refused
to wear the institutional chador.
Sotoudeh
never did it alone. She was always part of a network of human rights activists
(we hesitate to use the term “human rights,” since the regime has done its best
to demonize it as a Western, anti-Islamic construct). Yet, she is always the
first to credit her husband Reza Khandan for his support and commitment to a
freer society. Her supporters also include the great, state-blacklisted
filmmaker Jafar Panahi (who probably understands what she has endured better than
anyone). He even gave her a part in his charming guerilla film, Taxi.
So,
do you want the good news or the bad news first? Recently, well after Kaufman
locked Nasrin, Sotoudeh was provisionally released from prison.
Unfortunately, she subsequently tested positive for Covid, which isn’t
surprising. The Iranian government was warned their prison were a perfect incubator
for Covid, but they obviously did not care. Regardless, Sotoudeh is still
hardly free now. As she herself says in a speech following her first release,
she went from “the small prison to the big prison.”
Anyone skeptical of Biden advisors’ plan for a two-track relationship with
China, one pushing back against human rights abuses, while the other seeks
cooperation on climate change, should consider themselves largely vindicated by
this documentary. The film quietly observes the work of the local regulatory
authorities in Langfang, China’s smoggiest, most polluted city. It turns out
environmental protection is a dirty business in HAN Meng’s Smog Town,
which screens as part of the 2020 online edition of DOC NYC.
Although
we are not trained in environmental science, we would guess the colossal industrial
behemoths Han periodically shows belching emissions into the air could be a
good place to cut Langfang’s air particulates. Instead, the local regulators
raid a neighborhood garage that specializes in spray-painting cars. It is a
highly telling incident, especially when the proprietor shows up at their
offices, hoping he can save his business with the right permits, only to be
bounced up and down the hall, in a truly Kafkaesque exercise in bureaucratic
absurdity.
Supposedly,
China’s big cities are under strict orders to clean up their act. In Langfang,
Li Chunyuan (“Uncle Smog Buster”) is in charge of implementing the get-tough
policies. He talks green in his public appearances and preachy books, but in
meetings, he and his staff only care about their relative standing in the Party’s
spreadsheets. They frequently raid poor neighborhoods cracking down on coal
stoves, even though one inspector casually admits he uses one himself. The
entire third act is dedicated to their emergency efforts to lift themselves
from the bottom of the list, but it is all short-term gimmicks, like road
blocks banning outside automobiles and nothing will really address systemic problems.
Remember
what you see in Smog Town next time you hear Xi or Mike Bloomberg
touting China’s environmental progress. Yet, the doc is even more damning as an
expose of how government regulators operate and the callous disregard they have
for small businesses and mom & pop proprietorship. We see Li’s inspectors
putting such establishments out of business, but it clearly does not help the
quality of life in Langfang.
Howard Rumsey's old Lighthouse Café is still sort of around, but it is no
longer a full-time jazz venue. It has had a good run, but most musician-owned
and operated clubs are fondly remembered, because they were short-lived (like
Shelly’s Manne-Hole). Ronnie Scott’s Jazz Club is the towering exception. They
have regularly presented some of the biggest and most exciting jazz artists,
from their 1959 founding to their recent post-Covid re-opening (they plan to reopen again 12/2, after the 2nd UK lockdown). Oliver Murray chronicles
the history of the man and his club through the words of those who knew them
best in Ronnie’s, which screens as part of the 2020 online edition of
DOC NYC.
The
late, great Ronnie Scott came up playing in British swing bands, but he really
wanted to play bop-style jazz in his own small groups, which usually included
his future partner, Pete King. Together they launched Ronnie Scott’s, with Scott
serving as the public face and master-of-ceremonies, while King assumed most of
the back-office responsibilities. Somehow, the tenor player was able to charm
London gangster Albert Dimes and AFM union boss James Petrillo, who agreed to
the terms demanded by his British counterparts, allowing the club to book the
top American talent they needed to draw patrons. (The film makes the important
point British musicians were hurt the most by their union’s protectionism, because
it denied them the opportunity to hear and learn from the Americans who were revolutionizing
jazz.)
The
honor roll of musicians who played Ronnie Scott’s is long and impressive. Just
in Murray’s film alone, we see Miles Davis (with Wayne Shorter), Ella Fitzgerald,
Sarah Vaughan, Oscar Peterson, Nina Simone, Dizzy Gillespie, Sonny Rollins,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk, Ben Webster, and Buddy Rich. Logically, we also hear quite
a bit from Johnny Dankworth and Cleo Laine, the first couple of British jazz.
Occasionally, the club broke format, but when they did, they still kept things
pretty bluesy, as we can hear from the bootleg tapes of Jimi Hendrix jamming
with Eric Burdon and War at the club, the night before his death.
Those of us who discovered jazz in the 1990s remember Wallace Roney as the
up-and-comer who graduated to being an in-demand leader. He was never part of
the “Young Lions,” but came to prominence around the same time. Consequently, many fans always
thought of him as “young,” so his death from Covid (at a mere 59 years of age) was
deeply upsetting for the jazz world. Yet, before he left, Roney completed his
most ambitious project. In a way, Roney brought his career full circle when he
premiered a Wayne Shorter orchestral suite originally composed for his mentor,
Miles Davis. Sam Osborn & Nick Capezerra documents Roney as he rehearses
his band and takes stock of his career in Universe, which screens as
part of the 2020 online edition of DOC NYC.
Wayne
Shorter might be the only NEA Jazz Master who has also written a science
fiction graphic novel. It rather follows that he drew on cosmic inspirations
for The Universe Compositions. Miles Davis intended to record them
during the era of the “2nd Great Quintet,” but the band broke up and
the icon moved onto other styles before the complicated sessions could be
arranged. Somehow, the score was considered lost for years, until it was re-discovered
in the Library of Congress. Shortly before his death, Davis encouraged Shorter
to record the suite and recommended Roney for the trumpet chair.
Roney
really was the only true protégé Davis ever took on. That association would be
a double-edged sword for Roney. It brought him to the attention of record
labels and clubs, but critics constantly compared him to the trumpet icon. Throughout
Universe, Roney wrestles with the implications of this legacy, while
still paying tribute to Davis.
Osborn
& Capezerra shot Universe in a stark black-and-white that, in
retrospect, gives the film an eerie, elegiac tone. Roney is very forthcoming on
the subjects of music, Miles, and his career. However, he never addresses his
late ex-wife, Geri Allen, who was a jazz musician of equal stature. In addition
to Roney, we also logically hear a good deal from bassist Buster Williams and drummer
Lenny White, who both performed extensively with Davis and Roney (including the
approaching Universe concert).
Regardless,
the rehearsal sequences are often brutally uncomfortable. Even the musically untrained
can tell Shorter’s score is immensely challenging just by looking at it. Roney
drives his musicians hard, because time is short before the premiere, so there
is actually a fair degree of suspense, whether or not they will be ready.
It was called the U.S. Coast Guard's “Day of Shame,” but it brought out the
best in America. Appalled by injustice, average people with no political
experience mobilized to rescue Lithuanian sailor Simas Kudirka after his failed
attempt to defect on the USCG Cutter Vigilant. Kudirka and the senior officers
of the Vigilant look back on that fateful day and its aftermath in Giedre
Zickyte’s The Jump, which screens as part of the 2020 online edition of
DOC NYC.
Kudirka
was a sailor, who was not allowed a passport. He always identified as Lithuanian,
rather than Soviet, especially since he had already been interrogated as a
relative of a Lithuanian Partisan. He was serving on a Soviet fishing vessel
that was scheduled to participate in a summit with American fishery authorities
off the coast of Martha’s Vineyard. Kudirka felt greater camaraderie with the
American seamen waving from the Vigilant, so he made the literal jump to the Vigilant
and the proverbial jump to freedom.
Unfortunately,
the officers were not prepared for such a development. Rather understandably,
the captain requested guidance from his chain of command during the twelve-hour
stand-off. When ordered by Rear Admiral William B. Ellis to return Kudirka to
the Soviets, who had already savagely beaten him onboard the Cutter, the Captain
obeyed—in tears. Much to the compliant Admiral’s chagrin, the nation exploded
in outrage when the full story was reported.
In
many ways, The Jump is a testimonial to the average Americans who
refused to forget about Kudirka, even after he was convicted of treason and condemned
to some of the USSR’s harshest gulags. Doggedly, ordinary citizen activists
like Barbara Koran and Ann Ingham kept protesting on his behalf. Sadly, Kudirka’s
most prominent champion, U.S. Rep. Robert P. Hanrahan (R-IL) is no longer with
us to discuss his efforts—but his example proves how much even a one-termer in
the minority party can accomplish. Notably, Pres. Ford also gets credit (notably
from Kissinger himself, in an on-camera interview), for pressing the Soviets
for Kudirka’s release.
Kudirka’s
case takes some intriguing twists and turns. It really was a real-life Cold War
thriller (that was dramatized in a 1978 TV movie). Yet, what might be most
surprising is the level of pre-internet celebrity Kudirka reached at the time,
when he busy on the lecture circuit. It is a shame we need Zickyte’s doc to
reintroduce him to the nation, especially since his message exposing life under
socialist tyranny is suddenly timely again.
