Doc Fortnight ’16: Scrumped [Extended Version]

You would not say it about one of the world’s largest and most militant religions (that shall remain nameless for fear of reprisals), but the world would probably be a way more tranquil place if there were more Buddhists. Yes, they have been pulled into conflicts in Southeast Asia, but it has mostly been in response to the belligerence of a less tolerant religion. You can practically see that commitment to peacefulness baked into Buddhist customs and ceremonies. Seoungho Cho uses the form of Buddhist rituals to meditate on its inner essence in the experimental short film, Scrumped [Extended Version] (trailer here), which screens as part of the 2016 Doc Fortnight at MoMA.

Mostly, the Korean-born New York-based Cho relies on the ambient sounds of worship recorded at the Haeinsa and Silsangsa Temples in South Korea, but he occasionally also incorporates excerpts from Gabriel Fauré’s Requiem, op. 48. Arguably, it is not such a strange fit, considering the “High Church” vibe of Buddhist chants (it is also worth noting the Japanese Catholic Church has forged particularly close ties with their Buddhist counterparts).

Regardless, the first ten minutes or so of Scrumped look like Cho is feeling his way, without a clear concept in place. However, when he starts editing footage according to the rhythms of the ceremonial chanting, the film becomes a transfixing experience. Mind, spirit, nature, and art all whirl together in a microcosmic unity. The film’s aesthetic truly reflects the spiritual transcendence of the worship it documents, which is rather remarkable.

Frankly, Scrumped becomes the sort of cinematic wonder Samsara was billed as, but fell short of. It is entirely possible Cho’s shorter cut is sufficient, because the thirty minute “Extended Version” has its share of filler up top, but the guts of the film are absolutely engrossing. Although Cho professes to be a spiritual non-believer, his respect and affinity for Zen-related Korean Seon Buddhism are well evident. Highly recommended as an immersive and meditative experience, Scrumped screens again with Jacques Perconte’s Ettrick tomorrow (2/29), during this year’s Doc Fortnight at MoMA.

Doc Fortnight ’16: Paths of the Soul

These Tibetan pilgrims have utterly nothing in common with Chaucer’s. They will tell no bawdy stories and engage in absolutely no untoward behavior. Their devotion is real, as is the danger they face while making the 1,200 mile journey to Lhasa, straight down Tibet’s National Highway 318 in Zhang Yang’s docu-hybrid Paths of the Soul (trailer here), which screens as part of the 2016 Doc Fortnight at MoMA.

Nyima’s uncle Yang has always been a father figure to him, so he readily agrees to accompany the patriarch when he resolves to finally make his pilgrimage. Eventually, eleven members of the extended family are chosen for the trek. Each will have their particular reasons for joining, but all share a deep but unfussy belief in the tenets of Tibetan Buddhism.

The pilgrimage is especially meaningful for Uncle Yang, who always regrets his younger brother died before he could make the journey he always talked about. In accordance with their selfless faith, Nyima’s teenaged sons will be praying for the two laborers who died while constructing their house. The presence of the pregnant Tsring initially seems completely baffling, but the karmic benefits for her baby are apparently well worth the effort if she delivers during the pilgrimage. Likewise, the ritual journey hardly looks appropriate for the ten or eleven-ish Gyatso, but what she learns will last a lifetime.

Spanish Catholics might think the pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela is a tough road to travel, but they have nothing on Tibetan Buddhists. Yang and his family are not merely walking over two thousand kilometers, with their tractor trailing behind. They must stop after every three or four steps to kowtow. That entails complete prostration on the busy mountain highway. To facilitate these regular acts of obeisance, they wear the pilgrims’ clothes: full body aprons and hand-planks.

This is an absolutely grueling film, but also a powerfully moving one. Yang and clan will endure inclement weather, rock slides, and one auto accident. Yet, there is also hope and hospitality to be found along the way. Throughout it all, their faith and their family cohesion are too strong to even be tested. Watching them plug ahead is truly awe-inspiring. To what extent the non-professional actors are playing themselves or namesake characters hardly matters (either way, they are incredible), because the conditions they endure are more than real enough. By the time they reach Lhasa, you hope to see the Dalai Lama himself triumphantly swoop down on a giant golden eagle to personally bless each one of them.

In all honesty, Paths of the Soul is one of the least showiest, but most profound films about religious faith in action you might ever see. The fact it was produced and approved for distribution in China is a not so minor miracle. Perhaps the state censors were hoping the arduousness of their journey would dissuade others from making similar Lhasa pilgrimages. However, the dignity and purity of the pilgrims’ faith is unmistakable and tremendously stirring. Very highly recommended, Paths of the Soul screens again today (2/27), as part of this year’s Doc Fortnight at MoMA.

Doc Fortnight ’16: France is Our Mother Country

If you could chose a country to be your colonial power, there is no question it would be the United Kingdom. They sure knew how to train civil servants. On the other hand, nobody would voluntarily opt for France. Although they were not quite as bad as the Belgians, the French have had the hardest time accepting the end of the colonial era, often with tragic results. Rwanda certainly proved both points when it became the first non-UK colony to join the British Commonwealth. It had been French. Rithy Panh echoes that critical ambivalence towards the French colonial experience in his archival docu-essay, France is Our Mother Country (clip here), which screens as part of the 2016 Doc Fortnight at MoMA.

Nothing screams “imperialist” like a white suit and a pith helmet. Apparently, that was the uniform of choice for French colonial oligarchs in Indochina. In his spliced together pseudo-narrative, Panh captures plenty of similarly outfitted Frenchmen overseeing factory and plantation work or getting drunk at garden parties. Their images have not aged well, but that is why they are so on-point for Panh.

Essentially, the film’s arc can be summed up as “they came, they exploited, and they left the land in political and military chaos.” However, despite their damning fashion sense and the air-headed French party girls cavorting on sacred religious sites, Mother Country never lowers the final coup de grâce. In fact, the footage of a 1920s or 1930s rain forest medical clinic looks relatively progressive, especially for the times.

Panh has a shrewd eye for imagery, but he never fully establishes a clear cause-and-effect chain of events linking the French imperialist adventurism of the early Twentieth Century with the Communist madness of the late Twentieth Century. He also indulges in the equivalent of shooting fish in a barrel when quoting one of the era’s painfully virulent racial theorists. Yet, Marc Marder nearly saves the day singlehandedly with his distinctive, frequently jazz-influenced score.

Aside from Panh’s subversive editorial sensibilities, there is not so much to take-away from Mother Country. It lacks the beauty, grace, and anger of his Oscar-nominated masterwork The Missing Piece, but that is a hard film to be judged against. Perhaps this represents a pragmatic strategy for a follow-up, precisely because it is so different. Almost recommended solely for Marder’s themes (rather than Panh’s), France is Our Mother Country is mostly just grist for professional Third World Studies majors when it screens again tonight (2/24) as part of this year’s Doc Fortnight at MoMA.

Doc Fortnight ’16: The Event

Who lost Russia? To answer that question, Sergei Loznitsa harkens back to the day it appeared to be won. In what remains his finest hour, Boris Yeltsin rallied fellow Russians against the hardline Communists who had deposed Gorbachev in a coup that came well after the people started to believe they could be free. In the newly re-christened St. Petersburg, opposition to the coup was spearheaded by the reformist mayor, Anatoly Sobchak, who is quite a tricky figure to take stock of, considering he was Putin’s mentor, who would eventually die under suspicious circumstances. There is both heady promise and strange flashes of foreboding in Loznitsa’s boots-on-the-ground documentary The Event (trailer here), which screens as part of the 2016 Doc Fortnight at MoMA.

The images from Moscow are maybe more familiar to us, but the backdrop in St. Petersburg could not be more perfect. That is indeed the Winter Palace. Since the hardcore Communist coup-plotters had taken control of all media and communications, information is spotty on the square. To convey a sense of their confusion, Loznitsa periodically punctuates The Event with extracts from Swan Lake, the official soundtrack to internal Soviet strife, which the conspirators were duly broadcasting, being creatures of habit.

When addressing the crowd, Sobchak sure looks and sounds like a man of destiny. However, if you see a weasely-looking aide in the background who looks like Putin, it probably is. In fact, it is rather ironic to hear Sobchak rail against the dangers of resurgent Stalinism in 1991, knowing he would later proclaim his protégé to be the second coming of Stalin, as if that were a good thing. (Ironically, he was right both times.)

The Event is a somewhat demanding film that rewards viewers observant enough to pick up on little details buried within the tableaux of mass demonstrations. Loznitsa does not spoon-feed much to the audience, but he closes with a sharp reminder none of the old regime’s crimes were never prosecuted. Clearly, he leaves us to wonder just how discrete and firewalled the incoming government would be from the former oppressive system.

Assembling black-and-white archival video that evoke Eisenstein and newsreels of 1956 and 1968, The Event crackles with immediacy and uncertainty. In retrospect, it is even harder to render judgments on Sobchak’s moment of destiny, but the widespread anger at the Communist system still rings clear as a bell. Clearly, when it comes to documenting broad-based demonstrations against neo- and retro-Soviet oppression, Loznitsa is the man. Arguably, The Event is not as immediate or immersive as Maidan, but it has a slyer, shrewder editorial sensibility. Highly recommended, The Event screens again tomorrow (2/24) as part of this year’s Doc Fortnight at MoMA.