DocuWeeks LA ’11: The Mexican Suitcase

Many writers, most notably including Hemingway and Malraux, tried to write the Spanish Civil narrative for a worldwide audience. However, it was the work of trailblazing war photojournalist that supplied the images for the Republican cause célèbre. Unfortunately, thousands of his negatives were lost, suspected to be somewhere in Mexico. Through the efforts of the International Center of Photography (ICP), founded by the photographer’s late brother Cornell, the not-so apocryphal case was found and its contents have been catalogued and preserved. The story of the photos and the photojournalists behind the camera are told in Trisha Ziff’s The Mexican Suitcase (trailer here), which is currently screening as part of the 2011 DocuWeeks in Los Angeles.

Not really a suitcase per se (strangely, it is not pictured on the film’s one-sheet), the suitcase was a small partitioned box crafted by darkroom assistant Imre “Csiki” Weiss. Inside were not just scores of Capa negatives, including some of his best known images, but also those of his wife Gerda Taro and close colleague David Seymour, a.k.a. “Shim.” In fact, the suitcase led to many photos previously considered part of the Capa canon to be reattributed to Taro or Seymour.

Those who only know Capa as a name and perhaps for the iconic “Falling Soldier,” supposedly taken at Cerro Muriano (the authenticity of which has fallen into dispute), should certainly gain an appreciation of his work through Suitcase. Though it was impossible to compose shots in a traditional sense during the heat of battle, he clearly had a talent for framing the action on the fly. The film also gives Taro and Seymour their proper due for battlefield fearlessness.

Unfortunately, Suitcase is overly simplistic in its treatment of the Spanish Civil War, perhaps reflecting the involvement of groups dedicated to promoting the legacy of the Communist-oriented Abraham Lincoln Brigade. As a result, Suitcase strictly adheres to the “good war” Party line, ignoring the sometimes bloody Republican in-fighting between Communists and Anarchists, the Republican atrocities committed against the Catholic Church, the purges perpetrated by Republican sponsor Joseph Stalin (by this time generally public knowledge amongst the educated classes), and the bitter divisions amongst ALB veterans stemming from the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact. That is unfortunate, because it robs the film of nearly all the irony and messiness that made the war such a compelling episode of world history. Indeed, which would you rather read, Ernest Hemingway’s undeniably pro-Republican but still nuanced For Whom the Bell Tolls or Alvah Bessie’s Party approved propaganda?

As art history, Suitcase is fascinating stuff, lucidly establishing the significance of the suitcase’s recovery and the further light its contents shed on the work of Capa, Taro, and Seymour. It also serves as an effective commercial for the ICP and its talented staff. On the other hand, as historical commentary on the Spanish Civil War, the film is rather shallow and should in no way be considered definitive. A mixed bag, recommended at least for photography buffs, Suitcase screens through Thursday (9/8) in Los Angeles at the Laemmle Sunset 5, after which point it should be officially qualified for Oscar considered, unless cancelled New York screenings during Hurricane/Tropical Storm Irene affect its standing.

DocuWeeks NY ’11: A Bitter Taste of Freedom

Last week, the obedient Russian “press” dutifully “reported” a silly story about Putin, Russia’s gangster-in-chief, “discovering” Greek urns while on a diving trip. Anna Politkovskaya never wrote such propaganda pieces. As a result, she was assassinated nearly five years ago. While Politkovskaya’s murder has become a symbol of Russia’s regression back into Soviet-style dictatorship, for those close to the crusading journalist, her loss is a more personal tragedy. Longtime friend and filmmaker Marina Goldovskaya mourns the Politkovskaya she knew in A Bitter Taste of Freedom (trailer here), which screens this Friday in New York during the Oscar-qualifying DocuWeeks 2011.

In happier times, Goldovskaya had previously profiled Politkovskaya and her future ex-husband Alexander, who was then better known than she for his work as a television presenter. During the filming of A Taste of Freedom, Perestroika was in its endgame, when constitutional democracy seemed like a very real future prospect. The Yeltsin disappointments and the Putin repression would add the bitterness to Goldovskaya’s second documentary featuring Politkovskaya.

As one of the few (perhaps only) journalists willing to challenge the government’s official lines on the dirty war on Chechnya and the raid on Moscow theater, Politkovskaya earned a fair degree of celebrity as well as powerful enemies. To a degree, she has become an iconic figure. However, Goldovskaya makes a concerted effort to capture the muckraker’s private side. The audience gets a fuller sense of her humor and her self-effacing nature in personal conversations Goldovskaya fortuitously recorded on film. There is also something unexpectedly alluring about the intelligent and spirited woman that never comes across in the familiar photos of Politkovskaya peering owlishly through her eye-glasses.

Putin allies hoping to besmirch Politkovskaya as a neglectful mother will be further frustrated by Goldovskaya’s follow-up documentary. According to her daughter, somehow Politkovskaya always tended to her family’s needs, even while titling at Kremlin windmills. Yet, though there is a deliberate focus on Politkovskaya the flesh and blood person, Bitter is still a newsworthy film, including chilling footage of Politkovskaya in the hospital still suffering from the Rostov-on-Don poisoning incident, the first clear-cut attempt on her life. We also learn the American embassy unequivocally expressed to the journalist concerns for her safety.

By presenting a fully dimensional portrait of Politkovskaya, Bitter never feels like stilted hagiography. The fact that she was actively pursuing new romances, while looking after her children as best a parent can, leads one to fully appreciate her commitment and ultimately her sacrifice. Highly recommended, Bitter provides a compellingly intimate portrait of heroism. Distributed internationally by Yellow Affair, it runs for one week at the IFC Center beginning this Friday (8/19), as part of the second wave of DocuWeeks New York, hopefully with many more screenings to come.

DocuWeeks New York ’11: The Boy Mir

His playground was the rubble left from horrific intolerance. Eight year-old (approximately) Mir’s family were forced from their home village, taking refuge among the caves of Bamiyan, where once the majestic Buddhas stood until the Taliban blasted them off the face of the cliff. Grimly fascinated by the act of state-sponsored vandalism, classical music documentarian Phil Grabsky headed to Bamiyan after the fall of the Taliban, promptly meeting Mir. The young boy’s star power resulted in the documentary The Boy Who Plays on the Buddhas of Bamiyan. Yet to his credit, Grabsky did not settle for drive-by coverage, instead committing to a Seven-Up approach, revisited Mir once a year for a decade. Those periodic trips were eventually shaped into The Boy Mir—Ten Years in Afghanistan (trailer here), which screens during the Oscar-qualifying DocuWeeks 2011 in New York.

While ostensibly documenting Mir’s development, Grabsky also charts the progress and regression of sort-of post-Taliban Afghanistan. Indeed, one can see both happening simultaneously, as the basic living standards of Mir’s village improve dramatically, while the security situation deteriorates rather steadily. Returning home from Bamiyan, Mir is torn between the long benefits of an education and his family’s short term economic needs. A mining accident effectively ended his father’s working days, forcing Mir to share the breadwinning duties with his older half-brother Khushdel.

Even by local standards, where necessity trumps luxuries like love and affection, Mir’s family tree is a bit complicated. As part of a grand bargain, Mir’s father offered Khushdel his daughter’s hand in marriage in return for that of the younger man’s mother. Regardless of what that makes them to each other, Mir’s close relationship with Khushdel is one of the more endearing aspects of the film.

Though Grabsky tried his level best, problematic gender attitudes largely prevented the participation of Mir’s mother and particularly that of his still relatively young sister. Yet, her near absence speaks volumes, none of it edifying. However, it underscores the harsh realities of Afghanistan. To a large extent, it remains in the middle ages.

Indeed, America and our allies have not been involved in a rebuilding effort, but an attempt to build a functioning country from scratch. That we can see demonstrable increases in construction and electrification over ten years ought to be most apparent to those who witnessed it first-hand. Unfortunately, over the years, Mir appears to absorb some of the virulent anti-western prejudices the Taliban prey on. In accordance with his strictly observational approach, Grabsky never directly challenges this evolution of mind-set, at least not on camera. As a result, Boy leaves viewers rather pessimistic for the future of Afghanistan.

While Grabsky simply records Mir and his family going about their daily business sans commentary, the film’s yearly progression keeps the pace chugging along nicely. It also holds no illusions regarding the nature of the Taliban. No small undertaking, Boy’s time-lapse portrait of Afghanistan might challenge some preconceived notions of the war, including inside the White House. One of the better films of the first week of DocuWeeks New York, Boy screens though Thursday (8/18) at the IFC Center.

DocuWeeks NY ‘11: Unfinished Spaces

Evidently, revolutions eventually eat their own architecture. Cuba’s National Arts Schools were intended to be the jewel in the crown of Castro’s new regime. Five buildings designed in a strikingly modern style somewhat akin to that of Brazilian Marxist Oscar Niemeyer, the complex quickly fell out of official favor and into a state of disrepair. Forty years later, two of the three principal architects returned from exile to assist the start-and-stop restoration efforts. Both celebrated and reviled by critics, the complicated legacy of the ambitious project is explored in Alysa Nahmias and Benjamin Murray’s Unfinished Spaces (trailer here), which screens during the Oscar-qualifying DocuWeeks 2011 in New York.

Designed by the Cuban Ricardo Porro and his Italian expatriate colleagues Vittorio Garratti and Roberto Gottardi, the National Art Schools should have been a source of enduring national pride. Instead, the poor condition of the buildings is rather embarrassing. Though most of the schools currently remain in use, routine maintenance had been almost non-existent. Unfortunately, Castro’s advisors convinced him Soviet style Brutalism was much more suitable to Communism, putting the brakes on further construction and renovations for decades. Ironically, the oppressive concrete blocks do indeed fit his ideology to a “t.” To make matters worse, the Cuba’s leading diva ballerina also effectively vetoed the ballet’s school’s design when it was eighty percent complete. It remains unfinished to this day.

Of course, other minor factors further complicated efforts to complete the buildings. For instance, Garratti, the profoundly unlucky ballet school architect, was arrested on trumped-up espionage charges and eventually expelled from the country. Yet, Nahmias and Murray do their best to gloss over such inconvenient details. Indeed, they argue the greatest obstacle to a thorough restoration effort is—surprise, surprise—the American trade embargo. Indeed, Spaces’ reluctance to plum politically sensitive issues is glaringly apparent. For instance, the film never really explains the circumstances surrounding Porro’s banishment to Paris, where he has since prospered.

Straight forward in its approach, Spaces works best as an appreciation of expressionistic modernist architecture. Serving as cinematographer as well as co-director and co-producer, Murray captures all the faded beauty of the buildings, giving viewers a comprehensive sense of their character. The film also conveys an idea of what it is like to study at the crumbling campus through the reminiscences of former students, including jazz percussionist Dafnis Prieto, who also plays on the jaunty Afro-Cuban influenced soundtrack.

Strictly as an architectural documentary, Spaces is quite well produced and engaging. Yet, its conspicuous timidity with respect to the wider political and historical context of the National Arts Schools leaves many obvious questions awkwardly hanging in the air unanswered. Recommended specifically for those both adept at parsing propaganda and inclined towards avant-garde aesthetics (at least in terms of architecture), Spaces screens through Thursday (8/18) at the IFC Center as part of the first wave of DocuWeeks in New York.