This unconventional account of the 1965
genocide in Indonesia follows the making of a propoganda piece in
which former executioners of suspected communists reenact their
killings. One can only imagine what they would think if they knew how
this material would actually be used. While the reenactments
fluctuate between the surreal to the downright silly, Oppenheimer
saves the most realistic one until the film's last third, where we
also get to see its principal subject Anwar Congo surprisingly
confront decades of repressed guilt over the murders he committed.
Though odd and sometimes a slog to sit through, those last 20 minutes
really tie it together.
I suppose one could complain that it does grow a tad repetitive in its
cataloging of orca attacks at marine parks, but in fact, that's the whole point. "50
years from now we'll look back and think, God what a barbaric time,"
forecasts one of the former Sea World trainers interviewed for the
film. Watch it yourself and I'm sure you'll agree that we don't need
to wait 50 years to make that observation. It's been steadily stirring the pot on this issue over the course of the year, much to the chagrin of Sea World and Marine Land and the like. Impassioned activism of the most polished variety.
An intimate, moving portrait on the
struggles of artists, the weight of living in someone else's shadow,
and a love that weathers all of its own faults. Ushio and Noriko
Shinohara are such naturally interesting subjects that Cutie and the
Boxer doesn't need standard conventions of interviews and talking
heads to completely engage its audience. Appropriately, it opts for a
more artistic, implicit interpretation of their lives; one that
allows the viewer to simply watch and listen, free to read into whatever
minutia the camera captures. Zachary Heinzerling's invisible
direction and probing photography are so unintrusive that the film
seems to unfold like a narrative feature more than a documentary
(enough even to make it seem staged!), but that doesn't make the
story it tells any less poignant.
An extraordinary account of Egypt's
recent period of revolutionary tumult as it unfolds on the ground,
spanning from 2011's initial occupation of Tahir Sqaure that brought
Egyptians of all religions and walks of life together, to its current
state of civil unrest as citizens now find themselves combating other
citizens for conflicting political goals. By primarily following a
small band of the activists for two years, director Jehane Noujaim
lends an intimate scope to this epic story, as we witness what a
revolution looks like in the thick of the violence
and celebration. It paints an elaborate picture of the costs (and of
the seemingly unsatisfied cycle) of enacting social change. As one of
the film's young subjects philosophically waxes about the ongoing
struggle, the people weren't looking for a leader, but for a
conscience.
As the title suggests, this
is a story about storytelling; about how our memories shape our
perceptions and vice versa. None of the storytellers in Polley's
documentary are above question, but that's not to say that any of
them are being untruthful. The truth for one person may overlap but
still be distinctly different than the truth for another. The same applies to Sarah, who is quick
to turn the camera on herself and remind us all that even her version
of the story – the documentary itself – is influenced by the
prism through which she perceives it. We are seeing the stories
unfold through her
lens (literally), and she frequently reminds us of that. This meta
approach, whereby the making of the film is as crucial a part of the
story as the actual stories it's documenting, is the most brilliant
innovation of Stories We Tell.
Just missed:
20 Feet from Stardom (Morgan Neville)
Dirty Wars (Richard Rowley, Jeremy Scahill)
The Missing Picture (Rithy Panh)
We Steal Secrets (Alex Gibney)
