MIFF Notes #9: Sighted Eyes/Feeling Heart, That Summer, Another Day Of Life, [CENSORED]

Structure can make or break a film. The way a story is told, how its elements are put together, have an enormous impact on the way we engage with a work. Documentaries are perhaps the greatest example of this theory in practice, as these filmmakers use vastly different ways to collate factual bits of information into something coherent and enjoyable. The four documentaries I viewed in my second weekend at MIFF all used unique ways to engage the viewer, yet were recognisably the same type of film.

The most conventional type of factual film is a 'talking heads' structure. These films interview a group of knowledgeable individuals about a certain topic, pair those responses with archival footage (be it film or photos) and edit that into a rough narrative. It's undoubtedly the most recognisable form, as it's probably what most people think of when they hear the word documentary. They tend to be fairly good as an overview, and their success is entirely dependent on how invested you are in the subject.

Sighted Eyes/Feeling Heart (2017), via PBS

Thankfully the focus of American doco Sighted Eyes/Feeling Heart (B+) is Lorraine Hansberry, a very interesting person. She was the first ever African American woman to write a play that was staged on Broadway, the exceptional A Raisin In The Sun (which was later adapted into an equally stunning film), but her life was far more than just that one incredible work. Hansberry was a deep thinker, a radical and open advocate for feminism and civil rights and a closeted lesbian. Her work channelled those ideas to make something vital, but before she could publish more than one other play, she passed away too young.

The documentary is simply structured, interviewing Raisin stars Sidney Poitier and Ruby Dee as well as others who knew her, and an actress reading Hansberry's diaries and letters. Yet, it remains memorable for remaining clear-eyed and in-depth, celebrating her but acknowledging her flaws. At two hours, it is a little too long, yet it is an essential poignant biography of a wonderful, complex woman who fought for her rights and often won. She deserves to be known as more than just a writer of one great work, something this documentary succeeds at admirably.

Another typical documentary form is known as the 'observational'. These films feature no, or minimal, interviews, allowing the footage of the subject (be it archival or newly recorded) to speak for itself. This is inherently more cinematic, feels less didactic and allows us to make our own conclusions. Many of the most famous documentarians have made careers out of this form, including Frederick Wiseman (High School, EX LIBRIS) and the Maysles brothers, who made one of the most acclaimed documentaries of all time, 1975's Grey Gardens. That film documents the lives of mother and daughter, Big and Little Edie Beale, who live in self-imposed isolation in a crumbling mansion in the Hamptons. They spend the majority of the film (and their lives) bickering, stuck in this toxic, loving yet combative relationship, surrounded by garbage and cats. It's a film that causes obsessions, pulling you deeper into this relationship and their strength, loneliness and charm. The film's success spawned a 2006 sequel, The Beales of Grey Gardens, which featured footage the Maysles shot but wasn't in the original, and a telemovie starring Reese Witherspoon and Jessica Lange.

That Summer (2017), via Advocate.com

Now there's another sequel, That Summer (A-) directed by Goran Olsson. This film collects footage shot in 1972, several years prior to the Maysles film and it is a goldmine for Grey Gardens nerds such as myself. The relationship between the two is less combative and angry, with cousin Lee Radziwill (younger sister of Jackie Kennedy Onassis) acting as a calming presence. The connection to Jackie Kennedy has always seemed extraneous, adding background but not really relevant to their story. Here, that connection is deepened, as Lee isn't embarrassed, instead being supportive, loving and patient, all necessary qualities when dealing with such big personalities.

And, oh, they are certainly a lot in this film. The Beales are in top form, simultaneously grumpy, impossibly delightful and screamingly funny. There are simply so many great, quotable moments in this that it's impossible to pick just one. Little Edie's great as always. From the story of a new chair that was never sat on ("I call that my disappointed chair ") to naming cats after famous relatives ("I call that one Tedsy Kennedy, it's in the profile"), she is never less than painfully relatable. Who among us hasn't said, "I'm looking for what I'm always looking for, my pants and my make-up!" But it's Big Edie who's the revelation. Who knew she was such a sass master, pointedly telling a health inspector, "I don't hate you nearly as much as I did before." Or the moment she bursts into song, picks up the phone, says hello and, without skipping a beat, keeps singing. Little Edie, too, breaks out into song, singing one random refrain before getting carried away into a full rendition direct to the camera, while Lee has to turn away, laughing too much.

That joy and delight is infectious, and it was such a happy experience for me to be in the company of such staunch characters. The cinema I was in seemed to agree, laughing so much at points that I missed the following line, all of us celebrating their individuality. While it's not a perfect film (the bookends with Beard looking through his scrapbooks are necessary for context, but also aren't exactly incredibly gripping), That Summer remains a near total wonderful surprise, and one of my favourite MIFF experiences.

A much less common form uses animation to reconstruct the lived experiences of either the filmmaker or the subject (or both). Polish film Another Day Of Life (D+) is a particularly poor example of the genre. It depicts the experiences of journalist Ryszard Kapuscinski's experience of the 1975 Angolan Civil War through a hybrid of simple talking heads doco and surreal animation. Except it never manages to decide which of these it wants to be, so ends up failing at both. The talking heads are basic and overly symbolic to the point of ridiculousness. One shot which features a man looking out a window which shatters as he describes how his experiences of war changed him may be the single laziest thing I saw at the entire festival.

Another Day Of Life (2018), via IMDb

However, it's the animation that ends up being the most disappointing. Shot using motion capture, it aims to resemble traditional 2D art. Instead it ends up looking like a very long cut scene straight out of a bad video game, complete with unengaging voice work. Not everyone is cut out for voice-over work, something this film makes painfully clear. And then there's the needlessly bombastic, overly dramatic score which hits the point over and over again until it's impossible to care. While there are some moments of visual inventiveness and thematic resonance questioning the effect of a civil war on a country and journalistic responsibility, it's told in such an uninspired, obvious way that it ends up feeling devoid of life.

Frustrating in a different way was Australian filmmaker Sari Braithwaite's [CENSORED] (B-). This experimental documentary collates clips cut from international films by the Australian censors between 1958-71, interwoven with Braithwaite speaking about her process and the conclusions these clips led her to. While she initially thought that it would be a fun experience, the frequent violent content of the clips (and who it was aimed at) turned into a gruelling trial. She concluded that the male gaze has a tendency towards showing horrific violence against women, in the same way with very little variation.

[CENSORED] (2018), via The Guardian

As a cinematic piece, it's flawed. By pairing Braithwaite speaking with the clips, it becomes didactic, explaining things we could very easily have worked out. One particularly strong moment is an extended montage of women getting slapped culled from more movies than I count. It was a disturbing moment to realise how prevalent such an action was, something that was immediately reinforced by her speaking about it. Maybe it would've been more effective cinematically to simply collate the clips (and the reasoning the censorship board gave) and allow us to make our own conclusions. But it's a hard film to ignore.

The topics raised by [CENSORED], that of the tendency of male directors to depict violence against women, is a huge, complex issue worthy of (and already subject to) deeper investigation. But Braithwaite's film ultimately feels surface level. By consciously 'staying in the archive', she has decontextualised the films and dampened the argument she's trying to make. By examining these clips through the context they came from, a deeper implication could have been made, such as how both 'high art' cinema and B-movies, films from Hollywood or from around the globe portray this violence in the same way, creating a systemic problem. But you can't make that implication by simply looking at clips cut from movies.

And that raises an interesting question as well; namely, what is Braithwaite trying to say by gathering these clips in this way? Is she advocating for the censorship of such imagery? Is she trying to link this tendency of male directors to the impact it has on real life violent acts? If it's the latter point, these culled clips can't possibly have made any impact on Australians, and yet one in three women have experienced physical or sexual violence. In the end, the film feels unfinished. In the discussion afterwards, Braithwaite admitted that she's still ambivalent about the film and the conclusions it puts forward. Her ambivalence shows in the messiness of it, the underdeveloped arguments. And yet, the questions it raises, are ultimately too compelling and important to dismiss.

Kristy Matheson, Isabella Eklof, Corrie Chen & Sari Braithwaite at the
[CENSORED] talk, via MIFF

The panel which followed complicated matters further. Braithwaite, Swiss filmmaker Isabella Eklof (whose film Holiday showed at this year's MIFF but I didn't see it) and Asian-Australian creator Corrie Chen (creator of SBS' Homecoming Queens) debated censorship and the idea of the male gaze. It was simultaneously enlightening and disastrous. It began well-enough with Chen brilliantly complicating the idea of the male/female gaze dichotomy. It's something that has never sat right with me, feeling too generalised, especially as people from all different backgrounds begin to direct films. She argued that maybe a better way of thinking about it was a patriarchal, dominant gaze vs. the gaze of the Other. That opens up conversation in a really interesting and challenging way. Chen also stated that as a gay Asian Australian, she feels a responsibility to tell those kind of stories, but also worries about being pigeonholed and stereotyped because of those choices. As a gay man with mental health issues, this was something I related to really strongly and something I often debate with myself about.

But it's Eklof who provided the most food for thought (and frustration). At one point, she stated that a slap wasn't violent, but it was her thoughts on rape that made me and the friend I was watching with open our mouths in shock. She argued that the rapes in her film were not violent, clarifying that while rape is inherently violent, it's not as violent as the man getting pushed down the stairs. Which is enraging because it creates a disturbing false equivalency between sexual and physical violence. I'll let Sonia Saraiya from Salon explain:

"But rape isn't mere violence; it's not a punch to the head or a knife through the ribs. It's an act that attempts to divorce a person's soul from their body; to imitate the language of intimacy in what is purely cruelty. It is a kind of murder, except afterwards, the victim can still walk and talk and breathe."

To compare that to getting pushed down to the stairs is beyond comprehension. At another moment, Eklof argued that many women have rape fantasies or watch gay male porn and that female directors should, therefore, be compelled to tell those stories. I also learnt later from a friend who did see Holiday, that her next film will be about Africa, stating "you don't have to be African to tell an African story". The question of who is telling the story, why they're telling it and do they have a right to tell it, is something that haunted me throughout MIFF, reoccurring in many of the films I will be discussing in these dispatches.

In my next dispatch, I'll be examining the ethical dilemmas of Madeline's Madeline, trying to work out what the hell Godard is trying to say with The Image Book, stopping by Central Airport THF to see how Germany treats asylum seekers, visiting the animated wonderlands of Big Fish & Begonia and Lu Over The Wall and crying over queer dramas Rafiki and Sorry Angel.