There are at least four of drafts of posts like this one waiting in the wings, in various stages of gestation, tongue-tied, impatiently waiting to see the light. It’s a problem.
But I just got back from my fourth documentary of this year’s
Hot Docs festival, and I am finally moved to get this stalled labour restarted, to bear down and push something out. Yesterday I was speaking with my dear, neglected friend Susan, and whining as usual about my struggle to follow through with my writing projects. I then mentioned I had a full dance card of delightful Hot Docs screenings again this year, and she said that was great, but that it’s also an effective distraction from the writing I should really be doing. I admitted she was right, then added jokingly, “Unless I write about it!”
Well, joke’s on me, ‘cause here we are.
For me, Hot Docs is less a film festival than a religious one. It’s in my home town, thank god, so it doesn’t require an actual pilgrimage, but I certainly attend as a pilgrim. I sometimes see the films with friends, but I’m very happy to go alone; in fact, I really prefer it. I find that I am overly influenced by my friends’ reactions, wanting them to like and dislike the same moments, the same subjects, checking that they’re laughing or crying along with me.
Apparently I am not alone in finding these eleven days each spring to be a spiritual experience; in contrast to the audiences at most theatrical events these days, my fellow pilgrims and I generally behave as devout churchgoers: there’s little talking, loud candy-unwrapping, kicking, fidgeting, or social-media-ing. There are few children. There is respect for the films and filmmakers. A Hot Docs audience is probably the best audience in town.
I rush home from almost every “service” inspired and awash in the Great Doc Spirit, eager to perform additional devotions (web site follow-up, wiki-research, listening in to e-debates), desperate to download the latest news on each incredible story. Was he/she ever found? Did he/she live? Was he/she really guilty? Was it saved or torn down? What does he/she do now, after what happened? Are they still fighting the good fight or did they move on?
And though they generally lack CGI, car chases, or explosions, I find the films utterly fascinating and compelling. I’m hooked not just because, as they say, you can’t write this stuff, but because their stories are ongoing. I can’t wait for the post-screening Q & A’s to learn all the latest, often from the subjects themselves. What a privilege to encounter some of these fascinating characters! It’s probably the best part of the whole thing. (It can occasionally also be the most embarrassing part. I keenly remember laughing heartily at some of the born-again nonsense spouted by the protagonists of
The Cross and Bones, only to find once the lights had come up that they were seated just a few rows behind me.)
I believe most of us approach art forms, especially stories, seeking ourselves, hoping to understand and to relate to the people on the page or screen. We’re looking for answers to basic questions: Who am I? What is my community? Who are “my people” and what do we believe? How would I respond to this situation? What would I fight for? What would I sacrifice? I want to understand these things, and many more.
Here’s what I’ve learned from the Hot Docs of the last several years:
• Never write someone off (such as the subject of
Stroke, or
the base jumper who had that horrific accident).
• Crazy can’t always be fixed, but in coping with it, you’re rarely alone (
My Mother’s Garden, Cat Ladies).
• Amazing, compelling stories are everywhere (
Into Eternity, Marwencol, Thunder Soul).
• Over the long term, it’s very difficult to suppress who you really are (just ask
Anne Perry [“secrets are corrosive”], or the two stars of
Regretters). Doc subjects have often created elaborate fictions, but their true natures are ultimately revealed, either through the sheer persistence and/or luck of the filmmakers, or the sheer force of their authentic selves.
• People’s stories can help you heal, and learn compassion and tolerance (
Song Sung Blue, My Mother’s Garden, 65 Red Roses, Becoming Chaz).
For example, Sunday’s film,
Battle For Brooklyn, offered a David v. Goliath how-to. A little guy took on a giant developer when he learned they planned to raze his entire Brooklyn ‘hood to put up a massive development anchored by a stadium for the woeful New Jersey Nets. It’s an amazing, important film, but as usual, what I took away from it was the personally resonant, big-picture stuff.
Afterwards, someone asked the subject of the film, Daniel Goldstein, how he had managed to hang in for the seven or so years it took to resolve all the civil and legal battles, and whether this meant he was a “masochist.” This got a laugh, but he pointed out that in fact, he enjoyed the process of forming and leading a community group, and felt closer to his neighbours and his neighbourhood as a result. That night I found the following response, I think from Daniel’s dad, among the post-premiere comments on the film:
What I learned from my son Daniel is about leadership and having the courage of your conviction, persistence, dedication, fairness, standing up against all odds no matter what, when you are doing what is right and just and reasonable, and having the willingness to take personal risks for the common good.
And that’s what I took home that day, and what compelled me to finally write about Hot Docs. It struck me that Daniel’s experience, like that of many of the people in the documentaries and in my own life, demonstrates how hard it is to care about something. That something might be an issue, or a neighbourhood, or a heritage building, or a living being, animal or otherwise (don’t get me started on trees).
Which brings me to the trouble with caring. But that’s a topic for another day.
David McNew/Getty Images
