Manisha Thind reviews Paul Wright’s 2017 documentary.

“A story of change, of people moving off the land and away from the country.”

Arcadia is a compelling odyssey concerning the mutating relationship between Great Britain and her citizens. Comprised of astutely selected archive footage infused with experimental and psychedelic scores courtesy of Adrian Utley (Portishead) and Will Gregory (Goldfrapp), the film is a historical reverie.

Juxtaposed next to the deep, choral incantations in the first clip is an ethereal chanting filled with the promise of spring. Thenceforth, director Paul Wright sets the tone of a hallucinatory atmosphere that persists throughout the documentary. Post-War English village life and agricultural occupations are exhibited for the first ten minutes of the film, characteristically merry and nostalgic. These elements starkly contrast with today’s more urban, global standards. The chirpiness of ordinary and habitual 1950s life is shattered by an unsettling score accompanying a foreboding statement: “Deep in the land comes another truth. A different truth. A secret past. A hidden history.”

Ominous transitions partition the various clips, and the audience spirals into an ever troubling and provocative pilgrimage through England’s socio-political rabbit hole. Footage of Lewis Carroll’s inquisitive Alice is followed by images of gleeful nudists and of well-to-do crowds in formal attire. Naturism and paganism are juxtaposed with depictions of foliage, mining and the Queen’s Guard. The archetypal nonconformism of the 1960’s is exemplified, overflowing with psychedelic freak-outs and unbridled love.

“A glimpse of Heaven. But this was only part of the story. To find our salvation, she had to understand the whole truth of this land.”

Merry Britain’s transformation into a troubled nation comes as the socialists and miners become marginalized, and the country is plagued by deforestation, landfills and hunting, whilst the elite idly stand by. Animal abuse is shown simultaneously with joviality, thus demonstrating the problematic ignorance that has neglected to confront the urgency of the climate crisis and animal rights. Far from ‘Merry England’, we are subjected to viewing the harsh realities afflicting the impoverished and underprivileged working classes. Community and spirit have declined to result in punks rebelliously raving, lads rolling down hills undeterred by ostensible injury, and a society sharing only consumerism in common.

“In the United Kingdom, a crisis of great dimensions is in the making, which, if it were allowed to run its course, would shake the world, and make our own position highly vulnerable and precariously isolated.”

Some may consider Arcadia to be no more than a glorified montage; however, the film provides a necessary reminder that Britain’s historical past has fashioned the present, and often mirrors it. Brexit, rising tuition fees and taxes, the attack on the NHS, and immigration are only a few of the issues that exemplify the current societal cleavages and national detachment that bedevils Great Britain. Arcadia proves incredibly relevant, both warning and prayer. That said, hyperbolic dystopianism and the incessantly pessimistic tone of the film leads to Wright deliberately negating footage that would otherwise show communities uniting to face adversity. Moreover, the film would have benefited from surveying more themes – such as racism, sexism and homophobia – in lieu of repeating the footage of pagans chanting. Nonetheless, fundamental national divisions persist despite advances towards liberty and enlightenment; this film intuitively captures these divisions, one which most would rather not acknowledge. Let us hope that subsequent generations will finally upturn this ceaseless spiral towards the Earth’s decay and societal partition, into something that more closely resembles a utopia.

Arcadia is available to stream on BFI Player or available to rent on multiple platforms. Check out the trailer below:

Manisha Thind reviews Sinéad O’Shea’s first feature documentary on a troubled Northern Ireland community.

Bleak, grounded and revealing, Sinéad O’Shea’s first feature documentary ‘A Mother Brings her Son to be Shot’ comprehensively voices the story of the O’Donnell family. Living in a housing estate in Free Derry, Northern Ireland, paramilitary groups patrol the streets gathering intelligence and acting as the pseudo-police securing the community. “You are not entering free Derry,” a mural says. The peace process that vowed to deliver opportunities for the young generation and to stop the violence has not produced the fruits it promised. The promise is shattered within the first moments of the film with the sight of an armoured police patrol car passing; a sight more akin to the streets of Palestine than the United Kingdom. Drug abuse plagues the community. Suicide rates have doubled since the Good Friday Agreement of 1998. The young wish for ‘The Troubles’ back out of sheer boredom. Revolutionary sentiments rumble, police-dissident corruption seethes, and above it all violence dominates. The director herself proclaims this documentary as “complicated… grey [and] both funny and dark.”

In short the story stems from one event: the mother, Majella, takes her teenage son, Phillip “Philly” O’Donnell, to a “shooting appointment”. Why? To be kneecapped by Republican dissidents, “The Ra”, for distributing drugs amongst other forms of alleged antisocial behaviour. This was the lesser of two evils; the other option was to be shot in the front garden and be put into a wheelchair. “Death to dealers”, the graffiti proclaims, and that is exactly what Philly dreads to the point of insanity.

The documentary opens with one of Majella’s sons wielding carefree a crowbar, a hatchet, a saw and finally a “torture weapon” – a bolt cutter. Eleven years old, this son, Kevin Barry, is the youngest member of the O’Donnell family. Whilst light-hearted, as a result of the shockingly amusing comments that Kevin makes accompanying his showcase, this scene alludes to the pervasive and cyclical nature of violence in this particular section of the community. Later the camera pans out to reveal Kevin bestowing his expertise on colt M19s and bullets to his mother; again the audience laughs in bewilderment. Comedy, in this documentary, is born out of shock-horror.

The despondency, fear and desolation in Majella’s eyes are representative of the O’Donnell’s situation, the disposition of their community and that of the overall documentary. Through her eyes we can gauge the most honest portrait. Taking diazepam, swallowing bags of powder followed by shots of Sambuca, going six days without sleep, hallucinating, having nightmares about masked men are all things attributed to Philly. He is paranoid, suicidal and psychologically traumatised. And his mother is aware of this. A deep regret clouds Majella – her decision to take her son to be shot. She lives with the knowledge that others call her a bad mother. She knows Philly’s life is still in danger. Yet he returns home in the morning, intoxicated, the shake of his hands immediately recognisable to his mother. Majella is powerless.

This documentary isn’t a political survey of the situation in Derry in the aftermath of ‘The Troubles’ and it doesn’t concern itself with wider political questions. O’Shea herself is delicate in her handling of the political aspect of this documentary being particularly pre-cautious in the use of terminology. Nevertheless, O’Shea subtly yet strikingly alludes to the political alignments of Ireland’s republicans, with Palestine for example, in murals across the region.

During a five-year period of filming, O’Shea has hour-long conversations with the Hugh Brady. This “realist [and] fatalist” was once part of The IRA, then was jailed for sixteen years and now acts as a mediator between The Ra and those in Philly’s predicament. Despite scraping at truths, stating that expelling armed Republicans is still viewed as “informing”, he is a deceitful character to some extent. Ultimately he was expelled from a movement he was committed to after being caught with cannabis and as a result was tied to a lamppost and “painted”. Montages of footage of Brady’s IRA past stress the magnitude of his loyalties and the bias that bleeds into his dialogue. Here it is important to congratulate O’Shea and her team in the thoughtful use of archived footage throughout the documentary.

It was the question and answer session with O’Shea that shed more light on the complexities. O’Shea herself proclaims that it was impossible to determine the truths from the lies during filming. Moreover elements are left out, such as two other siblings in the O’Donnell family; they did not want to appear on camera. This leads to a deficiency in the documentary – the audience doesn’t understand the extent of organised crime in the community. Kevin Barry discloses The Ra are actually taxing the drug trade. Whilst completely plausible it cannot be confirmed; in fact Kevin Barry emerges to be a reflection of his irrational older brother. Why is it plausible? The eldest of the O’Donnell brothers, who is omitted from the documentary, was a bigger drug dealer than Philly yet wasn’t shot. Was he taxed and allowed to carry on with trading in drugs? We don’t know. This dimension alludes to a more cautious O’Shea.

Conceivably the failings of the documentary were to a greater extent a symptom of factors out of O’Shea’s control. The ending is forced to some extent due to the lack of further contact with the O’Donnells. Still, the documentary manages to end on a cyclical note – the father Philip Senior is shot in both knees after being released seven years into a thirteen-year jail-sentence. Again the audience is left wondering as to why. It is only in the plenary session with O’Shea that answers emerge. Hugh, O’Shea tells us, argued that the aforementioned early release was due to Senior passing out information about the cause to the police and then the depositions being released. Senior on the other hand maintains it was due to a brawl or accident. O’Shea then reveals Senior was scarred on his thigh and not on his knees. It is infuriating that conclusions aren’t definitively reached in this documentary and a lack of a robust, objective, outside voice adds to the irritation. Truth is lost somewhere in the estates of Creggan. O’Shea’s narrative is limited and heavily constrained; an interview with a scholar of a related field could’ve added a much needed dimension of clarity.

Although O’Shea can be praised for her patience and dedication spent on the project, this documentary would have benefited with an additional year or more of filming (if funds allowed it of course). Kevin Barry is a refreshing subject in the documentary, and perhaps its true star. As stated previously he provides much comedic relief throughout; he is astonishingly intelligent as well as witty. At fourteen he begins taking drugs outside of cannabis and exhibits anger issues, especially in school, however he is able to channel the rage and aggression into boxing. Towards the end he is shown to be an exact physical copy of Philly implying to some extent a pessimistic future for him. Possibly the greatest tragedy to befall Creggan lies in the loss of Kevin Barry’s potential. The missed focal point in the documentary is the failure of Northern Ireland’s youth to find opportunity; maybe it’s because it is too common a tragedy to register. The documentary itself ends on a doubtful note for the future of the O’Donnells. Upon the film’s release, however, Kevin Barry proceeds to become a building apprentice. If filming had continued longer the documentary could’ve ended on a more positive note – arguably more in line with to actual trajectory of the O’Donnells’ futures.

O’Shea achieves an insight into a small faction of a community still troubled by ‘The Troubles’ themselves. Original in its primary subject matter, it accomplishes by bringing attention to a significant issue within the UK which news outlets don’t pay attention to. Once an invisible community and the people in it disposable, O’Shea manages to expose their realities to some extent. Solidarity against the authority and anarchy stage themselves in the final scene of a bonfire. The peace process hasn’t solved ‘The Troubles’, the war is still not over and a community of people in “Free” Derry continue to live in a post-war prison of violence. The Union Jack burns.

A Mother Brings Her Son To Be Shot was screened at UCL on October 18th. Check out the trailer below:

It’s festival season! The FilmSoc blog is covering the 62nd BFI London Film Festival (10th – 21st October), diving into the myriad of films and events on offer to deliver reviews.

Milo Garner reviews Peter Jackson’s technically and visually experimental WW1 documentary. 

Among the unruly film conservationist community – an elusive and underloved subsection of society at the best of times – there is much discontent afoot. Peter Jackson’s latest project, a commission from the Imperial War Museum to mark the centenary of the First World War’s conclusion, has been considered by some to be an act of barbarity, an unjustifiable marring of historical record for the sake of empty titillation. This project, entitled They Shall Not Grow Old, is understandably controversial: Jackson has taken archive footage from the Western Front and not only colourized it, but dubbed it with sound and rendered it in 3D. That’s not even to mention blowing up 4:3 to 16:9, often considered a sin in its own right.

The arguments against this kind of treatment are plentiful and not without merit, especially the suggestion that in making these images more ‘realistic’, one forgets that they do not necessarily represent reality at all. Not only is much of the footage used staged or in some way manipulated – what is off-frame is often more indicative than what is on – but also an artefact of how these historical people viewed their own present. To ‘enhance’ these images with tools of modernity might, in an extreme example, not be so dissimilar to colouring in cave drawings in order to make the horses more lifelike. While yes, that much would be achieved, it would also be a total distortion of the way in which early man perceived and recorded horses – it may seem more real to us, but not in any helpful way.

This angle, while entirely valid, misses the aims of Jackson in creating this film. He is not attempting to make better the images of his forefathers, but rather to use the data contained within those images so as to construct a fantasy that might, itself, communicate an idea of the First World War. Little of what Jackson presents can be considered ‘real’ – the colours are imagined, the sounds invented, the voices guessed at – but just like any costume drama set in the Great War, that does not stop these from being authentic. By adapting the indexical record of the First World War, which even if staged or manipulated is still constructed with genuine soldiers in genuine locations, Jackson can then inject this impression of the past with his own expressive interpretation. This is not an improvement of old footage so much as an attempt to use this footage in an essentially fictional recreation of the First World War. He wishes to recreate it according to the aesthetic of direct human senses – we see in colour, we hear synchronised sound, we perceive depth. So too did the soldiers Jackson wishes to depict, and through their eyes he attempts to see. This is, of course, impossible – therein lies the art of cinema.

But does it work? In large part, I think it does. Jackson opens the film with framed and untouched (besides the unobtrusive addition of mild 3D effects) footage depicting recruitment and preparation early in the war. As this leads into the fighting – he structures the film in a simplistic, linear fashion – the various effects sweep over the screen. The impact is at first startling; the distortion inherent in the footage met with image smoothing techniques, and occasionally garish colours, initially suggests the tone of 80s video footage, almost as though we are viewing some kind of re-enactment. But as the film continues the imagery becomes more consistent, and at once more intimate. This is not to say that black-and-white footage is inherently alienating; rather that to see these young faces laughing or speaking, smiling in impossible close-ups, is to imbue them with something lost in the limitations of silent documentary of the 1910s. It feels almost wrong – especially as a student of history – to suggest such a superficial (and fictitious) adaptation of old images can change their effect in any meaningful way. Then again it is that replication of the human sensory condition, and application of modern aesthetic sensibilities, that in Jackson’s own words ‘reach[es] through the fog of time and pull[s] these men into the modern world’.

Unfortunately this fascinating gambit lies in contrast to the worn-over and school-friendly structure the rest of the film rests in (albeit understandably, given a copy will be sent to every school in the UK). Every theme is covered individually, each given a few minutes, the course of the war covered in as wide and generic a sense as possible. While the interviews that underscore the entire film are of course specific, they are rent from their direct context so as to allow them the bizarre position of ‘general anecdote’. The wheres and the whens are forgone for the general atmosphere of war. This is justifiable, but feels rote, and paradoxically impersonal. Jackson will often cut to close-ups of soldiers faces to directly humanize them, and yet these soldiers will remain anonymous, matched to voices that are not their own, intercut with battles in which they did not fight. As associative montage this might be effective, but it does seem a little at odds with Jackson’s initial purpose. This also leads to Jackson’s trouble when representing scenes of battle in a larger sense, as the exact kind of grittiness he would like to impart was never captured (or archived) on film, other than the grisly leftovers. As such he must fall back on printed images of battle, with a ballistic soundscape of artillery fire and the occasional bagpipe standing in for visual effect. A conspicuously absent feature given its core importance to understanding the experience of war, even if the descriptions on the soundtrack serve as adequate substance in lieu.

They Shall Not Grow Old is, as such, a strange contradiction of sorts. As a documentary, it is entirely uninspiring in form, and other than its brief treatment of the post-war experience it offers little novel in terms of structure. But the direct experience of witnessing these soldiers resurrected by digital technologies rebukes any loss in confidence instantly. To see these men looking so immediately real (the footage not only colourized, but stabilized, and smoothed) is startling. While the black-and-white footage untreated could hardly be described as inhuman, it has previously served as a unique sort of cage for the men of the early 20^th century. Where wars of deeper history lack such filmic record – and so are simply imagined in colour, inspired by clearly contrived elements of visual art (paintings etc.) – the nature of film is such that these monochrome images become a sort of phantom memory for those recalling these battles beyond their years. It is in much the same manner that young children often wonder if the past was in black-and-white entirely. And it is for these children especially that the film has been constructed; it aims to break this silver cage, and create a new, vivid, memory of the past. In this it undoubtedly succeeds.

7/10

They Shall Not Grow Old is currently showing at the Imperial War Museum. Check out its trailer below:

Nick Mastrini reviews the documentary revealing the fascinating career of Kubrick’s right-hand-man.

Tony Zierra’s Filmworker is a documentary that celebrates the hidden craftspeople of filmmaking by exhibiting the career of Leon Vitali, the actor-turned-right-hand-man for Stanley Kubrick, who relinquished a burgeoning career in front of the camera to work behind it.

A filmmaker as creatively independent as Stanley Kubrick can’t be defined by a genre, movement or single film. For Kubrick, the opposite is true: his work came to define the second half of the 20th century. As if by cosmic coincidence, the director’s career fits exactly into those five decades; Kubrick produced his first film, a boxing documentary short titled Day of the Fight, in 1950, and screened the final cut of Eyes Wide Shut six days before his death in 1999.

Vitali enters this timeline exactly halfway through, playing Lord Bullingdon in Barry Lyndon in 1975. It becomes clear Kubrick wanted his actors to live as their characters, to learn every piece of dialogue by heart. While this caused issues for some cast members, Vitali prospered, and connected with Kubrick as a collaborator. Vitali coins the film’s title as a catch-all term to describe the breadth of tasks he would complete in service of Kubrick. What the documentary reveals is that – by sheer dedication to a laborious career – he ultimately became an understated cinematic polymath.

Filmworker does well to exhibit the two sides of the Kubrick-dedication coin. One voice notes that ‘he always had the energy for other people,’ confirming Vitali’s sincerity and selflessness. The late R. Lee Ermey (whose defining role in Full Metal Jacket was developed with Vitali’s support) and Matthew Modine highlight that they, or anyone else, would be “too selfish” to take on the role the filmworker did. And through a number of intimate interviews Zierra reveals the toll this took on the man who “became the arms and legs” of an iconic director.

From acting through editing and printing to casting and foley design, Filmworker takes us on a journey through cinematic departments and showcases Vitali’s expertise in each one. As this path unfolds, the weight of Kubrick’s career takes its toll. “Stanley kind of ate you up,” remarks one voice, and eventually, it is the global span of the director’s appeal that forces Vitali to live and breathe not a single role but a number of films. Every print inspected, every frame and every trailer, every marketing move and shopfront window concerns him. Filmmaking is a business above all, which makes Vitali stand out even more. He recalls asking “Stanley… do I look corporate?”

Filmworker is a great watch for the cinephile, especially one more interested in the human impact of filmmaking as a lifestyle than intense analysis of the films themselves, as in the Kubrick doc Room 237. Conspiracy theories and subliminal messages aren’t to be found here. Instead, this is the remarkable story of a craftsman whose curiosity led to mastery, and whose legacy deserves to be printed on film.

Filmworker was released May 18 and is now showing in UK cinemas. Trailer:

Emma Davis considers Molly Dineen’s documentary about the Brixton neighbourhood icon ahead of its premiere on BBC2 tonight.

In Molly Dineen’s latest documentary Being Blacker, Brixton is the undercurrent to the life and philosophy of Blacker Dread. There is plenty inspiration to take from London’s people, places and its spirit. Even UCL’s own student productions of Brick Lane in Flux and Heimweh tackled the social consequences of Britain’s cultural and economic behemoth. It was easy to assume that this would be about Brixton’s changing identity – gentrification is a hot topic to discuss. But when Dineen focuses on Blacker, some more universal themes such as love, family, death, and masculinity come to light.

So, who is Blacker Dread? Most people in the audience at the March 5th BFI screening would know the answer to this, many being from Brixton. From his records shopfront, he would invite the community in any reason. People have fond memories of searching for their favourite reggae record, watching (and celebrating) Usain Bolt’s Olympic achievements, or accepting his offer to keep an eye on the youth when they encountered police. He is a cultural and social figurehead for the London district, with achievements in the reggae industry, and even met Nelson Mandela on his 1996 visit to Britain. Being Blacker, however, approaches our mythical hero by humanising him. 

We meet Blacker’s oldest friend, Napthali, and his family, who are all affected by the loss of their matriarch in Blacker’s mother. However, as the events unfold, the intimacy and bond between individuals is unforgettable. The documentary has a home-movie feel. That is how the film began in its practical origins – Blacker had asked for a recording of his mother’s funeral from Dineen, a home-video that establishes the film’s core themes and catalyses the narrative course. After that, Dineen follows Blacker around his home and his shop, but she falls into the background easily, allowing the audience to get absorbed into the stakes of Blacker and those around him. At times, it is a little difficult to piece together the particular chronological point in film’s linear structure. Even so, Dineen’s flow is still smooth. 

Unlike my own expectations, politics was not the forefront. When an audience member in the Q&A session asked if Blacker would pursue politics, he replied by indicating that he is more interested in mentoring and cultivating talent. Love is key to understanding Blacker – not only does it come from his belief in Rastafari, but how also in how he treats others. He is certain about who he cares for and it’s shown what he does for them. Blacker sacrifices for his own, and they do so in return. He is quite a character, but he has quite the heart as well.

And most bluntly, there is a challenge to the idea of happy immigration. His family attest to how he has a stronger affinity with Jamaica. From his own experience to his youngest son, life in Britain is not an opportunity, but a hindrance. The focus on Blacker and his son, and then some moments with Napthali, bring issues of masculinity to light. His son lives in Jamaica, thriving socially and academically, unlike in the UK where he was deemed a disruption. Napthali struggles to find employment with his criminal record and reflects on providing for his family. Blacker talks of ‘failure’ when people fall into crime: with family, with the state, or somewhere else. He denounces education as pillar for success (traditionally, what immigrants would rely on for social mobility) or political correctness to help form identity, but doesn’t refuse these for others. This intersection, between masculine success and Britain’s post-colonial legacy, is powerful.

Dineen’s last films were ten years ago, and her return to filmmaking is coupled with a return to her student film days when she made her first film about Blacker and his involvement with the reggae sound system culture of the 1980s. When an audience member called for a filmmaker like Dineen to make more films about underrepresented social topics, her response cites her responsibility as a parent. While the BFI so keenly promoted the support and purchasing of the work by female filmmakers before the screening started, there is still progress for female-made films to have a chance. There are obstacles in these films being made, not just for their distribution and consumption.  

But certainly, the honest and intimate filmmaking of Being Blacker shines many truths. There are uncomfortable moments. The start is an actual funeral, and the privilege of Dineen attending the family affair is extended to the audience. Blacker and Naphtali experience their own difficulties in the years after, trying to make the best despite a society and its institutions stacked against them. There is some whiplash when confronted with current British youth. After being lulled in the experience and wisdom of older people like Blacker, Napthali and his family; there is a reminder of the institutional and physical violence against young Black British men now.

Whether or not you are an ethnic minority in the UK, it is quite easy to see that there are parts of Britain missing from mainstream exposure. Dineen revealed that it was difficult to release the documentary, as an executive said portraying Black British people as being involved with crime and violence was generalisation. This is hypocritical. If there were more content out there, there would be more instances for audience to reduce for their generalisations. As such, it is important to watch this observation of British life. Keep in mind, that it is a single British life — the experience of a singular Jamaican British man, very localised to the Brixton context. Such specificity doesn’t demean its importance, but rather elevates it, and there is still something universal to be found. 

Being Blacker airs on BBC2 on March 12th at 9pm.

The latest edition of Central DOCS Club, in association with UCL Film Society, featured a screening of Walk With Me, a glimpse into the monastic life led and taught by Thích Nhất Hạnh, followed by an engaging audience discussion.

A superbly shot and edited observational documentary, Walk With Me reveals the daily activities of visitors and residents in Plum Village, a rural monastery in France, as they follow the guidance of Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hanh. Their journey towards zen is presented in an appropriately peaceful, yet thoroughly engaging, film, directed by Max Pugh and Marc James Francis.

Box office draw is supported by the sonorous tones of Benedict Cumberbatch reading Nhất Hạnh’s journal entries, appearing every so often as if to reflect the Buddhist practice of pausing upon the sound of a bell and experiencing the present moment.

What the film does wonderfully is emerge from Plum Village to show the relationship between the monastic individuals and the world many of them left behind. Some return to relatives who, despite the more conventional lives they have led, show the empathy and tolerance which their sons and daughters have devoted their lives to.

The group walks through New York’s streets calmly, as if in slow motion, a stark contrast to the modern racecourse around them. The camera does not judge, and the individuals do not speak to the filmmakers; instead, as the travelling monks sit in a city square, the observational mode captures a vociferous Christian preacher denouncing their beliefs. A member of the public confronts the preacher, before hugging a nearby stranger. Smiles and silence surpass the intolerance.

Keep an eye out for Central DOCS Club’s next screenings — stay up to date with Film Society’s Facebook page and Picturehouse Docs.

The latest screening at Central DOCS Club – where newly-released documentaries are shown at Picturehouse Central in association with FilmSoc – featured Mountain followed by a discussion.

Alexandra-Loredana Petrache reviews Jennifer Peedom’s symphonic doc.

A gorgeous piece of cinematography. An ode to the mountains. 

Beautiful imagery and score

Soothingly narrated by Willem Dafoe and bringing in the Australian Chamber Orchestra to perform pieces from the likes of Vivaldi, Mountain presents stunning, breath-taking imagery of people who aim for more: who test themselves, defy the norm and go in search of aventure. It also shows the modern reality of such sports, and of the people who try them in pursuit of not only the climb itself, but social media’s fame and adulation. The documentary scratches the surface of a whole universe of sports and sport-lovers, of madness and sanity, of will and strength, and shows the audience the thrills and perils that come with such ventures, without going too far into characterising the activities or associated risks. This is not meant to be an in-depth documentary about climbers, mountain-bikers or base-jumpers, but a serene piece of cinematography accompanied by good music. It will occasionally make you reach the edge of your seat but mostly it will induce a sense of wonder and worship towards the mountains. The music complements the footage perfectly – the beginning of the film comes into focus as a violin is being tuned. The sound weaves the metaphor of dizzying heights: we see climbers ascend over the crescendo of a violin, as a piano is subtly playing in the background, finishing off the metaphor of serene peace that accompanies the sport.

What Mountain succeeds at is showing both the exhilarating and the brutal: people smiling upon reaching their destination on the mountain, and euphoric spirits and cheers, but also bloody fingers, faces bitten by frost, tents filled with snow so cold it feels like a blade cutting the flesh down to the bone. Broken legs, twisted ankles, deep scratches, concussions, vertigo, pain, death. The price to pay for fleeting moments of sweet ecstasy.

Climbing a mountain: reward or plunder?

We keep talking of conquest when we speak of mountains and I’m not sure whether this comes from a sense of reward after the daunting experience that climbing can be or if it is sheer arrogance – do we really think we can outwit timeless (yet perpetually changing) rock giants? Is reaching a peak plunder or reward? Should we not talk of conquering ourselves, perhaps? Are mountains not just enablers for us to test our mental and physical strength?

The mountains can be a refuge for an ordinary living, an infusion of life, of raw, naked reality. It is a two-sided story: one of humility and one of hubris. On one side, we are glancing upon our condition and are reminded we are insignificant in this vast world. On the other, this sheer feeling of inferiority pushes us to overcome it, reach for the gods and prove that we are nothing less. And the fall will be all the more bittersweet knowing that, for a split moment, we were their equals and shared their world.

It is interesting how the film-makers decided to give the audience only a taste of the charm and seduction the mountains possess, instead of going for something with more substance and tackling concrete ideas about the sports presented or the more commercial aspect that now accompanies some of the sports presented. They focused on romanticising the antithesis between man and mountain, between ephemeral and long-lived.

Join us at the next Central DOCS Club screening on 8th January: see and discuss Walk With Me, a rare insight into the world of mindfulness and the Zen Buddhist master Thich Nhat Hanh, narrated by Benedict Cumberbatch! Check out the Facebook event HERE.

Mountain premiered at London Film Festival on October 9th. Watch the trailer below.

FilmSoc Term 1 Documentary – 2017/18 | In collaboration with SAVAGE Journal

A famous melting pot faced with a modern issue – the story of Brick Lane is diverse and ever-changing. ‘Brick Lane In Flux’ explores immigration and gentrification by way of this unique setting.

Directed and produced by
Nick Mastrini and Imogen Holland

Research, Filming and Editing by
Zabrina Lo
Alexia Kerwat
Ruby Harrop
Clara Invitado
Lorna Miri
Ay Nassimoldina
Katie Li
Thomas Nguyen
Maya Sughaiyer
Diggy Hill
Alex Anderton
Coco Shi
Duncan Smith
Seren John-Wood
Alex Craggs
Flora Zamula
Drone footage by Marley Fernandes

With thanks to
Rachel Lichtenstein
Sandys Row Synagogue
Stefan Dickers
Bishopsgate Institute
Sajjad Miah
Brick Lane Jamme Masjid
Ashraf Hoque

Find out more about SAVAGE Journal at savageonline.co.uk. You can also find them on FACEBOOK / INSTAGRAM / TWITTER.

 

Our second co-hosted Central DOCS Club event at Picturehouse Central featured a screening of Jane Goodall doc Jane followed by a discussion. Get involved in the next DOC Club screenings with Mountain on Dec 18th and Walk With Me on Jan 8th.

Editor Chloe Woods continues the discussion with her review of the film.

Apparently I can’t assume everybody knows who Jane Goodall is. Born in 1934, the world’s most famous and most-revered expert on chimpanzees first set foot in Africa in her early twenties, and in 1960 established the (ongoing) field study of chimps in Gombe, Tanzania. Not long afterwards she shook both the scientific community and the wider world with her groundbreaking observations into chimpanzee behaviour – particularly the revelation that they used and made tools – and since the mid-1980s she has travelled the world to campaign for conservation and environmental responsibility. That’s Jane Goodall¹.

Brett Morgen’s documentary, Jane, expands on the bare bones of this biography via recent interviews with Goodall, narration from her 2001 autobiography and – most astonishingly – footage from the National Geographic archives, shot in the 1960s by Hugo van Lawick, and believed lost until 2014. Van Lawick, as the documentary notes, is considered one of the world’s greatest nature filmmakers, and it shows. He was also for a while Jane Goodall’s husband: that shows, too, despite the constraints of the assignment brief (Goodall was not, for example, best pleased to be informed the National Geographic wanted footage of her washing her hair when there were chimps to look at) and the objectivity a wildlife photographer must attempt to maintain between subject and camera. But in the early years at Gombe, where the largely untrained Goodall was free to work as she best pleased and did so according to her own values rather than the established ones of the scientific community – then rather colder and more dismissive towards viewing animals as individuals with personalities rather than automatic cogs in the grind-wheel of natural selection – Gombe was not a place of enforced objectivity, and likely better for it.

But it takes a while for Jane to get to that, and it has no inclination to hurry through its story. There are many shots, particularly in the opening minutes, of Goodall by herself in the African forest; then Goodall, and later others, interacting with the chimpanzees to whom she gave names. We learn a little about her childhood, about the part of her life spent (still with van Lawick) on the Serengeti, and about her subsequent campaigning work, and much of this is accompanied by Goodall’s own thoughts on the matter. She is hardly unaware of the startling position she occupied as a young woman doing work in Africa by herself, first feared-for and required to take her mother along as chaperone, then dismissed by her looks and her age when her research challenged prior belief. She muses also on the dangers of chimpanzees, not then known, but growing apparent through the years of research; the dangers to chimpanzees by close human contact, both accidentally and as deliberate harm; and, perhaps most intimately, on how she came by her own character and the single-minded confidence that would lead a person to watch the chimps for months upon end while making no apparent progress. She makes no apologies for having no interest in marriage until she met someone who shared her passion and, when it came to a choice between husband and that passion, no apologies for putting the passion and her ambition first. For though we learn about Jane’s relationships with her first husband², her son and her parents, it’s clear the defining relationship of her life has been that with chimpanzees, both in aggregate and singularly.

So, from the caterpillar crawling on the branch to the infant chimp playing on the tent, Goodall’s calm, classic English accent leads the viewer through the grainy images; and though relatively few of the clips might correlate to the moments referenced, since chimps will rarely perform for camera and the most important events can hardly be predicted – that’s of no consequence. If we don’t see it as it happened first we are, after all, used to the illusions of cinema, and being in the right place and the right time – Africa, the young Jane Goodall with her hair back in the loose ponytail she still wears today – they are truer than many, weaving a tale it is difficult not to be drawn into. (Though it does get a little didactic towards the end, which is no crime in itself but clumsily shoehorned here.)

The strange thing about this is it almost disguises the fact that Brett Morgen, as a filmmaker, has not done anything outstanding. The critical world has been full of praise for this documentary – well, yes. Van Lawick’s footage is universally gorgeous and Goodall’s strength of character and intelligence shine through: beyond this, the construction of the documentary is on the unoriginal side. It’s very much as if Morgen, handed these impressive starting blocks from which to construct the documentary, fitted them together competently enough (and I’ll admit, combing through the archive footage must have been a hell of a job), then floundered when asked to impress upon it his own interpretation. The points of focus feel as though they’ve been riffed from Goodall’s autobiography and, if so, she must take credit for the narrative structure of Jane, which races through emotional milestones without lingering long enough to let their impact sink in, repeats itself to the point of patronisation, and uses trite, overblown musical prompts to spell out the moment’s mood. And as a result it is merely very good when, given the materials and subject matter at hand, it could well have been brilliant.

Goodall is very media-savvy and this film as much as anything will show her as she wants the world to see, but you can be both astute and genuine. There can be little doubt her love of chimps, and of the natural world more broadly, has driven her for fifty years; little doubt too, though it receives passing mention in this up-close-and-personal work, of the impact she’s had upon both the scientific and environmentalist communities. Jane treats us to details in the life of a remarkable woman from a perspective once thought lost forever. Even if Morgen might have been less condescending in his musical motifs, it’s well worth the watch. Because that’s Jane Goodall – the first and grandest of the Trimates³, and perhaps the most important primatologist in history.

¹Some details which didn’t make it make it into the film but which this writer considers interesting: in 1962, after first developing her own ideas on chimp behaviour and marking herself out as an independent thinker, Goodall became a student of Newnham College, Cambridge as one of the few people to study for a PhD without first receiving a bachelor’s degree; she is vegetarian; and in 1987 or so Gary Larson referenced her in a comic which the staff at the Jane Goodall Institute described as an “atrocity” but Goodall herself was apparently quite entertained by.

²You wouldn’t know it from Jane, but Goodall has been married twice. Her second husband, Derek Bryceson, died of cancer in 1980 after about five years of marriage.

³There were three women who set out, via the encouragement of palaeoanthropologist Louis Leakey, to study then-unknown great ape species in the 1960s and ‘70s. The second, the bombastic Dian Fossey, was immortalised in the 1988 Gorillas in the Mist three years following her murder at still-unconfirmed hands; the third, Birute Galdikas, is less well-known but like Goodall campaigns for environmental conservation and primate protection, in addition to continuing her research on orangutans in Indonesia. The unfortunate alternative name for the group is “Leakey’s Angels”. So now you know.