I know this isn't even the right time of year to be thinking about this, but I was hoping to maybe get some sort of committee together to overturn the arcane rules that govern the nominating of the best documentary feature for the Academy Awards. There's something wrong here.
Over the years, many great documentaries have not only failed to get the OscarTM, but even managed to be overlooked in the nominations. These are good films. Sure, they're the more popular documentaries, and I wholeheartedly agree that the most popular is frequently not the best made. I can understand their motivations in wanting some lesser-known films to get some deserved publicity, but we're talking about documentaries here. Even the largest grossing ones are no where near the Jurassic Park league.
Here are a list of some of their more egregious omissions.
Roger & Me (1989, dir. Michael Moore.)
It's hard enough to make a movie be either funny or angry -- this one manages to
be both. Unflinching and yet human, the desperation is funny but sad. Not even
trying to be objective, Mr. Moore simply wants something to be done about his
home town. It's much more of a one man fighting the system kind of movie than
anything Charles Bronson or Jean-Claude Van Damme has ever done. If America's
conception of its conscience looked less like a miniature angel perched on its
left shoulder and more like Michael Moore pointing a camera in its face, the
world would be a better place. Subsequent films like The Big One and the
fictional Canadian Bacon are generally disappointing, if you're looking
for more of the same check out his television shows, TV Nation and The
Awful Truth.
Fast, Cheap & Out Of Control (1997, dir. Errol Morris.)
I like Errol Morris. But my personal favorite is Fast, Cheap & Out
Of Control. With nausea inducing hand-held work cut with static talking head
shots, the documentary format isn't normally known for its cinematography. But
this film is one of the most visually beautiful films ever, fiction or
non-fiction. The real mystery, however, is what do a scientist obsessed with
hairless moles, a robotic insect inventor, a topiary gardener, and a lion tamer
have in common? The answer is: more that you think.
Hoop Dreams (1994, dir. Steve James.)
I don't like sports. I've never liked sports. I figured that since we've
evolved to the point where we don't have to hunt and kill our own food, the need
to reward physical prowess is kind of passé. That, and I just don't care who
wins. Whether or not the group of people who are paid millions of dollars to
live six months out of the year in the same area code I do win a game matters
nothing to me. I'm not playing, so I'm not winning (or losing). And really, the
time and dedication it takes to become a really good athlete tends to leave one
with the charisma and personality of cardboard (rented Kazaam or Space
Jam lately?) But because I got to know these two kids in Hoop Dreams,
I began to really care about what happens to them, and the outcome of their
games starts to have some sort of emotional impact for me. If only they could've
had someone following and documenting every other player in the league -- maybe
then I'd watch a game.
American Movie (1999, dir. Chris Smith.)
Cinema has plenty of cautionary tales about naive young starlets coming out to
Hollywood only to be chewed up by the star-making system. But here's another
parable for you: one about the importance of not staying in Minneapolis (in your
parent's basement) until you're 30 making movies. Sure, there are plenty of
people like Richard Linkletter and Robert Rodriguez who've been able to take a
small low-budget film into Hollywood superstardom. But seeing this modern-day Ed
Wood attempt to break into the big time is heartening in its showing of the
indominance of the human spirit. It is also utterly depressing in its portrayal
of the futility of mankind's dreams. Also pretty damn funny.
42 Up (1998, dir. Michael Apted.)
Or 35 Up or 28 Up or... Michael Apted interviewed a group of seven
year old children for the BBC in 1964. The idea was to see if one's outlook and
prospects in life had already been determined by their socioeconomic positions
by that early age. So he asked a wide variety of kids questions about every
possible subject. Since then, he has returned every seven years to see how close
their predictions came. It's kind of sad seeing how utterly predictable human
life is. We like to see ourselves as making lots of large sharp turns in
response to various stimuli, but when looked at from a distance, the curve of
our lives is fairly smooth, steady, and generally downhill.
I Just Wasn't Made For These Times (1995, dir. Don Was.)
Beach boy Brian Wilson is a strange, fascinating man who has lead a interesting
life, and a great movie could be made about it. However, this movie isn't it.
That's because this documentary isn't made by a filmmaker. Rather, it's directed
by Don Was, mastermind behind Was (Not Was) -- remember "Walk The
Dinosaur"? -- and record producer for such luminaries as Bonnie Raitt, Bob
Dylan, the Rolling Stones and Ringo Starr. This is a movie from a musician's
point of view, so Brian's self-imposed three year exile to his bedroom and
24-hour a day psychotherapy from another genuine crackpot are barely skimmed
over. However, we do get several minutes of some music professor explaining how
revolutionary the chord changes in "Warmth Of the Sun" are. One minor
quibble: there are no reasons artistically (we're just looking at people
talking) or financially (he has the money after all) for this movie to be in
black and white. Normally I prefer B&W, but here it just seems to be saying
"look at me, ma, I'm making a movie".
Microcosmos (1996, dir. Claude Nuridsany and Marie Pérennou.)
Nature documentaries try and show us the typical life of a species by just
showing us a certain group of them. That's like trying to determine how humans
really live by just picking one family (what if it were the Jacksons, for
heaven's sake.) Instead of trying to show us an example of all of its
species, this wordless French documentary makes us care about certain insects as
individuals. We get excited, feel sorry for, root for (or against) certain
personalities that we began to see amongst the buggies. Unbelievable close-ups
give us a real sense of who these bugs are. This flick is not for those who
don't like insects.
Wild Man Blues (1997, dir. Barbara Kopple.)
Woody Allen's insistence that he is not the character he plays will get
tested and proven in this documentary. Granted, Barbara Kopple did win an Oscar
for Harlan County USA, but this film is far more fascinating. The
surprise twist is who the real surrogate parent is in the Woody-Soon Yi
relationship. Plus, the final scene with Woody's parents make all those years of
(and jokes about) psychotherapy seem totally justified. Also fitting into this
category is Terry Zwigof's Crumb, portrait of an artist as a cranky old
jerk. It's a fascinatingly honest if not exactly flattering look at an artist
whose art I never really cared about before. And now, I can totally dislike him.
But at least I can see why he's like that. The real question is, why did
these subjects let themselves look so bad on screen?
And these are not all - check out these others that the Academy missed:
HEARTS OF DARKNESS
Eleanor Coppola show us that the making of "Apocalypse Now" was as
strange, pointless and un-ended as the movie itself. Or the Viet Nam War for
that matter.
MR. DEATH
The dorky underbelly of Evil itself...
THIN BLUE LINE
None of Errol Morris's films have won Oscars, but this one did win freedom
for a man sitting on death row in Texas. (Take that George W.!)
BROTHER'S KEEPER
Weird neighbors...
20 DATES
Self-promotive, self-destructive, self-centered exercise in filmmaking that
is THIS close to not being believable.
TREKKIES
"Star Trek", much like the Grateful Dead, cannot possibly be half
as fascinating as those who follow it.
ATOMIC CAFE
I'm not sure how much it really counts as a documentary, but says a lot more
about our national nuclear phobia (and naiveté) by not saying anything at all,
but just presenting these films un-commented on.
GIRL NEXT DOOR
Okay, I still haven't seen "Live Nude Girls Unite" yet, but how do
you get even more intimate with a subject who takes off her clothes for the
camera? Go really inside of her. Disturbing footage of a boob job in progress...
THE EYES OF TAMMY FAYE
Who'd ever think I'd feel sympathy for this woman?
Anyways, I haven't seen any really good documentaries this year (I've yet to view Start Up.com or Live Nude Girls Unite!), but I still think we can start sending petitions to Jack Valenti now and see if we can't get something done, with caution. As poor as a lot of the Oscar choices are (Marissa Tomei?!?), the last thing we want them to become is the viewer's choice awards. Don't popular movies already get all the awards they want when they manipulate the audience into emptying their wallets?
Not that I'm bitter.
~ Scot Livingston