michael apted's 7 UP, SEVEN PLUS SEVEN, and 21 UP (1964-1977)

hiroshi teshigahara's ANTONIO GAUDI (1984)

errol morris' THE FOG OF WAR (2003)

errol morris' STANDARD OPERATING PROCEDURE (2008)

"When you're in war, things change."
- Spc. Jeremy Sivitz

amid the unending controversy and contentiousness surrounding the United States' military occupation of Iraq, the revelations in early 2004 of prisoner abuse at Abu Ghraib prison remain the longest, darkest shadow over our continuing presence in the Middle East. while opinions about the war and its prosecution vary from person to person all over the world, the reaction to the Abu Ghraib photographs was unified: in the humiliation of these men, whatever their crimes, was the humiliation of an entire nation already struggling (and struggling to this day) to convince itself and others of the righteousness of its task.

perhaps as tragic, though, was the whimper with which American society eventually edged Abu Ghraib out of its consciousness. after months of soul searching and hand-wringing on the public's part (and no small amount of posturing from every corner of the political sphere) the Bush administration won the day by doling out prison stints and dishonorable discharges to the low-ranking soldiers involved, and brushing off any notion of any further culpability. simply a matter, we were told, of the proverbial bad apples.

such an blithe dodge to such a monumental issue is, of course, fertile ground for the sort of fluffy, finger-pointing activist documentaries Bush has so generously inspired these past eight years, which makes Errol Morris' Standard Operating Procedure that much more important: America's most distinguished, inspired nonfiction filmmaker, Morris here engages on a moral and intellectual level rather than a political one, and remains steadfastly inquisitive in the face of an inconceivably bleak subject. he is fascinated by the reality that Lynndie England and her compatriots are both victim and perpetrator, and cognizant that the circumstances of their monstrousness have deep roots and broad implications; while the endgame of scapegoating and political maneuvering are certainly worthy of scrutiny, Standard Operating Procedure is far more interested in the grander narrative of war and humanity.

not unusually for Morris, the film hinges around a series of interviews. we hear from former Brigadier General Janis Karpinski, insistent that everpresent U.S. intelligence operatives set the tone for the treatment of prisoners; from Tim Dugan, a non-military interrogator working at the prison and attesting to lack of useful intelligence emerging from its chambers; from Brent Pack, a special investigator tasked with interpreting the photographic evidence and, in one of the film's most chilling sequences, delineating the thin legal distinctions between "criminal acts" and "standard operating procedure."

most illuminating, though, are Morris' sit-downs with the offending soldiers, who speak candidly despite an almost visible weight of regret and even confusion. Spc. Sabrina Harman explains of a big smile and thumbs-up in frame with a dead interrogatee as a reflexive snapshot pose. Spc. Jeremy Sivitz speaks of his family's good military name dragged through the mud because he was unwilling to voice his objections to the superior officers involved, while Sgt. Javal Davis describes spending his days guarding Iraqi detainees while the fruits of their countrymen's labor sent US soldiers home in boxes draped with flags, and how that anger and confusion manifests itself when military intelligence officers start encouraging the guards to "soften up" the detainees.

we even hear from Lynndie England herself (looking now somewhat less like a stoned teenage boy) as she discusses spending the early hours of her twenty-first birthday in the throes of an Abu Ghraib all-nighter, and speaks distantly of a love (for abuse ringleader Cpl. Charles Graner) that blinded her to the ramifications of her actions, which included posing for or taking many a famous photograph.

if there is more than the suggestion of apology or rationalization in these soldiers' words, it has been left on the cutting room floor. instead, the film's participants seek only to clarify -- to take this opportunity to speak their piece. it is devastating, but we see in the end that they are ordinary people put in extraordinarily horrible circumstances for which there is little context. we do not forgive, but we inch toward understanding.

there is all of this and much more in Morris' savagely lucid film, which is every bit as hypnotic as 2003's Fog Of War or indeed any of his other work. his sense for structure remains impeccable, and he even ups the visual ante with striking graphics work and evocative, bleached-out "reenactment" footage that makes an impression without upending the film's harsh reality.

in the end, though, it's not his considerable gifts as a stylist or technician that make Erroll Morris such a force in nonfiction film -- it's his knack for extracting the truth, whether from images, words, or even faces. and while Standard Operating Procedure may be necessarily short on objective answers about the horrors of Abu Ghraib, it remains encouraging for us all that there is that much more light cast on a dark hour.

(from the KNOXVILLE VOICE)

d.a. pennebaker's DON'T LOOK BACK (1967)

what a weird creature Dylan was! volatile, inquisitive, and operating on an altogether different plane; a plane, one imagines, that he might very much like to take an impossible vacation from, which exacerbates the situation. it's tempting to say that Don't Look Back wouldn't be any less interesting without the music, but the scattered performances (split though they are between poetic obscurity and heartbreaking lucidity) are a necessary reminder as to why so many would clamor for the opportunity to put up with such an unstable, inscrutable, condescending, brilliant fucking punk. Pennebaker is bold and merciless in his choices, and it's both a treat and a treasure that a fascinating time in a fascinating life was caught and cut with such taste and observant depth, even if the "rock doc" Pennebaker invented would inevitably descend into self-serving fluff.

tony kaye's LAKE OF FIRE (2007)

towards the beginning of Tony Kaye’s devastating, clairvoyant documentary Lake Of Fire, celebrity attorney Alan Dershowitz relates a parable about a rabbi mediating between a bickering couple. the husband, he declares, is right, and so is the wife. a student, however, objects. “they can’t both be right!” the student, the rabbi admits, is also right.

this paradox, as painfully simple as it is complex, is central to Lake Of Fire, and Kaye is uncommonly mindful of this, particularly within the myopic world of nonfiction film. but his subject requires, and deserves, nothing less: after sixteen years of production, Kaye has produced what amounts to a definitive primer on abortion in America, unconcerned with convincing but hell-bent on trying to understand. “everybody is right when it comes to the issue of abortion,” Dershowitz concludes, and Lake Of Fire unceasingly concurs.

beautifully constructed even at two and a half hours, the film bounces back and forth across the culture war’s most brutal line of fire, collecting from each side the scattered moral and ethical imperatives that define them. on the pro-life side we speak to pastors and protesters, unshakable in their defense of the unborn; on the pro-choice side we hear from the activists and doctors in the trenches as well as from great minds like Peter Singer and Noam Chomsky, who dare to take an objective look at a divisive, impossible issue.

more important than names and faces, of course, is the depth and breadth of ideas at play. where a woman’s right to choose is concerned, Lake Of Fire rarely has occasion to repeat itself, moving rapid-fire through all-too-relevant subjects like civil liberties, sexual politics, public health, and the hypocrisies of focusing resources on the unborn while men, women, and children starve and suffer all over the world. through this array of well-argued positions, it’s Chomsky, speaking with his usual tone of profound common sense, that makes one of the film’s most salient points: no one is supporting infanticide, and no one is bemoaning the loss of potentially life-giving cells when a woman washes her hands. “somewhere between that,” however, “there are decisions to be made about how we are going to balance what we call ‘life’ against other problems. and those decisions are not simple.”

visits to the pro-life side emphasize the difficulty. it’s harder, of course, to effectively communicate faith-based stances to an objective audience than it is the civic and logical bases of the pro-choicers, but Lake Of Fire manages it wherever it can by facilitating a genuine empathy; as we become attuned to and confident in their convictions, it’s harder to dismiss their fervor in condemning and combating what they see as an ongoing, culture-approved prenatal holocaust. (particularly affecting is a DC protestor’s quiet, poignant eulogy for his unborn nephew, which makes the heart of the anti-abortion movement much clearer than any bumper sticker or picket sign ever could.)

one of the many things Kaye doesn’t shy away from, however, is a sobering examination of how this disenfranchisement stokes the fires of fanaticism, and Lake Of Fire’s primary detour from stances, facts and fictions emerges as its strongest narrative thread. the key figure in this portion of the film is Paul Hill, a defrocked Presbyterian minister and vocal advocate for the murder of abortion providers, whose repeated intersections with Kaye’s chronicle of anti-abortion violence spells only trouble. but we also hear from a survivor of a clinic bombing, a callow murderer trying to use Catholicism as a shield, and a nurse who has worked for no less than three murdered doctors…one of whom is also interviewed. (there’s also the matter of off-kilter movement firebrand Randall Terry, whose trajectory as an invective-spewing radio host and paleoconservative reformer is somehow nearly as insidious as Hill and his cronies.) in a way this intermittent emphasis on the violent, unstable faction of the pro-life movement could be construed as skewing the film, but Kaye’s only sin is curiosity; the sad contradictions in this violence and the figures that perpetuate it are an undeniably crucial element in the equation.

besides, any damage to be done to their own cause by the Hills and Terrys of the world is undone by Kaye’s unblinking ferociousness when it comes to the down and dirty business behind it all: the procedure. Lake Of Fire spares no gory detail: one moment we are treated to a photo of the heartbreaking aftermath of a botched pre-Roe self-abortion, the next to a poorly-filmed, stomach-turning movement filmstrip, produced to galvanize believers like so much moral pornography. but the most jarring, haunting sequence is smartly deployed early in the film, as Kaye’s elegant 35mm black and white captures the aftermath of a second trimester abortion in all its quiet horror; the images he comes away with are surely among the cinema’s most unforgettable.

and that’s fitting for Lake Of Fire, as it earns its bona fides as a landmark piece of nonfiction film; it’s accessible to the best of its ability, and communicates important ideas with a clear head. but the greatest praise one can give it is that it is challenging: emotionally, intellectually, and morally. there’s nary a moment that won’t move you to reflection, disgust, or both, and when it fades to black you’ll be as prepared as one can be to make up your own mind.

(from the KNOXVILLE VOICE)