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David Crosby: Remember My Name (2019)
Surprising Candor From An Unlikely Survivor
A.J. Eaton's documentary David Crosby: Remember My Name surprises on many levels. Hitting me in the gut the way it did was unexpected. I found it to be one of the most cathartic nonfiction films I've ever seen. What opens the door to Crosby's own arrestingly honest assessment of his life is the purity of the rapport between musician and his questioner, Cameron Crowe. Decades of earned trust between these two reap beautiful, heartbreaking candor about: loves both quick and dead, inevitable regrets, calling bullshit when you see it, and repeatedly finding one's purpose renewed in the quiet spaces between tumult.
This is not some pat whitewash of a legend. The interviews are intimate and raw, and there seems almost an urgency in Crosby to say the things that are important to him while he still has breath. There are field trips to Laurel Canyon and to Kent State, mental trips to Woodstock and to the deck of his beloved schooner, and trips through time beautifully illustrated with exceptional archival footage. Along the way there's Graham, Stephen, and Neil... Joni and Jackson. The Byrds and Dylan too. But surprisingly absent are contemporary interviews with any of them, and one might imagine this film was made in a hermetically sealed ego-driven bubble, but it doesn't at all feel that way. The filmmakers have woven third-person recollections from older documentary productions with archival images and David's current-day interviews into a rough fabric of a full life, flawed and brilliant, and contentious as hell.
Nobody has more to say about Crosby being difficult than Crosby himself, and he's haunted by the fact that, "all the guys I made music with won't even talk to me." Yet when queried if he could do it all over and have more of a normal life, the question sounds absurd as soon as it hits the air. Through myriad ups and downs, both personal and professional, one thing has remained steadfast: Crosby's belief that his musical gift must be shared.
Seasoned with rare song demos and well-worn anthems, the film frequently puts the music center stage where it belongs, reminding us of its power to effect change in a broken world or in a broken soul.
One feels the pressures of time, miles, and a lifetime of abuse of the vessel. Particularly touching are the moments with David's wife Jan, who recognizes that every time he walks out the door could be his last. The spectre of mortality looms, and yes, there are reflections on the preciousness of time and a deep appreciation for a remarkable past, but this is a film rooted in the here and now - an appreciation of what's present, authentic, and lasting. It all combines into a mix of hopeful sadness as Crosby, 77, begins a tour with a fresh band, new songs, and bills to pay... vitally pretending that creating forward is easier than looking back.
I wholeheartedly recommend this film to my musician friends, practitioners of the arts, those who adore the great music of the 1960s-70s, and to all students of the real thing.
Apollo 11 (2019)
Beautifully restored footage details America's finest moment without bombast
Todd Douglas Miller's documentary Apollo 11 is a rich buffet of restored footage, clever image juxtaposition, and ingenious lip reading. There is SO MUCH newly-released footage, one gets the impression that 1/4 of the mission weight must've been cameras and film! Where have these images been for fifty years? There's no narration... just sounds and voices from the mission, peppered with occasional contemporaneous commentary from Walter Cronkite's legendary broadcasts. The film is a beautiful, visceral thrill ride, lovingly constructed, without aggrandizement... yet emotions soar. This is what America once was, and what it could be again, and I absolutely do not mean that in any jingoistic sense. Truly our finest moment. See it in IMAX if you can - IT IS WORTH IT.
Finding Vivian Maier (2013)
A good introduction into her extraordinary work and mysterious life.
An intriguing, well-constructed documentary that I highly recommended for every artist and indeed for all who appreciate a great image. Maier is only beginning to be recognized as one of America's premiere street photographers. Her compelling body of work, never seen during her lifetime, was discovered posthumously and by accident. This film attempts to piece together her mysterious story.
Vivian's lens turned ordinary Chicago street scenes into iconic expressions of human dignity. The effect is powerful and moving. Her work might have been lost to the world, and is sadly again in peril because of a lawsuit concerning ownership of the copyright to her negatives. What a tragedy it will be if her photographs are again locked away from the public. PLEASE look at her work! It takes my breath away.
Selma (2014)
A movie-of-the-week.
Selma is a movie-of-the-week that didn't have to be. That an African-American woman, Ava DuVernay, directed this story is surely praiseworthy and a long time coming, but one wishes she'd realized the picture with more subtle strokes. Yes, there are a handful of beautifully poignant moments, some unspoken, but those are nearly neutralized by scenes where the dialog is so stilted with the weight of self-importance that ordinary folks sound like they're making speeches during private conversations.
Visually, the desaturated sepia look of the picture confuses. Are we watching a historical document, or are we present in the moment of 1965 with its arguably more vibrant palette? Superimposed FBI logbook entries (as scene headers) cheapen the movie and bring to mind 1970s televised crime drama. In these and other production decisions, DuVernay undermines her own noble effort.
Nevertheless, the story does move, and the inevitable violence that pushes forward the Voting Rights Act is brutal and affecting. The film's best moments come from Henry G. Sanders as Cager Lee, and between David Oyelowo and Tom Wilkinson as MLK and LBJ.
Boyhood (2014)
Real life is rarely spectacular.
Boyhood: Some filmmakers ponder whether their work will stand the test of time. This effort from Richard Linklater already has. For a writer-director known for telling stories that take place within twenty-four hours, this shot-over-twelve-years project is remarkable. I had to remind myself that the subtle clues of time's passage were not conventional cinematic illusion, but were in fact real. Fashion, technology, and scenery change around a cast of actors who bravely age before our eyes. The transitions are unjarring yet the effect is riveting.
Linklater finds a beautiful truth in the ordinary, even the mundane: from dropping the kids off at school to paying bills at the kitchen table to cheese trays at a graduation party, everything about Mason's family is normal. Yet in watching his world expand and his impression of it mature as the boy ages from youth to adulthood, the everyday is somehow amplified. The effect is profoundly moving, at once both devastating and hopeful. It strikes me that this film reminds us of our humanity in a moment when we desperately need it. That simply taking in breath and connecting with people are infinitely more interesting than all the monsters, robots, car chases, and explosions that Hollywood has to offer.
Boyhood is unlike any other film I've ever encountered. It is expressly unspectacular. That is the point. Yet it is a courageous act of faith. Just like having children. Or waking up. Or saying hello. Or sharing with someone the passage of time.