Hecho en México (2012)

To make an accurate portrait of the identity of a nation is not an easy task, as whomever attempts to do it will face the fact that said identity rarely comes from an absolute homogeneous cultural source, but instead is the result of the multiple cultures that form said nation. Cultures that normally are quite different from each other despite belonging to the same country. And yet, this is precisely what producers Lynn Fainchtein and Duncan Bridgeman attempt in the documentary "Hecho en México": to make a portrait of Mexico's national identity, a portrait to identify the Mexicanity of almost 116 millions of people of different cultural backgrounds. To do this, Fainchtein and Bridgeman took as starting point a theme that both of them clearly dominate, the music (as Fainchtein has been music supervisor of several feature length films, while Bridgeman is one of the founders of renowned world music project "1 Giant Leap"). Thus, "Hecho en México" is a documentary that uses Mexican music in an attempt to portrait the identity of Mexicans. However, things do not result that good.

In "Hecho en México" (literally "Made in Mexico"), a large group of Mexican musicians (and a couple of foreigners) lend their talents to mix their different styles and make a soundtrack to reflect Mexico's national identity. Mixed by Bridgeman, music becomes the guide to join several interviews with musicians, artists, philosophers and other intellectuals, whom offer their opinions about what is Mexicanity for them. Those opinions move around several themes, such as love, death and religion (amongst others), looking for the ways Mexicanity arises around all these concepts. And all this takes place as the filmmakers visit several corners in the country, showing its natural beauty, its many towns, cities, its inhabitants and their respective cultures, and finally how all those come to reflect the Mexicanity in their diverse artistic expressions. Music comes as the soundtrack for this journey, with the musicians moving along with the filmmakers through Mexico's jungles, through its ancient ruins, as well as through its streets and roads.

Produced without following an established screenplay, "Hecho en México" is build with the interviews with the several celebrities that give their two cents about Mexicanity, talking about the different concepts that form the film's structure. Besides the aforementioned themes of love, death and religion, other concepts are discussed, like spirituality, drugs, the border with the United States, and the relationships between the sexes. However, this construction, based only in a group of pretty abstract and vague concepts results in pretty shallow interviews where there isn't really the care to follow a definitive goal, and it's just talking for the sake of talking. And this is not really something to blame the interviewees, as it would seemed that there wasn't really any direction in the interview besides the abstraction of the concept. Mexicanity is such a huge idea that by being portrayed in such a vague way makes the film to fall in common places and, on some occasions, ridiculous opinions. Of course, there are notable exceptions, but the common denominator in the interviews is shallowness.

British filmmaker Duncan Bridgeman takes the director's seat and is in charge of giving an order to the collection of ideas that form "Hecho en México", and to do this, he puts to good use his skill as sound mixer to transform Mexican music in the backbone of the movie. As he had previously done as a member of "1 Giant Leap" (project where Bridgeman, along Jamie Catto, recorded and mixed music and images from all over the world to create a new audiovisual concept), Bridgeman combines with great skill the whole specter of Mexican music, traditional and modern, rural and urban, northern and southern; achieving very attractive musical numbers that shape "Hecho en México". Thus, Bridgeman's mix results in a musical hybrid where Mexico's many different music styles are fused together in a single sound. This is certainly the greatest achievement in "Hecho en México", or better said, it's only achievement, as that definition of Mexicanity that the interviews leave at mere pseudo-intellectualism, is actually discovered by the musicians in the fusion of their talents and rhythms.

Without a doubt the music mixed by Bridgeman is the main attraction in the film, though not the only one, as the movie has an excellent work of cinematography courtesy of Gregory W. Allen, Lorenzo Hagerman and Alexis Zabe, whom manage to capture images of great beauty. Nevertheless, the technical merits aren't enough to save "Hecho en México" from its many flaws, whom are focused in the ironic lack of identity that the film suffers. In other words, the documentary "Hecho en México" seems to try to be at the same time a music video, a promotional for tourism, and a sociological study. Sadly, it's only as a long music video that the film somehow manages to work, as while the purely musical moments are quite interesting, the way the interviews give form to the movie only puts light on the fact that neither Bridgeman nor Fainchtein had an idea of what Mexicanity is. And while as a foreigner Duncan Bridgman could had offered an interesting perspective at watching Mexico from afar, he instead opts for the cliché, the common places and portraits Mexico as a mere tourist would do.

Certainly, director Duncan Bridgeman has a great talent as musical producer, talent that he has already shown in "1 Giant Leap" and that once again he exploits to the max in "Hecho en México". However, the main difference between his previous "1 Giant Leap" and this film is that the former is a project without any pretensions beyond the music, the ambitious documentary "Hecho en México" tries to define a complex question and fails completely at it. The ideas exposed, in an attempt at being rebellious and irreverent, end up being ridiculous and maudlin, which wouldn't be that bad if it wasn't for the fact that in the end they say nothing. Shallow, empty and without an identity of its own, "Hecho en México" is sadly a movie that can only be enjoyed as a postmodernist display of Mexican music, because as a proper documentary it's a complete failure.

4/10
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Muerte al invasor (1961)

In 1961, a CIA-trained group of Cuban exiles launched an attempt to overthrow the recently formed Cuban government of Fidel Castro. The operation, codenamed operation Zapata, was supported by the US government and involved landing the beaches of Bahía de Cochinos (Bay of Pigs), east of the Zapata peninsula in Cuba. The invasion was unsuccessful, as the Cuban armed forces defeated the invaders within three days. The failed invasion had as main consequence a much stronger nationalism and greater support for Castro's government in Cuba. This conflict later became known in Cuba as The Battle of Playa Girón (Battle of Girón beach), and in the US as the Bay of Pigs Invasion. Given the great importance that Cuban government gave to cinema, the Instituto Cubano del Arte y la Industria Cinematográphicos (ICAIC) sent a team of war correspondents to cover the event. Amongst them was Tomás Gutiérrez Alea, who constructed a short documentary film about the invasion for the ICAIC's newsreel of Santiago Álvarez: "Muerte al Invasor".

"Muerte al Invasor" (literally "Death to the Invader") is composed of the images captured by Gutiérrez Alea and his team of cameramen: Mario Ferrer, Pablo Martínez and Julio Simoneau. The narration, quite probably written by ICAIC director Alfredo Guevara and voiced by Julio Batista, details the events of the invasion, chronicling the three days of battle while at the same time glorifying the efforts of the Cuban people and its leaders. Given its nature as a documentary meant for a newsreel, its propagandistic goal is more than evident, with the defeated invaders constantly labeled as traitors and oppressors from previous government. The US support to the invaders is also a point discussed extensively in the film, noting the US' effort to overthrow the Cuban socialist government, and describing the covert nature of the operation as an example of imperialist treachery. In fact the film's subtitle describes the invasion as an imperialist aggression. "Muerte al Invasor" is certainly a film with an agenda, so subtlety is not one of its assets.

There has been much debate about who was actually behind the creation of "Muerte al Invasor", with supporters from both Tomás Gutiérrez Alea and Santiago Álvarez claiming sole credit for the film. The film does show early signs of both directors' styles: traces of Álvarez' innovative "nervous montage" can be felt through the film, while on the other side, the images that make up the documentary have the distinguished style of Gutiérrez Alea. And speaking of the images, the images captured on the film are not only of great historical interest, there is a certain raw beauty in some of them that truly portray the spirit of a nation defending itself. Forgetting the jingoistic narration and without taking a political side, those images speak a lot about a young nation that still believed in an ideal, and fought for it. The eloquence of the images in "Muerte al Invasor" give ground to the argument for Gutiérrez Alea as the sole director, but in the end, this newsreel piece may have as much contribution from him, as from Álvarez and even Guevara.

As written above, "Muerte al Invasor" was clearly conceived as a propaganda piece, with its latent glorification of the Cuban nation and its relentless demonization of the imperialist invaders. And this is perhaps the weakest side of the film, as despite the power of its images, the narrative is slow and even dull. Narrator Julio Batista's lack of emotion doesn't help to this, as he remains calm and monotone in his speech, akin to the narrator of a science documentary. As a propaganda piece, it does fulfill its purpose, but it somewhat lacks the vibrant energy of Soviet or posterior Cuban propagandistic cinema. The film's true strength, is clearly in its images and montage, which showcases the talents of its makers and offers a glimpse to their posterior careers. The contrast in quality between the images on film and the written narration is so big that the film could easily work better without the narration. The eye of the young Cuban cinema was enough to tell the story of their victory, no need for added glorification.

"Muerte al Invasor" may not be the best example of the cinema of Tomás Gutiérrez Alea and Santiago Álvarez, though it's certainly a quite interesting film to watch to notice the development that took place for both two filmmakers, later celebrated stars of the Golden Age of Cuban cinema. In a film like "Muerte al Invasor", which clearly has its defined goal and political agenda, it's always difficult to separate the politics from the film, but in this case, whether one agrees or not with its arguments, one thing is clear: with their images and montage, filmmakers Tomás Gutiérrez Alea and Santiago Álvarez have truly captured the face and spirit of a young nation finding itself.

6/10
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Häxan (1922)

In the early days of cinema, Danish film industry flourished with great success, beginning with the founding in 1906 of Nordisk Films Kompagni, the country's first filmmaking company. In five years, Denmark was now competing against the American, French and German film industries in the European market. This was the Golden Age of Danish Cinema, where figures such as actress Asta Nielsen and director Carl Theodor Dreyer began their careers. In those days, a young actor named Benjamin Christensen began his career in the film industry, and soon found himself beginning a career as a director as well. While by 1914 the Golden Age was reaching its end, Christensen still found some success with his two first films. In 1918, Christensen found a copy of the "Malleus Maleficarum", the book that inquisitors used as guide to deal with witches. Inspired by the horrors and superstition of the middle ages, Christensen conceived a film about how the misunderstanding of mental illness could lead to the infamous witch-hunts. The result was a legendary film: "Häxan".

Combining different documentary techniques such as slideshow and dramatization of events, "Häxan" ("Witch", though the film is also called in English "Witchcraft through the Ages"), examines the history of witchcraft during the Middle Ages, detailing the practices of witches and the ideas about them and demons that inquisitors of the time had. This is done initially with illustrations, paintings and intertitles, even a large scale model of the medieval view of the solar system is employed. Later, a dramatization takes place depicting several vignettes that cover several superstitions about witches. In these dramatizations we see a coven of witches, a black mass, and a group of monks being terrorized by the Devil (played by Christensen himself). Later, "Häxan" takes the form of a narrative fiction, in which an old woman (Maren Pedersen) is accused of witchcraft and her trial at the Inquisition is shown. In the final part Christensen shows vignettes about what his thesis: that mental illness was misunderstood as witchcraft in the Middle Ages.

Written by Christensen himself, "Häxan" is at the same time a serious documentary and a horror film, fusing both reality and fiction to construct what could be considered as one of the earliest examples of a film essay. The script, result of a big work of research on Christensen's part, is highly informative and does a great job in describing the beliefs and superstitions regarding witchcraft in the Middle Ages; certainly, Christensen knew his subject well, and the dramatizations, while definitely aimed to shock the audience, have a certain degree of authenticity (considering the knowledge available at the time of its release, of course). Christensen's fictional narrative is also quite good, well structured and faithful to historical records, or well, as faithful as it can be to suit Christensen's purpose. As a film essay, "Häxan" elaborates on a point, with each scene building up on Christensen's thesis on witchcraft and insanity; and while it's certainly an interesting observation, the director is a tad heavy handed on the repeated exposition of his point of view.

Where "Häxan" truly shines is in the remarkable way that Christensen built up the whole thing, displaying a level of originality that made the film unique. Documentaries were nothing new in 1922 (after all, cinema began with documentaries), but way Christensen employed the very diverse techniques to create his movie was so unusual that even today the film escapes a proper classification. It is a documentary that explores a complete new way to pose a topic. As written above, it's more a film essay on the topic of witchcraft than a documentary per se; so to elaborate on his morbid subject, Christensen conceived vignettes of shocking horror to truly portray witchcraft the way inquisitors saw it. The enormous amount of care done in the art design (Richard Louw), and the remarkable work of cinematography (by Johan Ankerstjerne) result in a powerfully atmospheric movie, one with a beauty so mesmerizing that truly seems like arisen from the depths of the Hell it depicts. At the time, it was the most expensive Danish film, and it shows.

Benjamin Christensen conceives pretty amazing set pieces that rival those of German Expressionism in their dark, ominous atmosphere. The cast does a great job as well, even when several were not professional actors (including Maren Pedersen, arguably the protagonist of the core dramatization). It's interesting to find Danish filmmaker Alice O'Fredericks as a nun, role she played on the film besides working as Christensen's script supervisor. In general, Christensen's level of care in his production is a testament of the interest he had in the theme. And perhaps this interest also explains what could be considered as one of the film's flaws: Christensen's narrative seems to ramble over its points a tad too much for its own good, resulting in a very slow rhythm that can be tiring at times. It's worth to point out that in 1968 the film was cut to 77 minutes for a re-release, with an added narration by author William S. Burroughs. It is this version the one that got the title "Witchcraft through the Ages". It's an interesting curiosity, though in no way an improvement over Christensen's vision.

Haunting, sombre, and visually beautiful, "Häxan" proved to be a controversial film because of its depictions of nudity and violence; however, director Benjamin Christensen managed to keep his vision almost intact and the result was one of the most unique and strange movies ever made. Half documentary, half horror film, "Häxan" showcases a collection of unforgettable images that can be disturbing and beautiful at the same time. The images of hell, the black mass, and the remarkable interrogation scenes (that may have given an idea or two to Carl Theodor Dreyer) are a testament of Benjamin Christensen's talent. Unfortunately, most of his films seem to be lost (at this moment), but at least "Häxan" survives to posterity as one of the earliest and most amazing film essays ever done.

8/10
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Le président en promenade (1896)

In 1895, the debut of the Lumières' Cinématographe truly marked the beginning of a new era of entertainment, and the birth of a new art form. Edison's Kinetoscope was already well known, so the idea of motion pictures wasn't really new; however, the major difference between the Kinetoscope and the the Cinématographe was that the former was an individual experience and the latter a collective one. Their first movies consisted mainly of images from everyday life in movies named "actuality films", which depicted life as it is and technically were the precursors of modern documentaries. Soon the demand for more movies for the Cinématographe grew, and the brothers began to train camera operators to send all over the world, in order to produce more actuality films with scenes from across the globe (and of course, to take their invention to other markets). Mexico, under the rule of president Porfirio Díaz, was one of the first countries to welcome the Lumières' new creation, and cinematographer Gabriel Antoine Veyre was the man in charge of taking cinema to the Mexican lands in 1896.

"Le président en promenade" (better known by its Spanish title "El presidente de la republica paseando a caballo en el bosque de Chapultepec" or "The president riding his horse in Chapultepec forest") was one of the first amongst Veyre's shorts made specifically about president Díaz. It showcases the president riding his horse through Chapultepec (a still popular walk in Meixco's capital) and arriving to a place where he meets a soldier. They exchange words and then the president seems to wait something. Later, Díaz returns from where he came followed by the group that was apparently waiting for him. Several other citizens are seen walking through Chapultepec forest in an otherwise normal day in the city. Díaz seems to really understand the impact that cinema could have in the audiences so, aware that this film was to be seen across the globe, Díaz rides his horse in front of the camera, in an imposing and knightly stance with the dignity of a great ruler. Like most of the Lumières'actuality films, Veyre's had this done in one single take without moving the camera.

President Porfirio Díaz had been ruling Mexico since 1876, in what effectively was a dictatorship, nowadays known as the Porfiriato. Those were years of a totalitarian control of power, suppression of opposing media, and several other injustices; however, those were also years of great progress and economic development for the country. This progress was a direct result of Díaz' desire of bringing modernity to Mexico and his openness to industrial and technological inventions. Naturally, cinema attracted him so, his government welcomed Gabriel Veyre and the Cinématographe with open arms. During his visit, Veyre captured many scenes of Mexican life, staged what could probably the first Mexican fiction movie ("Un duelo a pistola en el bosque de Chapultepec", or "A duel with pistols at Chapultepec forest") and followed president Díaz in his everyday life. Díaz seems to have enjoyed this films so much, clearly understanding the value of cinema in public relations, so there are many scenes of Díaz walking, riding, working, essentially making the president the very first star of Mexican cinema.

Like many other countries, Mexico fell under the spell of the Cinématographe, and Veyre's visit captured the imagination of many businessmen and artists in the country. Cinema, like many other inventions, was welcomed and supported by the government and soon, the public's demand was greater than the offer. This resulted in the birth of Mexican cinema, with the distributors being forced to make their own material when the French one proved to not be enough. Mexican Reolution of 1910 put an end to Díaz' government and borough greater changes to the country. Certainly, Díaz' regime had many problems and shortcomings; however, while the dictator and his regime may not had been the best for most Mexicans, credit goes to Díaz for having helped in the birth of Mexican cinema, and for being Mexico's first movie star.

8/10

Las Hurdes: Tierra sin pan (1933)

Spanish filmmaker Luis Buñuel, considered now a master of cinema and one of the greatest artists of surrealism, had quite a troubled career during his first 10 years as a director. Having worked closely with Jean Epstein as assistant director, Buñel debuted in 1929 with the short film "Un chien andalou" ("An Andalusian Dog"). The innovative, surreal short film (written by Buñuel and painter Salvado Dalí) faced great controversy on its release, but that was nothing compared to Buñuel's follow up: "L'Âge d'Or". Funded with the aid of French nobleman Vicomte Charles de Noailles and released in 1930, "L'Âge d'Or" ("The Golden Age") was a fierce and merciless attack to social conventions and the Catholic Church under the guise of an experimental comedy. Not surprisingly, the response against it was even larger, to the point that the Police of Paris effectively banned the film. After this controversy, Buñuel returned to Spain, where anarchist Ramón Acín decided to fund Buñuel's next project. This project turned out to be 1933's "Las Hurdes: Tierra sin pan".

"Las Hurdes: Tierra sin pan" (known in English as "Land without Bread") is basically an exploration of the region of Las Hurdes, in Extremadura, Spain. The short documentary depicts the life in this high mountain region, as the crew moves from town to town, showcasing the difficulties the inhabitants face in this hostile region, which get worse due to the state of misery in which they live. Poverty, hunger and disease haunt the villagers, and their only way they have to face those demons are their own set of superstitious beliefs (which sometimes turn up to be remedies of even worse consequences). Buñuel's travelogue moves from one bleak image to another, covering the way the inhabitants of Las Hurdes live, die, work and try to find some solace amidst the darkness. Education, farming and health care in Las Hurdes is showcased as deficient, as the film is actually a harsh attack to the government's policies. While originally a silent film, a narration in French by Abel Jacquin was added afterwards, that describes the events depicted in a very grim and detailed manner.

Given Buñuel's reputation as a master of surrealism and creator of oniric images, the idea of a documentary crafted by him sounds a bit strange; however, in "Las Hurdes: Tierra sin pan", realism and surrealism collide and result in a powerful hybrid vehicle to deliver Buñuel's message. Written by Buñuel along Rafael Sánchez Ventura and Pierre Unik (who were assistant directors), "Las Hurdes: Tierra sin pan" was inspired by Maurice Legendre's study of the region's inhabitants. This very real ethnographic work served as basis to the surreal vision of misery that is "Las Hurdes: Tierra sin pan". A bleak world so real that ultimately feels unreal, enhanced by Buñuel's eye becomes surreal. Surrealism in "Las Hurdes: Tierra sin pan" exists, and is present not to create fantasy, but to accentuate reality. To exaggerate it, to mercilessly use the documentary format to make a point because, "Las Hurdes: Tierra sin pan" is anything but objective. Already a true master of visual symbolism, Buñuel uses images the way Soviet filmmakers used montage.

Of course, there is a certain degree of truth in the film, people of Las Hurdes in those years did live in extreme conditions and poverty and disease were the norm; however, Buñuel carefully has selected (or even created) the appropriate images and the necessary words to bring out the emotions in his audience, to transmit that bleak atmosphere of Las Hurdes and, most importantly, to deliver profoundly his arguments. And those arguments are quite harsh: that the people of Las Hurdes are primitive ignorants prone to superstitions and inbreeding (an stereotype as old as Lope de Vega), and that the government does nothing to improve their condition. Pretty strong accusations in the middle of the political turmoil that was prevalent in Spain during the 30s (Civil War would soon begin in 1936). And the way Buñuel delivers it is quite powerful: Eli Lotar's cinematography captures the misery of Las Hurdes with real documentarian eye, and it is Buñuel's editing and narrative what makes those images transcend reality.

The bold decision of making "Las Hurdes: Tierra sin pan" was not without its consequences: the film was banned in Spain since its release until Spanish Civil War began. Ramón Acín, the producer, was killed by fascists in 1936 because of his anarchist activities. Buñuel, like many Spaniard artists and intellectuals of his time, decided to move to America, escaping from the fascist regime of Francisco Franco. Buñuel would not direct a film until 1947. After a brief season in the U.S., Buñuel traveled to Mexico, and it would be in Mexico where Buñuel's talent would bloom again. Visually strong, and highly inventive, "Las Hurdes: Tierra sin pan" is a documentary film ahead of its time, and a movie that shows the growing talent of Luis Buñuel.

8/10

El Diablo y la Nota Roja (2008)

Seen with disdain and even repulsion by diverse sectors of the population (yet still read with great interest by practically everyone), yellow journalism has always been at the center of criticism because of its sensationalist nature, and its tendency to exaggerate, distort and exploit news. Mexican press developed a particular form of yellow press, completely devoted to death: the Nota Roja. Roughly translated as "red news" (because of its bloody content), the Nota Roja section in Mexican papers is characterized by its focus on accidents, crime, murders and suicides. While the degree of graphic content may vary (from prudish lists of accidents in more serious newspapers to the highly gory details of "¡Alarma!" magazine), Nota Roja exists in practically every Mexican newspaper. Fascinated by this direct and uncompromising approach to death, British filmmaker John Dickie decided to follow journalist Alejandro Villafañe, better known as "Diablo" ("Devil"), in his everyday search for bloody red news. "El Diablo y la Nota Roja" is that chronicle.

In "El Diablo y la Nota Roja" ("The Devil and the Red News"), the eye of John Dickie's camera accompanies Diablo, Alejandro Villafañe, in diverse situations related to his job as journalist of the Nota Roja section of a local newspaper. Sorting cops, forensics and victim's relatives, Diablo takes pictures and collects notes about every case he finds, taking Dickie (and the audience) to discover the world behind the news of the Nota Roja. The film works as an interview of sorts, with Diablo explaining every detail of his trade in his very personal style. In this way, Dickie explores how the Nota Roja works, from the difficult job of photographing corpses to the writing of outrageous sensationalist headlines, as well as the complicated relation between the authorities, the press, and those involved in every case (criminals or victims). Also, between visits to crime scenes and the morgue, Diablo opens up a window to his life, and we get to know the man behind the gruesome photographs of Nota Roja tabloids. His family life, his personality, and how his work affects him. And us.

By following Diablo in his everyday journey, director John Dickie manages to make a very intimate portrait of the man and his atypical profession; while at the same time, explores the difficulties and challenges of said line of work. With a good dose of politically incorrect black humor, Dickie shows the world of Mexican crime news as it is, in all its crudeness, with Diablo as his guide through the blood and violence that fill the pages of the Nota Roja. While somewhat desensitized to that world, Diablo remains a fun man with a good sense of humor; and armed with his radio and notebook, Diablo takes his old VW Beetle and rides through the streets of his town (one of the many towns in the Mexican state of Oaxaca) looking for the next person who'll make the headlines of the newspaper. Despite the non-serious tone of the documentary, Dickie remains as objective and direct as possible, and even Diablo himself gets his fair share of criticism. Overall, the structure (divided by chapters, one for every headline Diablo writes in the film) is quite dynamic, and the movie is never boring or tiresome.

Nevertheless, "El Diablo y la Nota Roja" is not without its flaws, as even when the film flows at a nice pace for the most part; sometimes it does feel rushed, as if there had not been enough material for some segments of the movie (unfortunately, some of great interest). This also gives the feeling that something is missing, as while the editing (by Manuel Méndez) is for the most part good, sometimes the jump from chapter to chapter is too abrupt, as if the segment was incomplete. This result in certain details not being fully explored, like for example the fascination of people with Nota Roja articles. Granted, this could very well be outside of the scope of Dickie's investigation and the film's focus, but still, it's a question that tends to appear continuously through the film and that sadly, no concrete opinion is given in the subject (albeit certain ideas are thrown in a couple of interviews). Perhaps this was intentional, as Dickie was more interested in the figure of Diablo as a common man with a very uncommon kind of job.

In the end, "El Diablo y la Nota Roja" is a very interesting (and morbidly fun) trip to the bizarre world of crime news in Mexico.. Bold, harsh (a couple of scenes could be quite graphic for some) and very politically incorrect, John Dickie's documentary is an entertaining journey to this fascinating world in which violent deaths are part of the job, and where one has to lurk into the darker side of human beings to find the news piece of news. Maybe "El Diablo y la Nota Roja" is not the most complete of documentaries, but the straightforward way it deals with its subject matter works great with the gritty mood of Nota Roja articles. Crude and violent, yet strangely human, "El Diablo y la Nota Roja" is an interesting view on our own morbid tastes, as perhaps everyone who reads the Nota Roja hopes not to know those photographed, and enjoys the secret relief that someone out there had it worse the previous day.

7/10
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Dickson Experimental Sound Film (1894)

It was on a day in 1891 when Scottish inventor William K.L. Dickson surprised his boss, Thomas Alva Edison with his remarkable work in the development of motion pictures. After many experiments, Dickson was now able to capture scenes of real life with his camera, and reproduce them through his invention, the Kinetoscope, as if a fragment of time were preserved in celluloid. Soon, Dickson's Kinetoscope would become an enormous success as a new way of entertainment, with many people eager to pay the nickel that was charged to be able to watch people dancing, or acrobats performing stunts through the "peepshow" of the Kinetoscope. However, the invention wasn't complete, in order for it to capture on film the real life as we know it, sound was needed on the movies. So Dickson kept experimenting and this short experiment, Kinetophone's first film, was the result.

In this experiment, codenamed simply as "Dickson Experimental Sound Film", director William K.L. Dickson stands in front of a recording cone for a wax cylinder (earliest method of recording sound), with his violin on hands, playing a song named "Song of the Cabin Boy". The idea was to record the song into the cylinder at the same time that the camera was recording his movements. In order to show that this was a motion picture, two of Edison's "Black Maria" laboratory decided to do a little dance in front of the camera. Unlike what author Vito Russo claimed in his book, "The Celluloid Closet", this little dance had nothing to do with homosexuality as it obviously is a reference to the environment of loneliness of the lab, akin to the lonely sailors to whom the "Song of the Cabin Boy" was dedicated to (the title Russo suggests, "The Gay Brothers", is actually anachronistic as "gay" had no homosexual connotation in the late 1890s).

Sadly, Dickson was unable to achieve the desired effect, and the Kinetophone never could really produce the synchronized audio with images. While he had the cylinder with the sound and the celluloid with the images, the synchronization of the two elements was not exactly effective, and the sudden appearance of Auguste and Louis Lumière's Cinématographe prompted Edison's team to focus on projecting systems and eventually Dickson left the company. Fortunately, in 1998 Dickson's cylinder with the movie's sound was rebuilt and film editor Walter Murch made a restoration of the experiment as it was intended. Finally, "Dickson Experimental Sound Film" could be heard with synchronized sound, just as its creative inventor had intended. While it was not a successful attempt, this outstanding film is a testament of the enormous genius of the father of Kinetoscope.

8/10



Buy "Dickson Experimental Sound Film" and more American early films from 1894-1931

I'm King Kong!: The Exploits of Merian C. Cooper (2005)

A lot has been written about "King Kong", the legendary 1933 movie about a giant gorilla and its adventure in the urban jungle that is New York, as there is no doubt that this classic masterpiece, directed by Merian C. Cooper and Ernest B. Schoedsack, was a truly important movie in the filed of special effects, as well as in the development of the horror and adventure genres. However, the lives of the people behind this monumental movie are probably as interesting and outstanding as the movie itself, specially when talking about Merian C. Cooper, a man who not only created one of the most powerful stories ever told in a movie, but also was a brave pilot, decorated soldier, successful film producer, pioneer of film-making technologies and most importantly, an all around adventurer. "I'm King Kong", is a documentary about the life and times of Merian C. Cooper, a man who definitely was one of the most outstanding persons in the history of film.

Narrated by Alec Baldwin, the movie deals extensively with the adventurous nature of this man, taking us from his early days at the National Guard, to his years as a bomber pilot during World War I; and later it explores his friendship with Ernest B. Schoedsack, the man who according to Cooper, "taught him everything about film-making". Of course, it also dedicates time to the filming of "King Kong", the movie that would make their names legendary in the history of cinema, however, the focus is more on the man han on the film (as the making of "King Kong" is material enough for another documentary). Using clips from his several movies, the movie brings back many memories of the duo's other classic films like 1932's "The Most Dangerous Game", and it also includes interviews with historians, intellectuals and people who actually met Cooper, like Fay Wray and Ray Harryhausen. "I'm King Kong" even includes several audio clips from archived interviews with Cooper and Schoedsack themselves.

What makes this documentary interesting, is that it is not only based around the making of "King Kong", but instead it covers the Merian C. Cooper's life since he was born in Jacksonville, Florida, until his final days as a film producer in California. Directors Christopher Bird and Kevin Brownlow did a great job in condensing the most important of the many achievements and adventures of Merian C. Cooper. As usual in this kind of movies, it is in the interview section where the most interesting and informative comments appear, and this movie doesn't disappoint, as a through anecdotes and stories we get to know a bit more of the persona of this legendary man. The movie even dedicates a segment to explore how Cooper and Schoedsack met Willis O'Brien, the man behind the outstanding special effects of "King Kong", as well as exploring a bit the process of making them, as explained by O'Brien's alumni Ray Harryhausen.

It is clear watching this movie that directors Christopher Bird and Kevin Brownlow did an enormous research on the subject, as they manage to show clips from almost every film done by Cooper and Schoedsack (from their silent documentaries to their adventure films with sound), and not only that, fortunately many of the prints shown are of excellent quality. There are also many clips from the movies produced by Cooper later in his career, exploring his influence over the works of RKO Pictures (when he was the president), his partnership with John Ford (Cooper produced many of Ford's best and most famous films), and specially, his important position in the development of new technologies (mainly Cinerama). Finally, the opportunity to listen to audio recordings done by Cooper and Schoedsack themselves is another of the reasons that make this documentary a must-see for every fan of this period of the history of cinema.

If the movie has any flaw, it must be the fact that the list of achievements in Cooper's life was so extensive to be properly explored in the 57 minutes that this movie lasts. Proficient pilot, prisoner of war during World War I, adventurer in Poland and filmmaker in the U.S., influential producer and once again to war as commander of the "Flying Tigers" during World War II; there is simply too much to cover in the life of this man that it would take several movies to properly cover his many adventures. Despite this flaw, "I'm King Kong!: The Exploits of Merian C. Cooper" is an extremely detailed documentary that manages to give a nice idea of how was this notable man's life.

8/10

Buy "I'm King Kong!: The Exploits of Merian C. Cooper" (2005)

Petróleo (1936)

During the first half of the 30s, the situation between oil companies and their workers in Mexico was extremely conflictive, often resulting in strikes, and sometimes even violence. The origin of the tensions between both groups was that the workers demanded better working conditions and basically a whole new collective contract to rule their relationship with the companies. On the other hand, the companies weren't really excited about this and claimed to lack the funding necessary to satisfy those demands. Naturally, public opinion was initially divided on the subject, however, eventually both the Government and the population began to be on the workers' side. In order to fight this, in 1936 the oil companies decided to fund a short educational film as propaganda for their cause, hoping to win back the public's favor as the defenders of Mexican industry. And to make this film they hired the crew responsible of Mexico's biggest box office hit of the year: "Allá en el Rancho Grande".

The result was "Petróleo - La Sangre del Mundo" (literally "Petroleum - The Blood of the World"), a 19 minutes short film that covers the the historical importance of oil and its products in the industrial development of a country. Written by Antonio Momplet and co-directors Arturo S. Mom and Fernando De Fuentes, "Petróleo" is very informative about the whole process of extraction of crude oil and the treatment it gets to produce the rest of its derivatives. However, being a work done with the intention of promoting the role the big oil companies play in the industry, it's origins as propaganda are more than obvious as it spends a lot of time explaining how necessary the companies are for the future of the nation. Granted, the companies had a point in the sense that their technology, funds and experience were invaluable at that moment, but the narration certainly tends to exaggerate their role. However, what's odd about "Petróleo - La Sangre del Mundo", is that despite this, the movie conveys exactly the opposite message.

And that happens because of the way words and images work in the film. As written above, "Petróleo" was directed by Arturo S. Mom and Fernando De Fuentes, whom using the beautiful camera-work by Adolfo W. Slazy, Manuel Álvarez Bravo (later known as one of Mexico's greatest photographers) and Gabriel Figueroa, were in charge of putting images to the words of the oil companies. Now, the oddity in "Petróleo" is that while the narrative talks about the benefits of the companies, the images captured tend to showcase the work of the workers, the common people, putting special emphasis in the nobility of their work, the strength of their collective effort, and the difficulties they have to overcome to produce the "blood of the world". In a purely visual way, "Petróleo" has more in common with the soviet propaganda done by Eisenstein and other Russian filmmakers than with the normal educational shorts about scientific themes. Needless to say, the images in "Petróleo - La Sangre del Mundo" speak more than the film's screenplay.

This contrast between images and words is so carefully organized that it just couldn't be mere coincidence, as it is in fact a cleverly devised blow against the oil companies in which, using their own film, the filmmakers effectively did propaganda for the opposite side. In his memoirs, legendary cinematographer Gabriel Figueroa (a convinced socialist) claims full credit of the deed, detailing how by being familiar with the way Álvarez Bravo and De Fuentes worked, he was able to work his ideas into the film without nobody noticing it. While I don't doubt that Figueroa was the mastermind behind it all, I imagine that he must have had the collaboration of De Fuentes, Álvarez Bravo or at least editors Carles L. Kimball or Ulrico Stern, as "Petróleo"'s overtly socialist tone is so subtle and yet so powerful that it just feels like the result of a collaborative work. As expected from the talented set of cinematographers, the images of "Petróleo" are, while probably generic, of great quality and even have a certain beauty.

In the end, the fight between the companies and the workers ended in 1938, when on March the 18th the Government of president Lázaro Cárdenas expropriated the petroleum industry. The workers' movement became very popular amongst the population, so even when its probable that "Petróleo" had not been a key factor in that, it could be said that the ideas of Figueroa and company won in the end. Still, while "Petróleo - La Sangre del Mundo" is nothing more than an educational short film (filled with the genre's typical problems, like a terribly dull narration, I must add), the way its images are in a constant fight with the whole film's idea make it a very interesting movie to watch. Given the way things ended, "Petróleo" may not had been the most successful documentary, but as the perfect display of the power of images, it's outstanding.

7/10

The White Darkness (2002)

As one of the first places where the Europeans began the colonization of the Americas, what would later be known as Haiti received a vast influence of the many cultures that arrived after Columbus. The main influence came from the African slaves that were brought to the island when Haiti became a French colony, and since the colony had continuous arrivals of Afrinca-born people, the African roots remained strong. Just like what happened in Brazil and New Orleans, the African religions got fused with elements of French catholicism, and the result of this syncretism was Vodou, Haiti's very own tradition of the ancestral African religions. "The White Darkness" is a documentary about this fascinating faith that has survived to this day in Haiti as a major religion that plays an important role in Haitian society.

Directed by Richard Stanley, "The White Darkness" is a journey through Vodou with their practitioners as guides. Stanley interviews real followers of the Vodou faith and lets them do the explanations on what their religion is and what isn't. Unlike other documentaries, there is no narration here, and it's basically the images and the interviews what do the talking, allowing a real, objective and unbiased point of view about the religion. The documentary focuses on the modern Vodou religion, its ties to its African past, and its importance in modern Haiti. Finally, the relations of Vodou practitioners with other religions are explored, as well as the negative views that Christian missionaries have about the native Haitian faith, and the political impact this views played during the island occupation by foreign (mainly U.S.) peacekeeping forces.

"The White Darkness" is filled with very interesting footage of actual Vodou rites, that show the fervor of the Vodou followers and the roots of the religion as the result of the mixture of cultures. Some images may be shocking (real animal sacrifices and ecstatic dances are part of Vodoun) to Western audiences, but "The White Darkness" treats its subject with a lot of respect and doesn't attempt to be sensationalist about it. It is actually this respect for Vodoun what makes the documentary an interesting work, as by letting the actual practitioners of Vodoun religion (including healers, musicians and Vodoun priests) explain their beliefs, the movie not only achieves to give deep insight on the Vodoun religion, but also a very warm and human feeling, as the movie takes away every rumor and misconception about the religion and shows it as what it is: a powerful display of human faith not very different than better known religions.

Director Richard Stanley really did a great job at putting together "The White Darkness", as not only the movie really shows his commitment to the subject, but also his talent to give it a consistent narrative. Divided in short segments tied by a common theme, the interviews are very clear, and Stanley shows an excellent use of images to tell their message. Cinematographer Immo Horn, who has been Stanley's frequent collaborator since his debut in "Voice of the Moon", shows once again his remarkable work behind the camera with wonderful images that bring the spirit of Haiti and its people alive. His camera captures the amazing beauty of the country and its people, as well as the spirit of its culture, really bringing the whole feeling of their faith to the screen. The excellent score by Simon Boswell is the icing of the cake and Stanley uses this elements to create a haunting and beautiful portrait of a religion that has its roots in one of the oldest traditions of the world. It's truly an outstanding work that show the talent and versatility of Stanley (who is probably better known for his excellent horror film "Dust Devil") behind the camera.

Overall the movie is a remarkable documentary about an interesting, and rarely discussed topic. While it could have benefited of a longer runtime, Richard Stanley makes the most of his material and offers an unbiased and objective portrait of an often misunderstood religion. The very refreshing human focus that "The White Darkness" takes on its subject definitely sets it apart from other documentaries, as it avoids paternalist or condescending attitudes in favor of an open and unbiased take on the Haitian spirituality. As Richard Stanley's film offers a look on Vodoun from the point of view of its practitioners, "The White Darkness" is an invaluable movie for sociologists and in general those interested in discovering more about the mysteries of this ancient religion. A really fascinating film.

8/10

Buy "The White Darkness" (2002)

Dickson Greeting (1891)

When during an afternoon in Leeds, England, french inventor Louis Le Prince tested his latest invention and shot the first movie in the world, he didn't realize the magnitude of what was just starting that long lost day of 1888. Sadly, Le Prince would not live to see the results of his experiments, and it would be other people would be the ones in charge to improve on his idea and create what we now know as cinema. One of those who would become the first filmmakers would be the Scottish inventor William K.L. Dickson, who while working in America along Thomas Alva Edison invented the Kinetoscope in 1890. The Kinetoscope was a device that showed short movies individually through the window of a cabinet housing its components, in a manner that would earn it the nickname of "peepshow machine". However, the birth of Kinetoscope wasn't easy, and many experiments had to be done before its public release in 1893.

The first experiments were of course the famous "Monkeyshines" films, three movies where the camera captures (or tries to capture) the images of Edison's workers as they move in front of it. While not exactly successful (image looks pretty bad), those movies were the very first films shot in America and showed Edison the enormous potential of Dickson's invention. After many experiments, Dickson achieved the quality he desired and made the movie that would be shown to the press and 150 members of the National Federation of Women's Clubs in a private demonstration of the invention that took place on May 20, 1891. The first movie shown was this one, nowadays aptly titled "Dickson Greeting" because it consisted of a short 3 seconds scene where William K.L. Dickson appeared bowing and smiling, as if he was indeed greeting the first audience of his Kinetoscope. There were rumours that this film was also the very first movie with sound, with Dickson saluting his employer as he greeted him, but those rumours were probably created by Edison to increase the attention (not the first time he would use this tactic), and because Dickson was really working in making "talkies" (and he would be close to really make it, I must say).

Watching how Dickson's work improved from the "Monkeyshines" experiments to this movie is an amazing experience, as the quality of his movies improved drastically from bizarre images without any shape that appeared in his first three films to the high quality of his image moving gracefully in "Dickson Greeting". The fact that all this improvements took him less than a year is certainly a testament of the enormous genius of this man, who singlehandedly put Edison's company on the race towards motion pictures. On that day of May, this along with two other Kinetoscope movies (probably the two shorts about boxing) were shown to an audience for the first time, in what would mark the birth of the first device invented to watch movies. Kinetoscope, cinema's "granddaddy" had just been born.

8/10



Buy "Dickson Greeting" (1981) and the rest of Edison's early films

Vampiro: Angel, Devil, Hero (2008)

Life in pro wrestling is tough, as even when the show has a heavy dose of melodrama and elements of performing arts, it's still a very demanding sport that can have several damaging (physically, mentally and emotionally) consequences for the wrestler, and not only because of the injuries the body receives during a match, but also because of the pressure of the business. And this is something that Ian Hodgkinson, better known as Vampiro, knows better than anyone. Hodgkinson, a young Canadian man with the dream of becoming a wrestler, decided to travel to Mexico in the late 80s to follow his dream, and suddenly he found himself being one of the country's biggest pro wrestling stars of all time thanks to his unusual style and looks. But after being a popular icon of Mexican wrestling, life would take "El Vampiro Canadiense" ("The Canadian Vampire") to experience more than one real life body-slam. And this is what Lee Demarbre's documentary, "Vampiro: Angel, Devil, Hero", attempts to capture.

In "Vampiro: Angel, Devil, Hero", Demarbre showcases the human being behind the Vampiro persona, following him in the European tour he made in preparation for the opening of his own company, "Revolution X"; and then remains close to him as Vampiro prepares the very first event his company is going to produce: a big match in Guadalajara, Mexico, the city he now calls home. At the same time, "Vampiro: Angel, Devil, Hero" explores Vampiro's past, including interviews with his family, friends and the people who has known him since his humble beginnings in Ontario, Canada. Revolving around this three main "storylines", the film uncovers the wrestler's atypical life, including the story of how a young Canadian man ended up being Mexico's biggest wrestling star in the early 90s. Finally, through the eyes of Ian Hodgkinson, "Vampiro: Angel, Devil, Hero" gives insight about the business and the life of pro wrestlers in general, which isn't always as fun as the show may lead one to believe.

An interesting feature of the film is that, while Demarbre's frequent collaborator Ian Driscoll worked as a writing consultant, there isn't any voice over to narrate what's going on other than Vampiro's musings as he leads the crew across his everyday life. Not even even when dealing with Vampiro's past Demarbre uses this resource, as he just lets Vampiro and his other interviewees narrate the story in their own words. This approach creates a more intimate look to the topic at hand, as through the stories one is able to discover Vampiro's different sides, offering a window to his mind without glamorizing him (although certain sentimentalism crawls into the picture at some points in the film). Demarbre makes a great job in bringing the real Ian Hodgkinson, the real Vampiro, to the screen, as even when he had not been able to avoid acting out a bit (as a natural performer like him would do), a real feeling of truth embodies the film most of the time, specially during the chronicle of "Revolution X"'s first event.

A consummated fan of Mexican wrestling (as one can notice in his wildly funny feature length debut, 2001's "Jesus Christ Vampire Hunter"), director Lee Demarbre manages to give the film that mystique that surrounds Mexican Lucha Libre; and while Vampiro isn't exactly the typical fighter of Mexican pro wrestling (his look and style are definitely different from the one of classic legends such as Santo or Blue Demon), the whole audiovisual style, including Michael Dubue's great score (mix of surf rock and Spaghetti Western music) and Petr Maur's art direction, is quite fitting. The leaps in chronology, while probably a tad confusing at first, are well handled, and serve to add variety and a sense of suspense to Vampiro's odyssey as an independent promoter. Demarbre's film-making has matured and grown a lot since his "Harry Knuckles" days, but this movie proves that he has kept that freshness and good humor that earned him a name in the independent film circuit.

Overall "Vampiro: Angel, Devil, Hero" is a remarkable documentary, but by no means is a perfect movie. Personally, I think that the film's biggest flaw is that despite consciously (and constantly) trying to avoid the romanticization or glamorization of Vampiro's life-story, at times it gets a bit too sentimental for its own sake. It could be that such thing it was unavoidable, given the hard times and difficulties Vampiro really has had (and still has) to overcome in his life, but still at times that bit of melodrama manages to creep into the film. Still, the way Demarbre keeps the most emotional elements for the last act really help to keep the balance of the film. Other than that, the movie is pretty much a very complete documentary about Ian Hodgkinson, "El Vampiro Canadiense", and the very unusual story of his life; as well as about the many difficulties wrestlers in general must face after their time at the top of their popularity has passed.

Gritty, hard, tough, but always with a good sense of humor (like Vampiro himself), Lee Demarbre's "Vampiro: Angel, Devil, Hero" is probably one of the best documentaries about pro wrestling ever done. While it offers a really inside look at the way matches are prepared and choreographed, it never loses the respect for the sport and the athletes that perform in it. Through the film, one ends up with the feeling of having met an old friend in Vampiro, which for a documentary about somebody's life is probably the main goal. So this angel, devil, hero really wins the match. Hopefully, future will be bright, not only for filmmaker Lee Demarbre, but for Vampiro as well.

8/10

The Seafarers (1953)

While nowadays Stanley Kubrick is considered as one of the most influential and acclaimed filmmakers of all time, the career of this legendary director had its humble beginning in the documentary genre, specifically in the making of two newsreels for RKO Radio Pictures in 1951 when he was only 23 years old. At that age, Kubrick was already a full-time staff photographer for the "Look" magazine, but after making those two short films he quit his job and decided to become a full-time filmmaker. However, those two short films wouldn't be the only documentaries the master would direct in his lifetime, as in 1953 he had to return to the documentary genre after the commercial failure of his feature length debut, "Fear and Desire" in 1953. His third and last documentary would also be his first time working in color, and all in an infomercial for Seafarers International Union.

Simply tittled, "The Seafarers", this short documentary is essentially an infomercial about the benefits that joining the Seafarers International Union can bring to mariners, fishermen and boatmen of the U.S. if they join it. Narrated by CBS reporter Don Hollenbeck, the film details the different activities a member can do while visiting the Union Halls that are spread around the country's coasts, as well as the many services they offer. From barbershops to restaurants, the film talks about the establishments that offer good discounts to those who join the Union. It also explores other important benefits, such as health care, insurance, and scholarships for the children of the seafarers. Finally, it also explains some of the rights and obligations of every member, as well as how is the Union organized and how their democratic processes work.

Written by Will Chasen (quite possibly a member of the Union himself), the movie is a very complete and informative commercial about the Seafarers International Union, as in its barely 30 minutes of duration it manages to cover a wide arrange of topics of major interest for the film's intended audience. Clearly devised to convince sailors to join the Union, Chasen's script is written in a very persuasive way, highlighting the Union hall's commodities and the leisure activities that the members can do in order to give the organization the image of a fun place to be. While a bit typical of the era, Don Hollenbeck's effective narration adds power to the persuasive script, as he truly makes the Union sound like a club every worker should join thanks to his friendly, yet strong presence.

In this his fourth movie as a director, Kubrick shows an enormous progression in his skills with the camera. An acknowledged follower of Max Ophüls' work (his movies inspired him to be a filmmaker), Kubrick once again shows in "The Seafarers" the enormous influence the German director had during the early years of his career, as the movie showcases scenes with very fluid and dynamic cinematography, pretty much in Ophüls' style. Also, considering it was his first movie in color, "The Seafarers" looks very, and Kubrick's creative experimentation with color can be seen in several scenes. As with the rest of his documentaries, the strength of the film is in the visual compositions the young photographer created, as Kubrick crafts a movie that supports Chasen's script efficiently and delivers the core message of the institution.

Even when there is no doubt that this is a very interesting movie to watch for fans of Stanley Kubrick, other than its excellent craftsmanship there is not really anything truly remarkable about the movie. And as written above, this is not because the movie is bad, but mainly because while competently made, it's still nothing more than an infomercial that Kubrick made as a hired gun. Of course, there's a number of sparks of the brilliant talent the young filmmaker would show in his following films, but besides that this is still a very typical commercial film in the classic 50s style. Anyways, while the film certainly suffers from being made for a specific audience, it manages to transmit successfully Seafarers International's intended message of looking like an organization made by sailors and intended for sailors.

It would be difficult to recommend "The Seafarers" to those uninterested in Stanley Kubrick's career, as due to the kind of film it its, it's probably of interest only for Kubrick aficionados (although maybe those interested in 50s infomercials will find it useful). It's kind of fun to watch the young filmmaker mastering his skills, as one can truly see how he developed the techniques that would make him a legend. While "The Seafarers" is not really one of the highlights of his career, one has to be thankful for it as this movie helped to pay his 1955 movie, "Killer's Kiss", film that would open Kubrick the door to bigger projects like his masterpieces "The Killing" and "Paths of Glory". Even when personally I think that "Day of the Fight" is the best of the three documentaries by Kubrick, "The Seafarers" is a good film by its own merits.

6/10

Flying Padre (1951)

In the early 50s, a young photographer named Stanley Kubrick decided to quit his job at "Look" magazine and try his luck at directing movies after discovering the potential of cinema as an art form. While eventually Kubrick would become a master of the craft and a renowned artist by his own right, the young filmmaker had his humble beginning at making short newsreels for RKO Radio Pictures. It all started when a friend convinced him to make "Day of the Fight", a short documentary about boxing that they intended to sell to "The March of Time" newsreel. Sadly, that newsreel was canceled, but to their fortune, people at RKO liked Kubrick's movie and bought the film. While Kubrick didn't make money out of "Day of the Fight", it opened him the doors at RKO, as they gave him the chance to make a new documentary for them: "Flying Padre".

Narrated by CBS announcer Bob Hite, "Flying Padre" tells the story of two days in the life of Father Fred Stadtmuller, a Catholic priest in rural New Mexico with a very particular way of reaching the people of his 400-square mile parish. Since his parish is too large and the roads of New Mexico aren't really good, Father Stadmuller uses a Piper Cub airplane to travel to whenever his people needs him, offering not only spiritual help, but sometimes also physical. Through the film, we follow this "Flying Padre" through his daily obligations, which not only include giving sermons at the church or helping people to solve their differences peacefully, as Father Stadmuller also uses his plane to help people in emergencies. In the movie for example, Father Stadmuller takes a sick child and his mother from their isolated ranch to the nearest hospital.

Based on Stadtmuller's experiences as priest of the New Mexico community of Mosquero, Stanley Kubrick wrote the screenplay for this brief recounting of several of Stadtmuller's adventures as Mosquero's "Flying Padre". Contrary to what the narration may tell, while the events portrayed in the movie did happen, what we see on screen is only a reenactment of them, not an actual depiction of Stadtmuller at work. Despite the fact that what it's on screen is obviously staged, Kubrick makes a great job at making us discover the true heroism behind the humble priest, and to a certain extent it's very informative about the situation of New Mexico's rural land of those years. The text of the narration (apparently also written by Kubrick) is very in tone with what was the standard in the early 50s, although often falls in the clichés of the era.

While his work with the screenplay doesn't show any sing of the talent that would make him a legend, the excellent camera-work he uses in the shooting of the film is a clear display of the abilities of the promising director. As he did in "Day of the Fight", Kubrick employs a mix of editing and cinematography to create a very dynamic movie in the style of Max Ophüls (who was a big influence in his early years). While of course Kubrick is forced to remain true to the newsreel's conventions, he manages to create pretty good looking scenes that at times seem to tell the tale of the "Flying Padre" in better fashion than Bob Hite's fast narrative. Sadly, the film's cinematography is probably the only think that would make one see this movie as a Kubrick film, as it is probably the only element that shows Kubrick's rising talent as a filmmaker.

What I mean is that not only the screenplay is troubled, where the movie truly suffers the most is in the quality of the reenactment of several events in the priest's life. The problem is that since neither the "actors" (people literally playing themselves) nor the director had any experience in this aspect, the result is a "documentary" that feels staged and fake when it should be the exact opposite. Another of the problems is definitely Nathaniel Shilkret's score for the film and the way Kubrick uses it in the movie. While Shilkret was one of the best composers for newsreels during the Golden age of the genre (and even composed for feature films in the 30s), his work in this movie sounds old, clichéd and archaic, a sad ending for his long career.

Even when "Flying Padre" is definitely a flawed film, it is still an interesting piece of history as it shows the development of Stanley Kubrick's career from young photographer to legendary filmmaker. While the writing and the directing of actors leaves a lot to be desired, the camera-work and the cinematography are 100% Kubrick and it shows. It is very easy to dismiss this movie as a mere curiosity, but one has to remember that in only 4 years Kubrick went from this movie to "Killer's Kiss" and his first two masterpieces, "The Killing" and "Paths of Glory". Of his three first documentaries this is probably the worst, and I don't doubt it could be seen as disappointing; but as people say, "you have to start with something".

5/10

Day of the Fight (1951)

In 1950, legendary director Stanley Kubrick was a young photographer who was beginning to be fascinated by the many films he discovered in his visits to the screenings done by the Museum of Modern Art and other cinemas of New York. The discovery of such a wide range of different films made a big impact on the talented "Look" magazine photographer, who began to experiment with the medium, heavily influenced by the fluid movement that was the trademark of director Max Ophüls' work. It was that very same year when Kubrick would have his first chance to make a movie, as his friend Alexander Singer persuaded him to make a short documentary that he could sell to a distributor of cinema newsreels. Kubrick accepted the proposal, and inspired by an article he had done for "Look", he began working on his first movie. That early film would be "Day of the Fight".

"Day of the Fight" is a short documentary that chronicles a day in the life of Irish middleweight boxer Walter Cartier, a very promising fighter who is about to face an important contender, Bobby James, on that very same day. However, before focusing on Cartier, the movie makes a short yet informative description of boxing, its history, and its fanatics; everything with the precise and direct narration by veteran newsman Douglas Edwards. After that brief introduction, the movie follows Cartier from early in the morning until the fight, which takes place at 10:00 pm. Through the day, we follow Walter Cartier and his identical twin brother Vincent (who is also a lawyer and Walter's manager) in their preparation for the fight, starting with a good breakfast and early mass, and the subsequent mental and physical preparation that Walter makes in order to become a fighting machine.

While the idea of the film was entirely Kubrick's, the screenplay for the narration was entirely the work of Robert Rein, who follows the typical style of narrative that had been prevalent during the 40s weekly newsreels of "The March of Time", as in fact, that company was the originally planned buyer of "Day of Fight. However, since the company went out of business that very same year, the movie was then sold to RKO Pictures, who under the RKO-Pathé brand, became the movie's distributor. Anyways, as written above, Rein's script follows the classic conventions of the newsreels of its time, mixing the educational purposes of the documentary with a heavy use of melodramatics in the voice-over's narrative. However, credit must go to Rein for making a very realistic, albeit sentimentalist, description of the boxers' life.

If the voice-over of "Day of the Fight" sounds archaic and outdated to us these days, Kubrick's direction of the film looks the opposite as while still limited to its medium's restriction, the young director managed to create a vibrant film thanks to his very fluid and dynamic use of camera-work. While the movie is still a documentary bounded by its obligatory narration, Kubrick uses his camera to create a character out of the real persona of Walter Cartier, and while the boxer has no lines in the movie, a lot of him can be known thanks to the images Kubrick's camera has captured of him. As the moment of the fight gets closer, Kubrick accelerates the pace, truly increasing the tension and giving the story a real feeling of suspense as the fight begins. The images from the fight are remarkably edited and the result is one of the best scenes of a sports documentary.

While the screenplay is definitely typical of newsreels, Douglas Edwards' narration gives it a slightly different edge, as he manages to put the perfect emotion on what he is saying. No doubt thanks to his many years as a sports newsman, Edwards gives his words an impact and presence that makes the movie real, as if one was there with Cartier training for the big day. True, it's still an outdated style of narration, but Edwards' style makes it enjoyable. The rest of the people who appears on film has no lines, while we follow the Cartier brothers in their day, everything is narrated by Edwards and there is no interview with the contenders. However, it's safe to say that in this movie Walter projects a lot of presence and so it's not a surprise that after his career as a boxer he had decided to become an actor (landing a small, yet memorable role in "The Phil Silvers Show").

Considering the magnitude and importance of Stanley Kubrick's career, it's very easy to dismiss this movie as part of his career; however, unlike his second work ("The Flying Padre"), there are many things in this movie that makes it interesting and showcase early bits of what would become the Kubrick's style. Sure, it has every flaw a newsreel could have (including the typical use of staged scenes), but it also feels different, as Kubrick's eye for photography gave it a new look (Certainly, Gerald Fried's music also helped on this). A short newsreel like "Day of the Fight" may not be the most impressive debut for a legendary filmmaker, but in all its humility, this little short represents the beginning of a Master's career, and that's enough reason to give it a chance. Kubrick fans, this is a must.

7/10

Monkeyshines, No. 1 (1890)

In 1888, American inventor Thomas Alva Edison had an idea that would serve as the basis to what we now call "movies", that idea was the Kinetoscope and soon a new source of entertainment would be created by the wild imagination of Edison's team. According to history, Edison heard rumors about the invention of motion pictures (they were indeed invented in 1888 by Louis Le Prince in Leeds, England) and quickly his mind began to craft his very own devise to achieve the same effect. Edison figured out that the images had the illusion of movement because they were sequential images over a light source with a high-speed shutter, and soon put the conceptual idea on paper; however, it wouldn't be Edison who would transform Kinetoscope from an idea to a reality, the man in charge of the project would be one of Edison's most rusted workers, a Scottish man named William K.L. Dickson. The series of short films codenamed "Monkeyshines" were Dickson's first attempts to produce motion pictures.

The "Monkeyshines" films were three experimental movies shot in the Edison laboratories in order to test Kinetograph, a camera invented to shot the movies that would appear in the Kinetoscope. With the collaboration of William Heise (who would become a prolific director of Kinetoscope films), Dickson shot one of Edison's workers in front of the camera doing gestures and movements. As actual experiments of their work, this movies do not have a plot or a theme, and only consist of Edison's workers moving in front of the camera to see if their images were captured. Due to age and the poor quality of this early experiments, it is impossible to know who appears in each movie, although it is often considered that G. Sacco Albanese is the one appearing in "Monkeyshines, No. 1". (some say that it is actually John Ott, but the debate continues)

While it was never released to the public (Dickson's second movie, "Dickson Greeting" has the honor of being the first American movie to be shown), "Monkeyshines, No. 1" is indeed the very first movie shot in the United States, marking the birth of the Kinetoscope and the beginning of the age of cinema as entertainment. After this monumental invention, Dickson would dedicate his most of his work in improving his machine (including an attempt to add sound!) although he also started making the kind of short films the people wanted to see in what was now known as "The Peep Show machine". While not exactly real cinema, William K.L. Dickson's amazing invention would be another big step ahead in what would culminate in 1895, with the Lumière brothers' invention of the Cinématographe.

7/10

Traffic Crossing Leeds Bridge (1888)

In 1888 the city of Leeds, in England, became part of history of cinema as the place where the first movies were made. It was the place where a French inventor named Louis Aimé Augustin Le Prince successfully tested his invention for the first time and created the first moving images in history. Of course, history often credits either Thomas Alva Edison or the Lumière brothers as the inventors of cinema, and not without a reason, as they were the first who made public exhibitions of movies; however, it was Louis Le Prince who shot the first movies a couple of years before Edison and the Lumières. Sadly, Le Prince would die under mysterious circumstances shortly after this monumental achievement (in 1890), and so, being unable to offer public demonstrations, his name was soon forgotten when film was presented by other inventors. Despite this tragic turn of events, it's never late to give the proper credit to Louis Le Prince as the father of cinema.

In the first movie ever, "Roundhay Garden Scene", Le Prince captured his wife's family on a day at the garden, as they walked and moved in order to test his camera. For his second experiment, Le Prince went to Leeds Bridge, and shot a 2 seconds of the traffic crossing the bridge. The carriages pulled by horses are captured by Le Prince's camera in what could be considered as the very first documentary in history, as it shows another typical day at the Leeds bridge. Obviously, Le Prince's intention was to capture real moving objects to prove that his invention was not fake, so what better way to do it than filming the traffic? Despite its extremely short runtime, this movie is quite interesting as it's a small glimpse to life in the late Victorian era, almost like a time machine to a past that now, more than 100 years later feels very distant.

Watching this movie (as well as "Roundhay Garden Scene") today is a strangely mystifying experience, as while in its short runtime barely nothing happens, the fact that before this movie there wasn't anything, that this was the very first time a movie was made, gives the film an almost supernatural atmosphere. The experiment was successful and cinema was born. It's a tragedy that Le Prince didn't live to see how his invention would grow, and never witnessed his invention becoming an art form and a new way of entertainment. While he never saw the magic of Georges Méliès's movies, or the narrative methods of Edwin S. Porter and D.W. Griffith, Le Prince showed the bridge. Edison, Lumière, and the rest of the pioneers would follow him and change history for ever.

10/10

Roundhay Garden Scene (1888)

The name of Louis Aimé Augustin Le Prince is not listened often when talking about history of film, as the strange circumstances surrounding his death and the troubles his work found after his disappearance covered his achievements with a cloud of mystery; however, it is probably the most important person in the history of film-making, as Le Prince was the man responsible of the very first recording of motion images on film. A dedicated inventor, Louis Le Prince started experimenting with film as early as 1881 (years before Thomas Alva Edison or the Lumière brothers), and by 1886 he was almost ready to take the big step, as he built his first successful movie camera. Someday around October 1888, Le Prince captured on film what would become the world's first motion picture: a family scene in a garden of Roundhay, Leeds, during his time in England. Cinema was born in that garden.

The now legendary 2 seconds short features his son Adolphe walking across the garden while the family of Le Prince's wife, the Whitleys, move on the background, probably wondering if what their son-in-law is doing will work. And it work marvelously, as the images of that day at the garden were captured, and finally the photographs were moving. Sadly, "Roundhay Garden Scene" was also tainted by tragedy, as Sarah Whitley, Le Prince's mother-in-law died just ten days after the shooting of the movie, so probably she was not able to see her image moving in the background of the scene. Considering the enormous importance of this invention, it's easy to wonder why isn't the name of Le Prince better known, and why are Edison and the Lumière brothers credited as the cinema inventors.

The reasons behind this apparent forgetfulness are many, but the most important is the fact that tragically, he died before making his first public demonstration, and was not alive when the legal battles over the patent of the invention began. The mysterious death of Le Prince put him out of the picture and by the next decade, the names of Edison and the Lumières would become the ones related to film-making. While history credits Auguste and Louis Lumière as the fathers of cinema, it would be fair to give Louis Le Prince part of the credit, as while the brothers indeed invented cinema as we know it (they were the first to make public demonstrations), it was Le Prince's invention what would truly be the beginning of all. The shiny day at Roundhay garden that Le Prince captured in this film, is a fitting symbol for the shiny future that cinema had ahead.

10/10