300 Words About: Stevie

As Steve James' excellent The Interrupters made its way around theaters this summer, I caught up recently with Stevie, his deeply personal documentary from 2002 (and only his second documentary at the time, the first being of course Hoop Dreams). Stevie is the worst possible testimonial for the Big Brothers Big Sisters of America youth mentoring program that you might ever see. It's also a perfect example of why programs like it are so important.

Steve James was a Big Brother to Stevie Fielding in the mid-1980's. At the time, little Stevie was an awkward preteen living with his grandparents in rural Southern Illinois - he was a little odd and had a troubled family history, but was generally harmless. James had a relatively normal mentor-mentee relationship with Stevie for a few years, and then returned in the mid-90's (perhaps encouraged by the recent success of Hoop Dreams) to see what Stevie was up to as an adult. What he found was troubling: Stevie was well on his way down a self-destructive path, with an extensive criminal record and no clear direction in his life. Devastated by Stevie's situation and perhaps feeling guilty for not keeping closer tabs on his "little brother", James recommitted himself to helping Stevie at least stay out of legal trouble, if not actually become a contributing member of society.

And this is where Stevie lays bare the profound challenge facing mentors in a program like Big Brother Big Sisters, or for that matter parents, teachers, or any adult nobly attempting to better a young person's life. I felt pangs of guilt for past students that I had "let go" during my teaching years, or for that matter anyone in my life with whom I've had a mentoring-type relationship. Were there too many other opposing factors and influences to outweigh my efforts? Did I do as much as I could to make a difference? Did it even matter?

Stevie is not meant to be an examination of guilt or regret, and, refreshingly, James does not frame it as a naive "agenda" documentary or bookend it with tidy steps that can be followed to make the world a better place. He instead asks raw, honest, heartbreaking questions - and doesn't provide any easy answers - about what happens when the best intentions are left unrealized. And the horror doesn't end on the screen, either, as Stevie's current situation is as disturbing as anything from the film's footage, which is now more than a decade old.

They say "the road to hell is paved with good intentions", and critics of mentoring programs for troubled youth could use Stevie as Exhibit A in their case against program efficacy. But to watch Stevie is to understand a different reason why these programs exist: not to "save lives", but to connect lives that wouldn't otherwise be connected. To strip away the social barriers that keep us apart and put us (the privileged) face-to-face with the experience of the marginalized majority around us. The reason I appreciate James so much as a filmmaker is because he doesn't wield his camera as a weapon of scrutiny and all-knowing judgment. Instead he uses it as a mirror, reflecting back on us images of ourselves that we can't or don't want to see. What happens after that is for us to figure out.

2011 MSPIFF Journal #2/3

Also: 2011 MSPIFF Journal #1

The Interrupters 
Grade: A
Opens in Minneapolis later this summer

My expectations were sky high for the latest documentary from Steve James (Hoop Dreams), and he went ahead and soared past them. The Interrupters is a harrowing journey into the everyday lives of Chicagoans desperately trying to keep the city's troubled teens from killing each other. The film's main subjects are "violence interrupters" who work for CeaseFire, a nonprofit dedicated to stopping street violence, most often in the form of shootings, by simply trying to verbally mediate between conflicting parties. In other words, telling gang members to put down their guns and just play nice with each other. Sound ridiculous? Well, turns out it's a fairly effective strategy, primarily because most of the interrupters are themselves ex-cons and former gang members. They know the game, and they know where and when they can be most effective in stopping another senseless murder before it happens. Obviously it's still an incredibly difficult task, and the film does an outstanding job balancing the successes with the ongoing challenges. It's not a feel-good documentary by any means, yet the the hope and optimism demonstrated by the interrupters cannot be denied.

A Screaming Man
Grade: B+

Despite a few blips on the radar, I remain convinced that Latin America and Africa are greatly underrepresented on the local film scene (and the national and global film scenes, for that matter), so I jumped at the chance to see A Screaming Man, winner of a special jury prize at Cannes last year. More importantly, it caught my eye as the latest film from Chadian director Mahamat-Saleh Haroun, who helmed Dry Season, possibly my favorite film of MSPIFF in 2008 (queue it up). The films are similar in many ways (and both star the gifted Youssouf Djaoro), with really the main difference being that A Screaming Man examines a father's conflicted emotions about a son, instead of a son's conflicted emotions about a father. The civil war serves as the background setting once again, but the brilliance of Haroun's story is that it's not really about war, but about decisions between family and career, and the transition between generations. A Screaming Man didn't bowl me over as much as Dry Season, but it's nonetheless troubling to think that we miss out on so many films like this every year.

The Hedgehog 
Grade: B+
Opens in Minneapolis later this summer

Not having read Muriel Barbery's celebrated novel, The Elegance of the Hedgehog, I was pretty shocked at the opening narration from the film's young protagonist, Paloma, in which she announces, quite seriously, that she's planning to kill herself on her next birthday. In fact, that first minute cast a pretty disturbing pall over the rest of the movie, turning what might have been a really touching romantic dramedy into an occasionally uncomfortable meditation on death and loneliness. One could argue that the dramatic thread grounded the story in reality and provided for deeper emotional access, but I just felt on edge for a good part of the film. If its comedy was meant to be dark, I guess it was a little too dark for my taste. That said, The Hedgehog is still consistently watchable and even absorbing; nearly every scene takes place in just a few rooms and I felt immersed in a Parisian microcosm. It's also superbly acted and skips along at a nice pace until, again, a dose of mild depression to send you out. See it if you're in the mood for a good French film, just don't go in with the light-hearted expectations that I did.

300 Words About: Mississippi Damned

Taking its name from the provocative Nina Simone song, Tina Mabry's Mississippi Damned reveals itself as, in essence, an adaptation of the downbeat lyrics:"Lord have mercy on this land of mine/We all gonna get it in due time/I don't belong here/I don't belong there/I've even stopped believing in prayer...Oh but this whole country is full of lies/You're all gonna die and die like flies."

Yeah, this one ain't for the kids.

Written and directed by Mabry (recent recipient of a prestigious United States Artists grant) and based on her own family history, the film is a generation-spanning tale of physical and sexual abuse, poor choices, missed opportunities, poverty and strife, and even sickness and disease. It's all of Shakespeare's tragedies wrapped up in one story, updated and set in the American South. The plot, such as it is, doesn't require much explanation: three sisters and their families live and then relive some truly awful experiences, with only young Kari keeping hope alive that one day she will escape the cycle.

The production values and acting are very impressive for an independently produced film, particularly considering there is more action, movement, and variety of setting than most small films would dare attempt. And, although seemingly every other scene presents itself as ripe for some scene-chewing, Mabry keeps the cast on an even keel. The actors are comfortable in their characters and the scenes mostly develop naturally, lending authentic emotion to the story. Ironically, the overwhelming bleakness that exists as the film's greatest flaw is also the central reason it's so affecting.

Bittersweet: The Dark Side of Chocolate

If you're alone (or with other single friends) this Valentine's Day and are seeking the perfect downer for the occasion, look no further than The Dark Side of Chocolate. While millions of couples will express their love for each other with extravagantly wrapped boxes of candied cocoa of unknown origin, you can rest easy that you're not supporting what amounts to slave labor in regions of West Africa.

To be sure, for most people The Dark Side of Chocolate will be more personal and thus more disturbing than a documentary about the ugly underbelly of, say, the dried fruit industry. After all, chocolate is a globally traded commodity (or rather, cocoa is), a $50 billion/year worldwide business, and a veritable drug for women everywhere - and a few men, too, including me.

Concerned and curious about rumors of child labor on cocoa plantations in Ivory Coast, intrepid Danish journalist Miki Mistrati set off with a hidden camera and a bag full of questions about the source of the precious cocoa used by the world's leading chocolate manufacturers (The Hershey Company, Mars, Cadbury, Nestlé, and others). What he would find, tragically, is that children as young as seven years old are clearly being trafficked from neighboring countries to work in cocoa plantations for little to no pay. If the lack of an actual war prevents your favorite confection from being considered "conflict" chocolate, you should still feel conflicted about eating it.

Taking It Home: Inside Job

Finally, it all makes sense. Mostly.

Listening to the media echo chamber discuss President Obama's tax deal this week, I realized that it's been more than two months since I saw Charles Ferguson's illuminating Inside Job, and, shockingly, I think I still understand his deft explanation of the reasons behind the financial meltdown and, consequently, our current panic about tax rates and unemployment benefits. After numerous films - including but not limited to Capitalism: A Love Story (0/2 for Michael Moore after he dropped the health care ball with the forgettable Sicko), American Casino, Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps, and even The Other Guys - tried and failed to explain what led to The Great Recession, Ferguson's film was like a breath of fresh air, illustrating the financial foolishness in terms that anyone can understand. Good thing, too, because as I said in my pan of the meaningless Wall Street, this was probably the last chance The Recession Movie had to establish itself as a viable genre.

Why was it so hard to present this financial information in a clear way prior to this film? To be fair it does require a lot of detailed explanation, and when filmmakers have other things on their minds (melodrama and an Oscar in the case of Stone's Wall Street; comedy and I-don't-know-what in the case of Moore's Capitalism), the meat of the subject at hand is guaranteed to be lost. Inside Job, in contrast, has little else on it's mind other than telling us what happened and, not accidentally, making us feel really angry about it. This isn't necessarily a fair and balanced documentary (and maybe not a documentary at all?), but it nonetheless presents the facts and allows educated people to talk about them, even though in this case the facts really speak for themselves.

Up the Yangtze, With a Paddle

The Yu Family, 2007

I consider 2008 the best year of the last decade for documentary film. Consider Surfwise, Trouble the Water, Man on Wire, Young @ Heart, Nerakhoon (The Betrayal), and Bigger, Stronger, Faster*, along with the second tier of Encounters at the End of the World, Dear Zachary, American Teen, Blindsight, Waltz with Bashir, and Standard Operating Procedure.

Above all of these great films that year, however, I placed Up the Yangtze, Yung Chang's heartbreaking examination of the impact of the Three Gorges Dam on the lives of lower and middle class Chinese living along the banks of the Yangtze River. From my review: "Yung Chang masterfully weaves power, wealth, culture, humility, sacrifice, tradition, national pride, poverty, and environmental concerns into a rich tapestry worthy of the world's attention...The unique aspects of Chinese culture are on such brilliant display in Up the Yangtze that we Westerners will have difficulty understanding them with one viewing."

The film somehow eluded the attention of AMPAS (who award the Oscars), but it did win numerous other awards and received healthy praise from critics. It was also broadcast on PBS as part of its POV documentary series, and now, two years later, the POV blog has an encouraging update from Yung Chang about the main family profiled in the film. Some highlights are below:

REVIEW: Prince of Broadway (A)

Writer/director Sean Baker's exceptional first feature, Take Out, is the kind of film that engages your curiosity in a rather distracting way; you feel as if you're watching a lost home video or a guerrilla-style student film. Scenes are unpredictable not necessarily because of complex plot twists (the story could not be simpler), but because at any given moment something in the vicinity of the shooting location, perhaps a stray animal or a loud car, seems certain to interrupt filming.

Was there a proper set? Were these people even actors?  The answer was yes, and no, but if you focused on the production details you'd potentially miss the most important fact of all: Take Out is a brilliant illustration of "a day in the life", of the common experiences of fear, frustration, relief, longing, hope, and countless other emotions that we as humans individually experience but collectively share. (See that film.)

Baker's new film, Prince of Broadway (opening tomorrow in New York and Sep. 24 in L.A.), is a glossier product, longer and more confidently made than Take Out. The sound and cinematography are vastly improved, if not still bound by the limits of a tiny budget, and the blocking is more tightly staged. In short, it's a more professional film, but if Baker has applied more of a sheen to this new product he has lost nothing under the surface, where thoughtful lessons about love, parenting, marriage, and friendship are framed by the unlikeliest of set-ups.

Returning to La Sierra

Watching Restrepo earlier this summer I was reminded of La Sierra, a similarly styled you-are-there war documentary about the deadly urban battles between Colombian paramilitary units and rebel guerrilla factions, which killed more than 30,000 people during the late 90's/early 00's. Within this setting La Sierra plays like a non-fiction version of City of God, which was inspired by true events but never given the documentary treatment (unless you consider parts of Jeff Zimbalist's hopeful Favela Rising; coincidentally Zimbalist also knows a thing or two about Colombia having recently directed the excellent The Two Escobars).

Anyway, I saw La Sierra years ago at a small film festival in San Diego, and it was unforgettable enough for me to name it among the best documentaries of the decade. Revisiting again last week thanks to Netflix (add it now), I was struck by the rich layers it efficiently provides in 84 minutes, as well as its ability to haunt me with dozens of unanswered - and perhaps unanswerable - questions.

Like Restrepo, La Sierra was made by journalists (Scott Dalton and Margarita Martinez) who embedded themselves and risked their lives in an extremely dangerous, highly complex political situation. Both films juxtapose disturbing raw combat footage with serene scenes of nature and poignant interviews with jaded fighters. One of the main differences, however, and one that lends a profound sadness to the film's eventual outcomes, is that the interviews in La Sierra all take place in real time, within the period documented by the film. The characters talk a lot about living one day at a time, not being able to plan or even imagine their lives past the next week. Death is ever present, and when it arrives suddenly and violently for one of the film's main subjects you experience a sickening realization that this story was not planned out. There was no script. The camera was simply turned on and life was lived, at least for a while.

Getafilm Gallimaufry: Robin Hood, L'Enfant, Cruise's Curse, Toy Story 3, and The Two Escobars

Robin Hood (B+)

After too many months away from the movies I jumped in with both feet last week, starting with a big spring blockbuster that I didn't want to let get away from me on the big screen. In the last installment of Gallimaufry I declared my love for Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves, as well as the Robin Hood brand as a whole. Out of the loop as I've been from the movies scene in 2010, I completely forgot that Ridley Scott's version was meant to be an introduction to the title character.

You could understand, then, why I was growing restless as the movie went on and on with only minor teases of the charm, wit, humor, and romance that I associated with Robin and his merry men. Ridley's crew was comprised of weathered patriots fighting a ruthless (and inexplicably baldheaded?) villain for the honor of King Richard's crown. Embarrassingly, I was left scratching my head all the way until the finale, after which a title card reminded us that "now the legend begins". Ahhh, that's right! I'm thickheaded like that sometimes.

300 Words About: American Casino

I don't know about you, but I find it such a relief when I learn I'm not the only one who doesn't understand what appears to be a simple issue, in this case the mortgage crisis. When a financial analyst in American Casino compared the financial calculations behind this entire mess as operating in the 4th dimension, I thought, Yep, that sounds about right.

We had a minority of bankers and brokers who developed an esoteric financial language that no one else could understand, and a majority of Americans who regularly buy fast food with credit cards and throw away unopened bank and credit card statements informing them of interest rate hikes. The eventual result, of course, is this mortgage-backed recession we've found ourselves in over the past two years. American Casino, which began filming in early 2008, illustrates what went wrong and who was affected. As you can imagine, it's not a pretty picture.

Taking It Home: Precious

("Taking It Home" is an alternative review style in which I share my thoughts on a movie's themes and how they may relate to my life, while focusing less on the acting, writing, technical aspects, or even plot of the film. It's a collection of the ideas I took home, "because the movie experience shouldn't end in the theater".)

The most tragic "happy" ending you'll see in any movie this year...

Sitting through Precious in a movie theater is about as torturous a cinematic experience you can get these days outside of a Saw film. It is the most foul-mouthed, stomach-churning, disturbingly violent film I've seen in 2009, and despite the fact that little blood is actually shed, its characters (Precious in particular) are, along with the audience, beaten to unconscious submission during 110 minutes of unrelenting emotional violation at the hands of director Lee Daniels.

Yes, Precious delivers a knockout, battering us with so much vile depravity that we leave the theater unsure of what we're even supposed to feel, and unable to immediately understand that the abuse has been inflicted on us not to educate or evoke sympathy, but to make a tragic ending appear relatively uplifting. It's been called "unflinchingly gritty" and "brutally realistic" and all kinds of other hyperbole (most are accurate), but the most explicit truth in this film is left out: Precious Jones is dead.

REVIEW: Crude (A)

As I see it, the disappointing increase in popularity and production of Michael Moore-style "agit-docs" (agit, short for agitating) over the last few years has seriously threatened to diminish the credibility of actual documentary films. These days I unfortunately flinch whenever I hear about any new documentary that even appears to be about a social issue, because chances are it's going to be much more style than substance. 

Consider Hoop Dreams as an example, and think about how that same film would be produced in 2009. It would not be Steve James patiently and unobtrusively observing William Gates and Arthur Agee as two young boys trying to discover their potential. It would be an activist filmmaker abandoning their story in order to apply a blurry lens to the salacious societal ills on display on Chicago's South Side. There would be interviews with experts and celebrities and certainly Oprah, and a tidy list of "what you can do" chores would precede the credits. Everybody would leave feeling simultaneously horrified and puffed up with pride, but you'd have almost no insight into the actual life experiences of Gates and Agee.

I say all of this to explain why, almost regardless of who made it or what it's about, I am automatically suspicious that a "socially conscious" documentary in 2009 won't actually document a story so much as create one; propaganda is the tool that leads people to action, so people must be force-fed any message a filmmaker thinks we are too dense to understand on our own. As such, when I saw the ominous tagline for Crude ("The real price of oil."), I was ready to lump it in with the rest as an over-stylized, under-educating "call to action". Thankfully, I was completely wrong.

REVIEW: Milking the Rhino

Picture the last nature documentary you saw about the African bush: bilbao trees, tall grasses, lush jungle, parched desert, and wildlife ranging from impalas to elephants, zebras to giraffes. If it's anything like the last one I saw, the animals appeared to be living in an untouched paradise.

"The reality is that if you just turn the camera around, you have people that live just next to this wildlife," explains a national park director in Milking the Rhino, a fascinating documentary filmed over three years about the tumultuous relationship between humans and animals in post-colonial Africa. Produced by Kartemquin Films (Hoop Dreams, The New Americans) and directed by David E. Simpson, it is a content rich film that should forever change the way you watch a nature documentary or, if you can afford it, participate in an African safari. As one of the year's best and most thought-provoking documentaries, it's hard to even know where to begin talking about all of the issues raised in Milking the Rhino. So while I'll attempt to lay out some of its key points, I really recommend that you take the time to sit down and watch it.

Taking It Home: Capitalism: A Love Story

("Taking It Home" is an alternative review style in which I share my thoughts on a movie's themes and how they may relate to my life, while focusing less on the acting, writing, technical aspects, or even plot of the film. It's a collection of the ideas I took home, "because the movie experience shouldn't end in the theater".)

 

 A method even less effective at inspiring change than Michael Moore's films...

Next time I get the opportunity to ask Michael Moore a question, I hope it will be part of an actual conversation instead of a Q & A where he has the microphone and I'm buried in the audience. That way he won't be able to sneak out of answering my challenge so easily. Yes, in a fit of frustration following a recent screening of Capitalism: A Love Story, I worked up the nerve to ask American's most notorious documentarian how he made a 126-minute film about money and capitalism without so much as mentioning personal financial responsibility. More on that later - including a video of Moore "answering" my question.

I have a tortured history with Moore, alternately considering him a genius, even a role model, before inevitably changing my mind and viewing his work as purely propagandic, sensational, and even counterproductive. Incidentally, I'm surprised that I have yet to discuss his films in any detail on Getafilm, I suppose a result of Sicko arriving a month or so before I started writing here (though you can see I came down pretty hard on it come Oscar time anyway). 

In any event, somewhere between Bowling for Columbine and Fahrenheit 9/11 I realized Moore was  abandoning true documentary filmmaking - what I conservatively prefer to view as non-fiction storytelling - for something resembling schizophrenic scrapbooking. His arguments (never mind that documentarians shouldn't really make any) are an amalgamation of liberal talking points and moral sermonizing, but the resulting films are so disjointed they inhibit any in-depth thought or discussion about the issues at hand. He doesn't quite dilute the messages in his films so much as he drowns them out with his own voice, sometimes figuratively but always literally. Thanks to Michael Moore, a Michael Moore film is never allowed to speak for itself.

So what to think of Capitalism: A Love Story, which Moore claims is a culmination of all of his films since Roger & Me? Three things: 1.) this is not only one of Moore's longest films, but also his most deliberately emotional one; 2.) possibly by design but probably by accident, Capitalism: A Love Story ends up making a much stronger case for universal health care than Sicko did; and 3.) Moore is ultimately still more interested in inciting audiences than inspiring them, which is a tragedy considering the global reach and box-office success of his films.

REVIEW: P-Star Rising (A-)

If you were at a club at 2:00 AM and a nine year-old little girl got up on the stage and started rapping, your natural instinct would likely cause you to smile and say, "Aw, that's so funny/cute/random/disturbing." You'd have an amusing story to tell your friends the next day. Gabriel Noble probably had the same initial reaction when he saw Priscilla Star Diaz (a.k.a. "P-Star") perform five years ago in lower Manhattan, but something about P-Star captured his curiousity and wouldn't let go. He spent the next day filming Priscilla and her family, and then the next day after that, and then the next four years after that. P-Star Rising, which premiered at Tribeca in April and is currently on the festival circuit, richly documents Priscilla's tumultuous emergence as a child star, and the youngest ever female rapper.

Watching Priscilla, her sister, Solsky, and her father, Jesse, move from a one-room Harlem shelter to a four-bedroom apartment and leased SUV is often uplifting but frequently discomfiting. Jesse was an aspiring rapper in his own right in the late 80's, but poor career management and a two-year prison stint (for selling cocaine) derailed his future, leaving you to question his ability to manage Priscilla's career. His wife fell in too deep with drugs and could not care for their daughters, so it was up to him, a failed rapper and convicted felon, to try and support two young girls on his own. He worked odd jobs when he could find them, but most of his energy was spent trying to revive his rapping career - until he discovered Priscilla's talent. (He also apparently home schools Priscilla, a somewhat disturbing detail that isn't given much attention here.)

REVIEW: Take Out (A)

I believe the only moment in the extraordinary Take Out that made me laugh occurred while main character Ming Ding (Charles Jang) was sweeping the sidewalk. He has one of those telescoping dust pans and brooms, and as he tries to sweep the pile into the pan, a stubborn wet piece of paper remains stuck on the cement. After three or four unsuccessful sweeps over it, he just has to bend down and pick the stupid thing up. This is a fill-in shot that lasts not more than three or four seconds, but it perfectly captures the essence of Ming Ding's frustrating situation. I sympathetically chuckled to myself, "Man, isn't that life?".

Completed in 2004 but not released on DVD until this week, Take Out is an unassuming early effort from filmmaker Sean Baker and his writing partner, Shih-Ching Tsou. The film received a very limited theatrical release last summer, but the few critics who saw it were unanimously and enthusiastically impressed. I can only add to the chorus of praise for this movie; were I to know what year to place it in it would definitely be in my Top 10. If you know my taste you won't be surprised, of course, since Take Out is another neorealistic, slice-of-life look at American culture, in this case focusing on the underworld of illegal immigration.

Ming Ding has left his wife and young child in China, smuggled through Canada by a group of unforgiving loan sharks. He makes a living, if you can call it that, as a bicycle delivery guy for a busy Chinese take-out joint on the Upper West Side. Having fallen behind on loan payments to his smugglers, Ming is giving an ultimatum one fateful morning: Pay back at least $800 of his debt that night, or see his entire debt double. How do you make $800 delivering Chinese food in just a day?

The only way he knows how: anxiously bicycling through the pouring rain all day and having cranky New Yorkers slam doors in his face, tease him about his inability to speak English, leave him coins as tips, and complain about their orders. The circumstances in which Ming works are stressful to begin with, but the added burden of his debt on this day makes every otherwise mundane interaction feel incredibly tense. Will some kind soul save Ming with a huge tip? Of course not - that doesn't happen in real life, and Take Out is about real life.

And you thought you had a bad day at work...

A person who is bored by Take Out is a person, I would argue, who is uninterested in people, uninterested in the human condition. Years ago that may have been me, someone consumed by their own existence and oblivious to the unending daily challenges faced by the other almost 7 billion people living around me. I had a heady knowledge of the world and its problems, but it was probably the four years of living in a city and commuting daily on a subway during college that really helped me study people in a new way. Where did these people come from? Where are they going? What is their story? Many of them may have surely been in the exact same situation as Ming Ding, stuck in a new country and working themselves to death in pursuit of the American Dream. In that way Take Out has much in common with Ramin Bahrani's films (especially Man Push Cart), but it's much more disturbing.

Take Out certainly sympathizes with Ming's plight, but it doesn't glorify in any way the life of a new immigrant. Ming is isolated, miserable, tired, and lacking any of the social or legal supports that so many of us take for granted. A scene in which Ming gazes at a photo of his wife and child is, in its heartbreaking silence, one of the most genuinely moving portrayals of immigrant loneliness I've ever seen. Credit is due equally to the way the scene is placed in the timeline of the story, and also the awe-inspiring performance by Charles Jang.

The acting all the way through this film is top-notch, and all the more impressive because several of the cast members are making their acting debuts. Of course, with a $3,000 - yes, $3,000 - budget, you can't afford a lot of professional talent, but every dollar of that budget was well spent. Baker and Tsou, who co-wrote and co-directed the film, could not even afford to close down the actual restaurant in which Take Out was filmed. The customers are real (several bring to mind the Chinese restaurant skit from The Fugees album, "The Score") and "Big Sister" was played by the woman who actual managed the place. The shots of food being prepared are shots of food being prepared for actual customers. It's all real and rich and absolutely mesmerizing to watch; the snappy editing moves things along in a way that doesn't allow you take your eyes off the screen.

I am perplexed as to why Take Out did not make a bigger splash in theaters or on the festival circuit. It did earn an extremely well-deserved Independent Spirit Award nomination for the John Cassavetes Award (for best film with a budget under $500,000), but lost to In Search of a Midnight Kiss. Ironically, one of the other nominees was Sean Baker's second feature film, Prince of Broadway (fingers crossed that it will see a theatrical release soon). It should say something that Baker had two films nominated in the same year. To find out why, I recommend taking a night to watch Take Out on DVD. Order some Chinese food - and make sure to tip your delivery person well.

Grade:
Writing - 9
Acting - 10
Production - 9
Emotional Impact - 10
Music - 5
Social Significance - 5

Total: 48/50= 96% = A

+ Official website for Take Out
+ Buy Take Out on DVD
+ Add Take Out to your Netflix queue

REVIEW: Heart of Stone (A)

I've been convinced ever since my experience teaching in a low-income neighborhood that as civil servants, public school teachers are among the most underpaid and unappreciated workers in American society. Here are millions of adults providing millions of children with the skills and knowledge to succeed (and not simply survive) in the future, and they're paid beans. After watching Beth Toni Kruvant's Heart of Stone, I was reminded that many school administrators deserve higher pay as well, and, in the case of principals like Ron Stone, maybe also a Presidential Medal of Freedom.

Heart of Stone is a riveting, refreshing, heartbreaking but ultimately inspiring documentary that will forever change your impressions of public schools in America. You think you've seen this story before, recently in The Class, or earlier in Dangerous Minds, Stand and Deliver, and even High School High. In fact, with a bald African-American principal trying to clean up a formerly prestigious high school in inner-city New Jersey that's been overrun by gang violence, Heart of Stone would appear to be the documentary version of Lean on Me. But it's not. For starters, Ron Stone is the antithesis of Joe Clark. He's unconventional and a rebel, perhaps, but a warmhearted and compassionate rebel, and someone who understands that walking around with a baseball bat doesn't mean much when students are walking around with loaded Uzis.

Wearing a bullet-proof vest as he patrols the grounds of Weequahic High School, Stone is fearless in his interactions with the Crips and Bloods that make up his student body, visiting them at their homes and bringing them into his office on a regular basis for conversations about life. Stone explains, "The school has to be the parent, it has to be the psychologist, it has to be the police, it has to be all these things that, at one time, were the responsibilities of the family."

Indeed, having served in his position only a few years, Stone (who grew up in Newark) understands the harsh truth that many inner-city educators try to work around: "If I expect you to come in here and learn geometry and you say to me, 'But i don't have anywhere to live', how realistic is that? If you say to me, 'Mr. Stone, I can't carry books home, because I gotta have my hands in my pocket, because my hand is on whatever my protection is gonna be, because I have to cross two turflines to get home, how can I say, 'Yeah, well that's fine, but where's your geometry homework? See, unless I can address these needs that the kids have, I have no credibility with them."

And that's just what he does, examining each student's individual situations and then doggedly addressing every obstacle that prevents them from achieving their true potential.

Heart of Stone packs loads of rich history and insight into its trim, 84-minute running time. Utilizing a refreshingly conventional, interview-heavy documentary filmmaking method that's almost quaint in this age of Michael Moore, Man on Wire, and The Cove, Kruvant focuses her lens on Stone, three gang members, and the Jewish community. You might wonder why so much attention is paid to the community as a whole and the history of the high school - until you learn that Weequahic was once considered one of, if not the, best high schools in the nation. Alumni from the 50's and 60's, including Pulitzer Prize-winning author Philip Roth and American Gangster muse Richie Roberts (portrayed in the film by Russell Crowe), describe the school as a place full of promise and potential, from which you could attend any college and achieve any dream.

Following the racial turmoil and riots of the late 1960's, however, Newark - and consequently Weequahic - suffered a slow and unabated decline in socioeconomic status. Eventually gang violence was even spilling onto the school grounds, where a police officer was shot and killed by a gang member several years ago. Despite this tarnished image, Weequahic alumni, many of whom were Jewish and members of the classes of the 50's and 60's, decide to band together and form the Weequahic Alumni Association.

In doing so, and motivated by their self-imposed obligation to give back to the school that paved the way for their future success, these predominantly Jewish alumni committed to helping predominantly African-American students achieve similar dreams at Weequahic, going so far as to raise thousands of dollars in scholarship funds and sponsor trips to Europe (Stone: "It allows a kid to see there's a world out there so vastly different - and I hope that that stimulates something in you that allows you to think, you know, 'I could see doing this again, I want to do this again, how do I make it happen so I can do this again?'.").

On one level, then, Heart of Stone poses an extremely challenging question: What, if anything, do you owe to the public school that educated you, and to what extent should you - and not the state or school district - be responsible for helping its current students succeed? If you believe that any student has the potential to succeed under the right circumstances, as I do, then it's hard not to celebrate the Weequahic Alumni Association's efforts and hope that they encourage other schools and communities to follow suit. It would be nice to have a visionary hero like Ron Stone to manage the school on a day-to-day basis, but Heart of Stone shows that a public school with an alumni association as active and philanthropic as a private school can probably achieve some surprising success on its own.

In addition to focusing on what needs to go on in the community outside of the school to make a difference, Heart of Stone also provides vivid examples of what can happen when the community inside the school is transformed. Establishing fair rules and introducing conflict resolution seminars, Stone turned Weequahic into a non-violent space and became a mentor to several students along the way, including seniors Rayvon and Sharif (18 year-old gang leaders in the Crips and Bloods, respectively), who are, depending on the day, both ashamed and proud of their gang affiliations.

Rayvon is an intelligent, soft-spoken, contemplative young man who was raised in foster homes and joined the Crips if for no other reason than to experience "family" life for the first time. He likes to read and has hopes for leaving Newark, but when he is accepted to Seton Hall University, he is paralyzed by the thought of leaving the familiarity of his surroundings, regardless of how dangerous they may be. Sharif, on the other side of the turf line, is a larger-than-life, charismatic presence with a grin on his face and a twinkle in his eye. He and his brother are both influential leaders in the Bloods, and Sharif understands the value of education, even if he doesn't fully understand the value of life. His helpless mother appears to get some strange pride out her sons' leadership ability, even if it is exercised within one of the deadliest gangs in America.

It's outrageous to consider, but in listening to these young men you begin to develop some respect for them as well, if not at least some sympathy. The more you learn about the community and the more you learn about their families, the more you start to see them like Ron Stone does, not as gang members or problem students, but as confused kids with a lot of potential to do a lot of great things. If you are similarly engaged by this film, I will warn you of a development that literally caused me to gasp aloud, and left my fiancee and I emotionally wrecked for the rest of the night.

Critics of public schools - and there are legion - will throw out the baby with the bathwater here, pointing to the millions of high school dropouts and failed institutions that aren't seen in Heart of Stone. There's no denying this reality, but the message of this film is not that school reform can be achieved by pie-in-the-sky dreams and happy classes. Obviously, it takes a lot of hard work, sacrifice, discipline, gratitude, humility, forgiveness, and determination to turn schools around. But as evidenced by Ron Stone and Weequahic High School, optimism and compassion go a long way as well.

Grade:
Writing - N/A
Acting - N/A
Production - 10
Emotional Impact - 10
Music - 4
Social Significance - 5

Total: 29/30= 97% = A

Heart of Stone is currently playing in limited theatrical release. Visit the official website for screening information.

An Inconvenient Food

(Food, Inc. opens tomorrow at the Landmark Lagoon Theater. This is a long and scattered follow-up to my preview of the film from April.)

It wasn't too long ago that Morgan Spurlock's mischievous Super Size Me successfully, and perhaps surprisingly, ended any argument in this country about the ill effects of consuming fast food. McDonald's immediately swapped their triple cheeseburgers (I remember eating one as a part of a Jurassic Park promotional meal that was literally fit for a dinosaur) and Super Sized fries for garden salads and apple slices; their audacious recent marketing campaign spelling out slogans in fruits and vegetables only brings to mind the music video for Peter Gabriel's "Sledgehammer", not necessarily a new identity.

Kentucky Fried Chicken, on the other hand, recently went so far as to launch a risky marketing campaign that wags a finger at their very own brand - fried chicken - in favor of a new line of Kentucky Grilled Chicken. Ooh. Whether these blatant about-faces in the fast food industry will result in a healthier populace is, in my opinion, unlikely, but that won't stop people from believing it. You may have noticed that in the face of this recession, fast food corporations haven't appeared to suffer quite as much as other American businesses.

So we're still eating plenty of fast food (or not, in my case), but we're making sure to order the side of fruit salad instead of cheese fries. Spurlock helped transform an industry and at least indirectly affect people's eating habits, while those of us who were not fast food loyalists in the first place, well we've just been able to scoff at the whole affair and continue to indulge in our own self-righteously "healthy" diets.

Until now.

Fast food establishments aside, it's evidently also no longer even safe, or in some cases even moral, to eat food from your local supermarket.

Like the indigestion that follows when you have one too many toaster-ovened Tyson Stuffed Chicken Cordon Bleu Minis (I looked them up), Robert Kenner's convicting documentary Food, Inc. leaves you squirming in your chair with a sweaty brow, taking a silent oath that you'll never eat that way again. Of course, decisions are always easiest made away from their corresponding action, and when your friend slides a basket of crisp, seasoned fries your way at the restaurant after the movie, well then you'll discover if your fears will really change your actions.

It should be noted that Kenner's documentary is arriving a little late in the game. Since Super Size Me, the documentaries Our Daily Bread and King Corn have criticized the food industry, while Richard Linklater's Fast Food Nation proved both that slaughterhouses are hellish dungeons and Avril Lavigne can't act. But where those films tried to deliver shock treatments that would send you out of the theater in an ill state, Food, Inc. uses a bit of a softer approach. Not quite as soft as Al Gore's soothing voiceovers behind shots of idyllic creeks, but still relatively gore-free, if not Gore-free, as it were. Kenner rightly assumes that legal injustices, animal abuse, and human rights violations can be just as disgusting as bloody carcasses, making Food, Inc. much more watchable than you might expect walking into the theater.

The film's central thesis, as I understand it, is that the industrialization of food production in the United States has created a perfect storm of greed and carelessness, which has in turn led to countless economic, health-related, and community-based problems, including but not limited to obesity, unemployment, exploitation of factory workers, bacteria-laden meat produced in mass quantities, special-interest legislation, and a complete lack of awareness of where our food actually comes from. Indeed, in a state of blissful ignorance, the majority of Americans fuel this fire with every meal we eat and food item we purchase. The solution: eat as much organic, unprocessed, locally-grown food as possible. Of course, "possible" is a very relative term, because organic, unprocessed, locally-grown food is neither accessible or affordable to millions of people.

That fact aside, authors Eric Schlosser ("Fast Food Nation") and especially Michael Pollan ("The Omnivore's Dilemma") have been leading this charge for a few years now, but most people are as unlikely to read as they are to grow their own vegetables, so for some viewers of Food, Inc. these may be revolutionary new ideas (i.e., "Hmm, I wonder why every chicken breast I buy is identical in size, shape, etc.?"). Unsatisfied with simply giving Schlosser (a co-producer on the film) and Pollan a forum to speak, Kenner also makes a strong case that agricultural monopolies and food conglomerates such as Tyson, Perdue, and Cargill are fully aware, and thus liable, for a host of the aforementioned problems.

Kenner positions agricultural company Monsanto, for example, as quite the evil empire (I began imagining the "Monsanto crime family" ruling some old world Italian hamlet), accusing them of running small farmers out of business and essentially infiltrating government agencies, including the U.S.D.A., with former Monsanto employees and board members.

It's all very scary and sinister - and backed by a Mark Adler score reminiscent of Philip Glass's haunting work - but honestly it did little to convince me that fighting these companies will amount to much change. Like the tobacco companies, they're well-funded and well-supported by all the right lobbyists and interest groups, and any attack will be met with a slippery rebuttal (how many companies have their own response blog?). Furthermore, as evidenced by the tragic case of Barbara Kowalcyk, in some cases it is literally against the law to make critical claims against these companies, even if they are thought to be complicit in the loss of life (her 2 year-old son died after eating E. coli-contaminated beef).

Much more persuasive, at least to me, was the voice Kenner gave to farmers like Joel Salatin, a philosophizing owner/operator of a Virginia farm with as much charisma and analytic panache as a star politician. I found his astute arguments both brilliant and entertaining, and it was important to hear from someone who is actually doing the work, not just prescribing it. His message of hope and doability may come off to some as naively optimistic, but it nonetheless leaves you feeling a little better on the way out than you did after flammable documentaries such as The Corporation or Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room.

Moving forward then, will Food, Inc. change the national conversation in the same way An Inconvenient Truth did? Both films were produced by (the fantastic) Participant Productions, and a visit to their blog will give you a sense of the grassroots support behind both the film and the local food movement. If there is anything standing in the way of this film exhibiting its full power, I think it's the economy and socioeconomic disparity. If people can afford to see it, it's highly likely that won't be able to afford the lifestyle that goes along with it.

John and Jane Public, if still employed, are living in 2009 with an emaciated retirement plan, a refinanced mortgage, and zero discretionary income. Even if they have access to the co-op groceries and organic farmers in their area (which is unlikely), how will they able to afford and then justify a monthly grocery bill 3-5 times higher than what they pay now at the local big-box supermarket? Despite the Inconvenient Truth-style laundry list of tasks within the closing credits, the affordability of "good" food is the one question I felt was left unanswered here, at least to my satisfaction. Yes, as Pollan or Schlosser (I can't remember which) mentions at the end of the film, we'll know things are right when a bag of chips costs more than a bag of carrots. But I just don't see that happening anytime soon, and financially speaking, the best food remains the most inconvenient food.

But despite a couple of unanswered questions and a propensity for giving the issue a "good vs. evil" storyline that felt a little too black and white for my taste, Food, Inc. is possibly the most thought-provoking documentary so far in 2009. As it claims, "you'll never look at dinner the same way again". But then, you might not look at your grocery bill the same way again, either.

REVIEW: The Song of Sparrows (A)

(The Song of Sparrows opens this weekend at the Landmark Edina Cinema)

Sometimes I watch movies like The Song of Sparrows and shake my head (out of a sense of righteous global-mindedness, of course). There couldn't be more obstacles in its way in catching on with American audiences: it has subtitles, it's one of "those artsy foreign films", and - hide the women and children - it's from Iran. I get it, we don't want to feel anything or think about anything when we go to movies, and in the midst of this recession we're desperately looking to escape as much as possible. To Las Vegas (The Hangover), to prehistoric times (Land of the Lost), or even to outer space (Star Trek).

But is it really true that people are looking to take nothing from the movies they see? Really? Nothing but a few laughs to distract us from reality? Just seems like a strange way to spend our money; it's not like there's a shortage of free entertainment these days. My point is, movies like The Song of Sparrows, which truly is accessible, charming, and relevant to people from all countries (especially the U.S.), are too often tossed aside or overlooked because people fear they're weird, boring, overlong, serious, tragic, or something worse. Well here's a surprise: this movie is none of those things, and its comedy is sure to be both more original and more humanistic than repetitive scenes of Will Ferrell fleeing dinosaurs (though truthfully, he'll probably make that pretty funny).

From celebrated Iranian director Majid Majidi (Children of Heaven), The Song of Sparrows is at its heart a parable about capitalism and the conditioned human tendency to perpetually want more than what you have at any given time, even if you don't know why (see: greed). It's an Aesop's Fable brought to life, and like Aesop, Majidi (who also co-wrote the film) knows how to effectively draw us into the lives of his archetypal characters. Here, it's Karim, a devoted husband, father and ostrich farmer living in a modest rambler on the dusty outskirts of Tehran. His family doesn't live lavishly, but Karim is a talented handyman and provides for his wife and children what others in the community may not have, such as fuzzy television reception and massive ostrich egg omelets.Although Karim is not inundated by advertising in his daily life and the local culture doesn't appear to put much value in material possessions, when hard luck takes Karim's steady job from him he gets an idea in his head that there must be more lucrative - not just steady, but lucrative - opportunities awaiting him. Maybe he's influenced by his son, who along with his young friends want to start a goldfish farming business, but regardless of the reason, when Karim eventually does get a taste of easy money in Tehran, it becomes an almost overpowering elixir. He's discovered that you can make a lot of money without necessarily toiling away in the fields all day. More specifically, he's discovered entrepreneurship, and his outlook on life will never be the same.

If it still sounds like The Song of Sparrows actually is "weird, boring, overlong, serious, tragic, or something worse", I guess I suggest you check out the trailer below, though even that doesn't fully illustrate the outstanding performance by Mohammed Amir Naji, or the striking cinematography by Turaj Mansuri, or the dry comedy lingering behind so many scenes. The movie is simultaneously operating on multiple layers and, under the sure hand of Majidi, successfully avoids farce even when some twists in the story feel contrived. Just when you want to casually dismiss another emotional outburst or bizarre occurrence as a you've-gotta-be-kidding-me gag, you realize that, well, it's true - everybody has some amusing experiences like that.

And really, isn't that how you learn lessons in life? About taking risks, appreciating what you have, getting through difficult times, raising a family, and everything else? Of course, and like one of those humorous learning experiences you had years ago and still share with friends and family, you may find The Song of Sparrows offers similar anecdotes that you aren't likely to forget.

Grade:
Writing - 9
Acting - 10
Production - 10
Emotional Impact - 9
Music - 4

Social Significance - 5
Total: 47/50= 94% = A

Taking It Home: War Child

Emmanuel Jal's magnetic personality has captured the camera's attention for more than 20 years...

"Just about anybody you talk to in Southern Sudan, they have a mind-boggling story to tell. And had you lived through a quarter of it, you would be on your analyst's couch - weekly, for the rest of your life. They have lived through hell." - Ben Parker, Former UN Spokesman for Sudan, interviewed in War Child

In the fall of 2005, I was paging through the Arts section of my Sunday New York Times when this article by Will Hermes grabbed my attention. It was a profile about an aspiring rapper and former child soldier named Emmanuel Jal, hailing not from the tough streets of a marginalized American city, but from the unimaginably horrifying war zone of southern Sudan. Being both an armchair activist on the crisis in Darfur and a fan of socially conscious hip-hop, I found Jal's story shocking, depressing, and absolutely fascinating.

The article referenced his upcoming debut album, “Ceasefire”, which I immediately ordered from Amazon.com. Several days later I received a plastic disc that took me to a world full of eclectic sounds, languages, beats, harmonies, melodies, and instruments; a place where you wanted to simultaneously dance, cheer, and cry (his hit single "Gua" still breaks me up to this day). I shared Jal's story and music with friends and family, but nobody latched on with as much enthusiasm as me. (I almost jumped out of my seat when Jal's song "Baai" pumped through the theater speakers during Blood Diamond, and then again, recently, in What Are We Doing Here?.)

Undeterred, I dove deeper into the story of Sudan (outside of Darfur, about which I was already "aware"), watching documentaries about the Lost Boys, reading books (including the popular "What Is the What?" and the maligned "A Long Way Gone"), and attending lectures and screenings. The story became even more fascinating as I connected the dots and began to understand why the situation in Africa's largest country is so difficult to address on so many different levels. Deborah Scroggins' 2003 book, "Emma's War", was particularly helpful and, as a bonus, positively riveting (a Tony Scott-directed, Nicole Kidman-starring film adaptation has thankfully been delayed due to a request from the subject's family).

The book tells the story of Emma McCune, a British aid worker from an upper-class family who, in her early 20's, went to Sudan and eventually ended up marrying one of the highest-ranking Sudan People's Liberation Army (SPLA) commanders, Riek Machar, who is currently the Vice President of the autonomous region of Southern Sudan. In 1993, at the age of 29, a pregnant McCune was killed in a car accident in Nairobi, though not before she took a former child soldier named Emmanuel Jal under her wing and enrolled him in a local school (like I said, the connections are fascinating). Jal soon began to attract attention for his musical and rhyming talents, and his rising popularity in Nairobi eventually led to the release of "Ceasefire", worldwide tours, and international acclaim.

All of this eventually led me to C. Karim Chrobog's documentary, War Child, which I haven't yet discussed because of the context required to understand the full story it tells. For most people, War Child will be their first introduction to Emmanuel Jal, so I've simply attempted to provide some background information that, while addressed in the film, also explains my personal interest in it. War Child won the Audience Choice award at the 2008 Tribeca Film Festival, and its producers were kind enough to send me a screener recently since the film never received a wide theatrical release.

Opening with footage from Jal's visit to the Kakuma Refugee Camp where he spent part of his childhood, War Child gives a very brief historical overview of the devastating war in Sudan that took Jal's family from him - his father joined the SPLA, his mother was killed. Along with hundreds of other young boys, Jal walked to a refugee camp in Ethiopia, where they were trained as soldiers by the SPLA and essentially brainwashed into seeking revenge for what had happened to their families.

One of the most incredible moments in War Child comes during this time, when we actually see footage of a young Jal living in the training camp. The U.N. and National Geographic were sent to monitor the conditions there, and as a born leader, Jal was the peer-selected spokesperson for the group. He couldn't disclose the fact that they were being trained as soldiers, so most of the interviews are light questions about hope for the future. "I want a day that I can just live, so I can build my house where there aren't any problems that can destroy it," says Jal as he sits in his hut.

It's a potent, poignant moment, not only because we know that 20 years later he has achieved that dream, but also because we know that thousands of young child soldiers are still in the same situation today. So many people still living this nightmare, but even in Sudan, as John Prendergast of The Enough Project bluntly states in a conversation with Jal, "counter-terrorism trumps everything" as far as the West is concerned. Because the regime in Sudan is one of our strongest allies in the War on Terror, we'll just have to let the atrocities continue - so long as it's their terror, and not our terror.

Interspersed throughout the film we see clips of Jal in the present day, performing in concert, visiting schools, meeting with legislators, and eventually returning to Sudan for the first time in 15 years. He's a charming, handsome adult with a thousand-watt smile, and if you saw him strolling on the National Mall in an Abercrombie & Fitch hoodie (an outrageous irony that leaves me speechless), you'd have no idea what he's seen and experienced in his life. Speaking in front of a group of legislative staffers, he admits he doesn't actually know when he was born, but guesses he is in his mid to late 20's. An awkward, rueful silence falls until he jokes, "If you have a friend, tell her I'm available."

Because of this charm, and perhaps in spite of it, his story moves many in his audiences to tears. It may seem as if people are simply drawn to Jal's music out of pity or a bleeding heart sympathy, but anyone who listens to what he's saying will appreciate it for his positive message. Instead of dwelling on the tragedies of his past, for example, he delicately answers a group of American students asking he killed anyone in Sudan by performing a song and inviting them up to dance with him. "It's honest, it's no bitches, no blings, no hos - I hope people leave here and talk about it," says one new fan after a performance by Jal.

I'll admit that listening to his music requires patience and the understanding that he's usually not speaking in his native language (at least not on "WARchild"). As such, his wordplay and verbal dexterity in English isn't as impressive as other critically acclaimed artists, but what he lacks in panache he more than makes up for in purpose. While "Ceasefire" was a genuine, gentle plea for peace, Jal's latest album (also titled "WARchild") is a beaming, buoyant declaration of identity. Alternating bright, hopeful beats ("Baaki Wara") with tragic remembrances of his fallen friends ("Forced to Sin"), Jal also gets political this time, paying tribute to Hurricane Katrina victims on "Ninth Ward" ("America the Great became American the Clowned/While Americans drowned), and even calling out 50 Cent for his glorification of street violence and the effect it has on young boys.

Though catchy, these last two songs don't feel nearly as honest as his anguish on "Vagina": "It's unfair/when it comes to Africa, the world don't care...Pimps and thieves in Italian cars, suits/stop raping Africa like she's your prostitute...So Mr. Oil, Diamond and Gold miner/stop treating Mama Africa like a vagina." It's envelope-pushing, to be sure, but certainly convicting considering what Jal has been through. For that matter, just as powerful are Jal's impassioned, determined lyrics in songs like "Many Rivers to Cross" and "Stronger", where he declares, "I pledge allegiance to my motherland/That I'll do everything possible to make her stand."

"I believe I've survived/For a reason/To tell my story, to touch lives" - lyrics to "Warchild"

If you get the sense that I'm reviewing Jal's album more than Chrobog's film, it's because the power of the music is the essence of War Child, as well as the reason Emmanuel Jal became a subject of a film in the first place. I wouldn't recommend War Child as a primer for those hoping to learn about the background of the conflict in Sudan, but as an introduction to the life of this particular "war child", Emmanuel Jal, it's both illuminating and indelible.

Witnessing Jal visit his family for the first time in 15 years, you can't help but think about that kind of separation that exists in so many war-torn regions. Families completely shattered in an instant, not knowing if they will ever see each other again, and often never finding out. It's an idea that is unimaginable to me, and the fact that it happens with such frequency to this day is horrifying. But Jal takes it in stride, celebrating the safety of his sister and cherishing the adoration from his elderly grandmother, while also trying to reconcile the distance he still feels from his father. What makes this family reunion particularly moving is that Chrobog puts it toward the end of the film, when Jal also visits Emma's grave in Sudan. After hearing, reading, and now watching his story over the last few years, his visit back to his home country makes the people and places that shaped him much more real to his fans.

And this authenticity, credibility, substance - isn't it a welcome sight? There are no politicians, Hollywood celebrities, models, or pop stars (even Bono, bless his heart). In War Child, there is only Emmanuel Jal: a resilient voice of Africa, a dedicated voice for Africa.

Visit the official War Child website
Visit the War Child MySpace page
Check for (and request) an upcoming screening of War Child near you
Visit Emmanuel Jal's official website
Donate to Emmanuel Jal's Gua Africa and help him build Emma Academy
Read "Emma's War" by Deborah Scroggins

Buy the DVD or download a licensed copy of War Child

Buy Emmanual Jal's albums and book on Amazon.com:
Ceasefire (2005)
WARchild (2008)
"War Child: A Child Soldier's Story" (Published Feb. 2009)


Support other organizations working to end the use of child soldiers, including:
Coalition to Stop the Use of Child Soldiers
Human Rights Watch
Invisible Children
The Enough Project
Amnesty International USA