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by Chris Barsanti

15 Jun 2010

Herman Wallace, Albert Woodfox, and Robert King were all prisoners in Louisiana’s infamous Angola State Penitentiary in 1972, when they were convicted of murdering prison guard Brad Miller. Afterward they were thrown into solitary confinement where the three had, by the time this film was made, spent a total of one hundred years. The three had been in for smaller crimes, robbery and the like, but because of their involvement with the nascent Black Panther Party and subsequent agitating for better conditions at the prison, they were seen as good candidates for the murder.

Vadim Jean’s vividly directed film makes the argument that not only were Wallace, Woodfox, and King (the so-called “Angola 3”) all framed for the guard’s murder, but that their time in solitary confinement constitutes one of the most clear violations of the Constitution’s proscription against “cruel and unusual punishment” as can be found in modern America. It’s a handsomely done work, with great footage of Angola – presented as a corrupted cesspool of systematic degradation and corruption – in decades past backgrounded by a stellar classic funk soundtrack and forceful narration by Samuel L. Jackson.

It’s unfortunate, then, that Jean fails to make a stronger case for the Angola 3’s innocence. His documentation of the horrors of Angola in general and solitary confinement in particular are powerful enough and nearly inarguable, and his recounting of Robert King’s arduous legal fight for release is dutifully handled. But while Jean sows plenty of doubt about Wallace and Woodfox’s guilt, he never lands that final, necessary, and critical blow.

by Chris Barsanti

14 Jun 2010

One of the most recurrent and unsolvable problems of the modern world remains that of the refugee. Almost nowhere is their plight more pressing than in the cities of Jordan and Syria, where millions of Iraqis fled in the years of chaos and internecine bloodshed that followed the United States invaded. Nathan Fisher’s heartfelt documentary shows what these refugees are going through after the initial shock of moving to a new country and finds that for the most part, they are in limbo.

A large percentage of Iraqi refugees are from the professional class, as evidenced in the subjects whom Fisher follows: a female medical researcher, a voluble and well-known Baghdad chef, an engineer, and a likeably enthusiastic English teacher. Almost none of them can find any work in their adopted homes. A clown troupe, two of whose members were murdered back in Iraq, now perform for fellow refugees while they wait to receive United Nations certification. One shame-faced family is forced to send their young son out on the street to sell food to kids his age who are going to school.

by Chris Barsanti

10 Jun 2010

The Human Rights Watch Film Festival’s opening night film came from HBO Documentary Films, showing again why they’re possibly the best producers of nonfiction film currently in the business. This powerful piece of work is by Heidi Ewing and Rachel Grady, whose 2006 film Jesus Camp still stands as one of the great documents of the modern evangelical movement. Taking place entirely on one street in the town of Fort Pierce, Florida, 12th and Delaware tracks two utterly opposed viewpoints and the people who inhabit them: an abortion clinic and a pro-life center, located just across the street from each other.

Divided almost equally in half between the battling camps, Ewing and Grady’s film opens on the pro-life protestors, who pace in front of the clinic all day every day. They wave provocative signs (many covered with gruesome photos), pray the rosary, and try to talk the young women entering the clinic into changing their minds. The protesters are mostly older women, with one frightening exception: a bullet-headed biker type barely able to control his rage who seems on the verge of showing up on the evening news.

by Chris Barsanti

10 Jun 2010

The Teacher, The Dead Khan, and The Wandering Poet. Through these three distinct sections of film, director Davoud Geramifard presents a small but loud chorus of dissent against the oppressive dictates of Tehran. In the first, a scholar of an especially secular jollity harangues his students into questioning their surroundings and assumptions. Anywhere else, his actions would be simply the daily work of an effective teacher, but under the looming gloom of Iran’s theocracy, they carry an extra weight of life-risking rebellion.

Geramifard’s middle segment is its most beautiful and also its quietest. The oblique narration and long, wind-swept silences tell the story of the country’s Ghashghai tribe, an entire nomadic culture swept away by the ruling mullahs after the 1979 revolution against the Shah—their Khan executed and people scattered in a program of extirpation that the narrator (his family tending their small herds of sheep in the desert vastness) likens to the Native American genocide.

by Chris Barsanti

10 Jun 2010

All too often the type of activists who end up with documentary crews following them on their activist rounds are a telegenic bunch eager to sell their message by any means necessary, alternating stern lecturing with self-deprecating humor to remind the listener of their approachability and humanity. No such desire seems to animate Indian rural affairs journalist P. Sainath, who barrels through Deepa Bhatia’s brisk, chilling film with no time for niceties. Once he lays out his primary cause, it’s easy to see why.

Since 1997, some 200,000 Indian farmers (read that number again) have committed suicide, mostly because of their crushing debt loads. In recent years, some rural districts saw several suicides a day. The chilling Roman historical anecdote from Tacitus quoted by Sainath that gives the film its title almost pales in comparison to the woeful stories that he reports on day after day.

//Mixed media

Supernatural Sets the Stage for Season Finalé With “There's Something About Mary”

// Channel Surfing

"A busy episode in which at least one character dies, two become puppets, and three are trapped and left for dead in an unlikely place.

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