A line I keep close to my heart, and one I’ve been asking talent on red carpets and junkets, revolves around Roger’s famous quote that movies are machines for empathy. When I ask this question, I am always fascinated by the range of answers I hear. Rarely is one answer the same, and the plurality reminded me that any movie can be an empathy machine, from the works of Lee Chang-dong to “Better Man.”
The documentary films in this submission embody this feeling; where they could have been sensational stories, they are instead designs that present their subjects with grace and understanding. They are intense tests of empathy for communities that need to be cared for and ultimately have to find their own way to save themselves within a system that ignores them.
Alyse Walsh and Jackie Jesko “child/girls” takes an approach to its subject that is at once limiting and critical. Filmed over two years, the films chronicle the lives of Olivia, Grace, and Ariana, young mothers living in Arkansas who struggle with the reality of rearing children. Dobbs decision. The girls live in a home for Christian mothers in Arkansas called Compassion House.
A sad, sad story of young motherhood, which serves as a celebration of its subjects in ways that show kindness under pressure, but it is also a deep critique of the failure of programs to help people like these girls; it’s too easy to treat what’s happening with Olivia, Grace, and Ariana as an anomaly and there’s little urgency to offer help or fix the system just because of what’s happening out of bounds. Hopefully, the reach of “children/girls” can go far and wide, showing that the struggles these girls face need to be addressed urgently for current and future generations.
The camera work on the “boys/girls” is one of the key features that make this story feel focused on the perspective of its subjects. It’s a film that doesn’t ignore the struggles we watch as children learn to raise children, and the struggle to live a normal teenage life while shouldering the responsibilities of motherhood. It is painful to watch, if only we can see that girls should not have to face such questions early on. But they all speak with a refreshing candor, a testament to the safe environment the directors cultivate when filming. Girls willing to make a joke about their condition and give it aside frankly, I’m surprised to hear, given how vulnerable such statements are.
The film is also willing to offer grace when girls make seemingly uncomfortable decisions, such as the one who considers giving up her child to be adopted because the difficulties of motherhood are too great. It is times like these that the “child/girls” are most powerful; as viewers, we are invited not to share in the shame but to provide care and question about how the system, which is already failing women, is responsible for creating situations where mothers feel like they have to face the problems alone.
Notably, the main criticism that “child/girls” gives space to is the way the education system has failed the youth. “I learned about sex when I was seven months pregnant,” said one of the girls. In addition, the rising cost of childcare means that girls cannot pursue their careers as much as they would like to, so they have to rely on supporting families, some of whom judge them poorly. There is power in witnessing girls, despite their hardships, expressing a tangible hope that one can only think of when choices are limited. Olivia, Grace, and Ariana refuse to believe their stories are scripted, even when the world around them is so tempting.
There’s a line from Eva Victor’s “Sorry, Baby” that came to mind while watching director Daniel Lombroso’s. “Manhood.” In the scene in question, Lydie (Naomi Ackie) and Agnes (Victor) jokingly discuss the things men say during sex. “Their stick belongs to everyone,” said Lydie angrily.
Although I initially felt that this line was a well-written joke when I first saw the film, watching “Manhood” opened up a new layer to those words. It follows many stories of men who undergo penis enlargement procedures and the emotional and physical lead time and the collapse of their decision. By illuminating an invalid subject, Lombroso ensures that we cannot easily erase what is happening quickly; it’s very easy to cringe at the horror of procedures gone wrong (viewers are warned that a certain malfunction is very scary) or to make fun of the men who use these methods.
But Lombroso thought too much of the filmmaker to be content with shock; he is interested in “why,” both in the main subject of the film, Dallas businessman Bill Moore, who is trying to make these procedures common, and in men who feel that an enlarged penis may be their salvation. It is in these lyrical stories that “Manhood” focuses on something surprising and tender: the tale of men learning to love themselves and shake off shame.
Lombroso, to his credit, examines the process on many levels. There are messages that men receive, from the constant use of pornography to advertisements directed at them, telling men that the peak of satisfaction they can experience is having an enlarged penis. There are people like Moore, who see insecurity as a potential market and thus offer services. Then there are the men themselves, who decide to spend their money on the procedure just because it is available. All of these work together. We all struggle with where to put our anger and shame, and for many, Moore offers a way to get rid of some of it. It makes one wonder how, in our society, without the confession booth, we can create an opportunity for people to express their shame, and in doing so, be freed from it.
In the end I left “Masculinity” with more questions, and I’m grateful for how it strengthened my perspective. Whenever procedures like Moore’s are available, I’m always more interested in their popularity than their prevalence. Say what you will about plastic surgery, GLP-1 drugs, or penis enlargement, people come to these procedures to meet their needs; they find that their insecurities and frustrations can be partially resolved through these actions. Ultimately, “Masculinity” is interested not only in processes but in the questions and struggles that lead people to find themselves in the first place. As the doctor said, “I can fill your penis with filler, but I can’t fill the hole in your heart.”
On a larger level, what are we doing to help give space and voice to those who feel inadequate and believe that undergoing such a procedure is their only option? Lombroso’s documentary is a way to start that conversation. The film presents, in my mind, a hopeful vision of masculinity, where we can truly learn what it means to be satisfied with our bodies and ourselves, even the parts we find ourselves ashamed of.
This is Deon Taylor’s place “Drifting” opens with the bold statement that none of what we see is created by AI. It’s a basic way to start his film, which includes events and situations so amazing that it’s hard to believe what we’re seeing. Yet what could have been a prominent feature of its subject, instead delves into exploring deep psychological questions. The subject is Isaac Wright, a photographer and military veteran who became famous for scaling the world’s tallest buildings and taking pictures, often from the POV of his shoes.
The results feel out of this world, as we see him dangling from the Empire State Building to the Ambassador Bridge. Following Wright’s various adventures, Taylor is not content to make the film a daredevil blockbuster; he wants to understand what could compel Wright to risk his life and imprisonment.
Through dialogue and voiceover, Wright sheds his larger-than-life persona to reveal the trauma that has shaped him and forced him to try to escape the problems below by climbing higher. From abuse to family deaths, Wright has a lot to mourn, and it makes sense why he would choose to spend more time above the earth than below it. Although there is some time devoted to the interview, much of the film also consists of steadicam footage as we follow Wright on his ascent to the next destination. He reveals more of his backstory each time; we literally see his justification with each step he takes. There is one dramatic sequence where Wright climbs a building in Cincinnati, and Taylor uses a split screen, combining Wright’s escape with scenes of the police chasing him. It’s nail-biting to see them literally close the gap.
It is also a sad case of the ways in which this country will continue to fail those who serve in its military. Although Wright would have been tried for escape regardless, the film mentions that, because of Wright’s military background, he is considered a serious threat and is often tracked down and tried as one of America’s most wanted killers.
In addition, Taylor is sure to highlight how race played a role in the response to Wright’s escape. One detective, Ruberg, serves as the main antagonist for most of the film, as he desperately tries to get Wright convicted in every state where Wright has broken the law. Wright is quick to share that in each of the buildings where he fled from captivity, there was no violence and no weapon was ever found. Ruberg is trying hard to release an image of Wright looking as menacing as possible to turn the tide of public opinion against Wright.
It’s one of the many ways Taylor’s film represents the value of storytelling beyond the headlines we see. It’s easy to type Wright in one way after hearing what he does, but Taylor’s work is a powerful antidote to the ways we all too easily type people based on the little we know about them.
“Freedom of speech is the greatest freedom that people have.” Above all, “Drift” is a movie that reminds people of that power. We may not express ourselves or face our pain by raising buildings, but there is something nostalgic and powerful about witnessing someone who feels trapped by life finally find their wings.
