The Worst People in the World
A couple nights ago I caught Manufactured Landscapes, a film about photographer Edward Burtynsky and his work documenting industrialization in China. The film was fantastic, and Burtynsky’s photos are enough to make the most hard-line climate change-denier take a second look. But that’s not what I’m posting about.
The film featured that hallmark indie-doc scene in which the filmmakers are instructed by a person of authority to turn off their camera. Of course, they do just the opposite and go on surreptitiously filming the scene* while the authority figure rambles on, believing that the recording has stopped. This is the n-teenth film I’ve seen do this; Left of the Dial, My Date with Drew, Czech Dream, all make use of the “No-sir, of-course-I’m-not-filming-this” maneuver. And wisely so. It’s every documentarian’s dream to film those who believe they are not being filmed.
But there’s a thought that has been running through my mind lately, kept afloat by scenes like this one and films like Baadasssss!. Why is it that filmmakers have such antagonistic relationships with the world around them? Between lying to their subjects (Manufactured), tricking the masses (Czech Dream), stealing equipment (Date with Drew), misusing the fire department (Baadasssss!), and hassling friends and family for money (all), there’s hardly anything filmmakers do to make anyone’s life better. Except for the finished product, of course. But this raises a number of important questions. Does a completed film do enough good for society to justify the seemingly inevitable social abuses involved in its creation? And are those abuses inevitable?
Burtynsky even touched on this in ML, remarking that in order to take photographs documenting man’s impact on nature, he must drive to shoots in gas-powered cars loaded with film containing silver halide particles mined from the earth. Making a film takes an inexorable toll on society, one that is more tangible and quantifiable than any good it might produce. I can claim, “These people loved my film, and the world is a better place for it,” but that’s just conjecture; it’s more concrete to say, “I stole these shelves from Wal-Mart, made a professor move his class, had to make 3 trips in the SUV to get all the materials to the studio, and spent $[too much] on a project that still hasn’t gotten into any festivals.”
But saying a film’s woes are more visible than its contributions is not the same thing as saying films do more harm than good. We all know first-hand the good that can come of films, and not just from movies like An Inconvenient Truth or Born Into Brothels, but from fiction like Life is Beautiful or The Royal Tenenbaums. Movies help us understand and appreciate the world in a visceral way; they give us a perspective that continually grows scarce as the realities of industrialization, urbanization, and poverty affect more and more people. In a time when fewer than 10% of Americans own passports, it’s common sense that more people can afford to buy Planet Earth than explore it themselves.
In some ways, the model of a filmmaker’s social impact is the exact opposite of, say, a Christian fundamentalist’s. For many people here in the liberal Northeast, the appeal of Born-Again Christianity is perplexing. ‘Why would anyone want to be a part of a group that puts so much hatred and ignorance into the world?’ is more or less what I hear from my peers. What many of them fail to realize is that the appeal of fundamentalism isn’t its greater social effect (that’s just the part that’s more visible). The appeal lies in the immediate, personal effects it has on its participants. For all the intolerance they put out, the fundamentalists are great when it comes to treating each other with the kind of respect and dignity we would all like to see in the world (i.e., the kind that’s missing from filmmaking). If you don’t believe me, go to one of their church groups. They’ll pick you up, drive you home, and cook you dinner. And they won’t stop doing that after you join their church. They’ll keep doing it, because they believe in treating (Christian) people with love. Does this justify all the hatred they put into the atmosphere? No, never. It is, however, a way of life that let’s you feel better about the things you’re doing, provided that you don’t care at all about your greater social effects.
Are these the only options available? Either do terrible things to my immediate surroundings to produce some greater good, or do great things to my surroundings and ignore the rest of the world? I hope not. I’m going to continue to look for a way to make films that benefits those who are far from me and those who are not. But I don’t think I’m ever going to stop filming when someone tells me to. That’s when you get the good stuff.
*In Manufactured Landscapes, they actually do turn the camera off, but go on recording the audio and taking still photos, which I think is similar enough to count.
