A City of Two Tales


Two men are handcuffed by the local police after they were found asleep in their car in the middle of the road. The men had taken some painkillers and passed out with the car in the street. Once woken up the officers, one of the men showed his scar from a recent shooting. He repeatedly asked the officers to call a detective in the department because the man was acting as a witness in the shooting.

Words and videography by Joseph Schroeder, who has managed the production of highly acclaimed educational and informational programming for networks such as PBS, A&E and National Geographic for over a decade. Currently the Vice President of Production and Operations of The Independent Production Fund. Follow him on Twitter and see more of his work on his website.

In the fourth week of its 2018 Winter Season, Stranger Than Fiction held a sneak premiere of the Netflix docuseries Flint Town, featuring the first two episodes of the eight-part series. What followed was more than enough to whet the audience’s appetite to binge watch the entire season the following weekend upon its release.

Directed by Zackary Canepari, Jessica Dimmock, and Drea Cooper, the eight-part series focuses on members of the police department in Flint, Michigan, a city that once stood as the absolute pinnacle of middle-class idyllic living, and now, only a few short decades later, sits as one of the most unsafe and unprofitable cities in the entire country. It experienced a fall like no other city in the United States, taking an incredible tumble when General Motors closed up its automotive plants in the mid-1980s. The residents who remain have experienced extreme poverty, a recent water crisis, and an extreme uptick in violence. As one might expect, this perfect storm of deficiencies causes tensions to run high between the community and those tasked with protecting them. One of the members of the police force, Brian Willingham, explains the challenge early in the series by saying “Show me another group of officers anywhere in America that’s having to police under those set of circumstances. I don’t think it exists.”

The directors, however, aim to show Flint not as a city meant to be abandoned, but rather one worth saving, in particular by those who serve as part of its police force. The first episode introduces us to two of those members, Bridgette Belasko and Robert Frost. In one of her first scenes, Belasko mentions that she “hasn’t seen a dead body that’s bothered me in a long time.” Frost remarks soon thereafter that the officers are just “scraping the bottom of the barrel, trying to keep up.” Even though the situation is dire, belief still exists that things can turn around. Chief James Tolbert remarks that “we have to find a new way to police, we can’t police the same way we did twenty years ago, we can’t police the same way we did five years ago.”

That imperative incites a number of the events of the first two episodes, which witness the election of a new Mayor, Karen Weaver, in November 2015. Weaver immediately embarks on several municipal reforms, one of which is to install a new Chief of Police, Tim Johnson. Johnson aims to completely restructure the department to an earlier iteration, and employ “proactive units, going out there and looking for crime.” Johnson believes the Flint Police Department has “got to be held accountable. That’s the only way the city is going to survive.” As the first episode closes, however, it remains to be seen how the members of the department will react to this severe transition in policing style.

Willingham opens the following episode by remarking, “In one of America’s most dangerous cities, the people who secure the city are less secure than they’ve ever been.” At this point the series takes us home with a number of members of the department, where they confide in the filmmakers their truest trepidations. We see Belasko’s potential promotion removed due to the change in leadership; we also see her share that frustration with Frost as we learn the two are in a serious relationship. Frost, a divisive character who, by Belasko’s assessment, “comes off as kind of asshole,” is actually deeply in love, saying “I have no idea how I am pulling this off. No idea. It’s awesome.” We also see a mother and son, Maria and Dion Reed, go through police academy training together. They share a close bond, and she explains, “He’s always been my sidekick, my little rock. He depends on me, I depend on him.” Dion isn’t as convinced, saying “I feel like I’m going to bump heads with my mom more than anybody else.”

By taking us home with these characters, the opening of the series not only gives us a complete view of the people who protect and serve Flint, but a broader picture of the city itself. In the Q&A after the two episodes, Cooper remarked “When you live in a place like Flint, where joblessness is through the roof, you’re gonna have a situation where it’s so dire, and it’s so intense, that it puts all this pressure on this relationship. So to try to understand that from the point of view of the people tasked with keeping the city safe, so to speak, I think can provide some insight.” Dimmock continued, “When you watch the community feel distrustful of the police, it’s in part because other systems that are there and are supposed to work don’t. So when you have water that’s poisoned, when your schools are shutting down, when the factories that were there abandon you – those are all systems that you should be able to rely on and you can’t. So of course that very much played into the psychology between community and police relationships and that was the thing that we felt like was important to keep there so that people could understand that.”

Both the filmmakers and Netflix sincerely hope audiences do, and that Flint Town will stand beside Making a Murder and The Keepers as yet another impressive docuseries from the streaming giant. All eight episodes are now available on the service.

 


THIS IS CONGO at Stranger Than Fiction


Writing by Lacey Beattie. Lacey is a graduate student at the Feirstein Graduate School of Cinema, pursuing a Masters of Cinema Studies. She is also a publicity intern at entertainment public relations firm ID PR and previously interned at Picture Motion, the leading marketing and advocacy firm for issue-driven films. Lacey was on the judging committee for the documentary category of the 2018 Peabody Awards, and is a volunteer at DOC NYC, New York Film Festival, Tribeca Film Festival and Rooftop Films. Follow her on Instagram and Twitter @lacey_bead.

From the frontlines of one of the world’s longest wars, the documentary This Is Congo captures the region’s tumultuous history spanning through decades of corruption that has left the Congolese living in poverty and desperately trying to survive. Right from the opening scene, beautiful panoramic shots of the mountain ranges and idyllic farms are quickly disrupted by shots of gunfire as a voiceover lays out the simple truth that growing up in the Congo equals misery. From there, director Daniel McCabe, who initially started the film as a look at the ongoing problem of mineral smuggling across the border, takes the audience on a journey throughout a complex political and economic history and reveals the struggles and fears within the daily lives of the people who call the Congo home.

The documentary covers the ongoing turbulence in the region and unveils a lot of historical context, including background on the colonial past and an overview of the conflict between the Hutu and Tutsi resulting in the Rwandan Civil War. In turn, viewers are given the whole picture of how this present came to be. Today, we’re witnessing the power struggle between the national army and the rebel group M23 over the control of Goma, the capital city of the Northern Kivu. This conflict stems from the rebel forces’ fight against President Joseph Kabila’s corrupt government, and the fact that though the country is full of rich minerals and resources the people are condemned to live in poverty and displacement camps.

New York-based photographer turned Director McCabe and Producer and Editor Alyse Ardell Spiegel joined the audience for a post-screening Q&A that delved deeper into the ongoing problems affecting the region and the Congolese people and how they were able to make such an in-depth film. McCabe gained access to the national army from a chance encounter where he and his crew were arrested by one of the film’s central subjects, Colonel Mamadou. The two struck up a bargain that McCabe would be allowed to film the army if he produced some propaganda films for the government. This seems like a small price to pay for the over 500 hours of film that McCabe walked away with after three and half years and the level of proximity and intimacy he gained. Between deaths and explosions, McCabe and his team were on the ground to capture an unfiltered look at the brutality of war.

The subjects hail from all walks of life, and the documentary weaves their storylines into the complex nature of the Congo. McCabe takes time to focus on each individual story; how their lives have been forever altered by the conditions of the Congo and how they are working to make a change for the country. Mama Romance, the only female perspective to the film, has turned to the illegal practice of mineral smuggling in order to feed her starving children. Often relying on truck drivers to transport the stones across borders, Mama Romance is often unsure if her cargo will make the journey or be confiscated or stolen while in transit. Colonel Mamadou is also featured heavily throughout the film and emerges as a hero for the people after leading the Congolese national army in the fight against M23 rebels. Dutifully dedicated to both his troops and his country, one scene shows Mamadou proudly displaying the numerous bullet wounds spread across his body as seemingly badges of honor.

The film succeeds in teaching us that the Congo is full of contradictions; the wealth of resources and prosperity that is constantly hindered by ongoing strife and poverty. The people are both united by faith yet divided as a society. However, despite all he’s witnessed, McCabe admits that he sees a silver lining that leads back to where the film first started: the minerals. While their high value is essentially part of the problem, they can also be a part of the solution. Only time will tell whether the spirit of the Congolese people can help make this solution a reality and build the road to peace or if the combat and struggles witnessed in the film have become just too much to overcome.

 

videography by Joseph Schroeder, who has managed the production of highly acclaimed educational and informational programming for networks such as PBS, A&E and National Geographic for over a decade. Currently the Vice President of Production and Operations of The Independent Production Fund. Follow him on Twitter and see more of his work on his website.

 


ICYMI: Every-Thing and No-Thing in New York City


Writing by Megan Scanlon. Megan works at the American University of Beirut. She is a frequent contributor to the DOC NYC and Stranger Than Fiction blogs; program coordinator at the Bronx Documentary Center; and teacher at Yoga to the People. She has written for the Journal of Community Engagement and Scholarship. Follow her on Instagram and Twitter @meganscanlon5

New York City.

A fist of a city that could punch your lights out and then afterwards unfold its fingers and extend a strong grip to pick you up off your feet. Bowels of a city that are an affront to the olfactory senses. A lap of a city that needs no invitation to rest in its green spaces, offering respite from the hardness of the urban concrete-scape. Two hands of a city that will surprise you mid-conversation as it cradles your face, catches and holds your gaze, and kisses your forehead.

Though in some ways it may sound like a container for an abusive relationship, it’s really that New York City is the embodiment of every-thing and no-thing.  It defines, cultivates, creates, resists, defies, and flows with change. This push and pull, this ebb and flow, this contraction and expansion is fluidly expressed in the time capsule that is One October. Inspired by Chris Marker’s Le Joli Mai (a portrait of Paris in 1962), director Rachel Shuman created a film that locates New York City in October 2008. For the NYC premiere, Shuman took the Stranger Than Fiction audience on a tour of a landscape on the brink of…well…change.

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Capture & Communication, On A Global Scale


Writing and Videography by Joseph Schroeder, who has managed the production of highly acclaimed educational and informational programming for networks such as PBS, A&E and National Geographic for over a decade. Currently the Vice President of Production and Operations of The Independent Production Fund. Follow him on Twitter and see more of his work on his website.

Stranger Than Fiction closed its 2017 Spring Season with Jeff Orlowski’s latest film, Chasing Coral, a powerful reminder of humanity’s connection to each other and our ecosystem.  Orlowski grew up in Staten Island and attended Stuyvesant High School in Manhattan, which is just over a mile from STF’s home, the IFC Center.  The atmosphere was very much a “family screening,” as Orlowski noted in his opening remarks before the film.

This family spirit couldn’t have been more appropriate for Chasing Coral, which depicts the bleaching of coral reefs in magnificently stunning detail around the world, reminding us that humanity needs to work together to solve the problems presented by climate change.  The film’s opening shot features a dive into the ocean, immediately introducing the audience to the majesty just below the surface.  Richard Vevers, an advertising executive turned underwater photographer, shares that once he sets his eyes upon the reef, “everything slows down.”  We soon learn, through Vevers and his team, that many of corals around the world are dying at alarming rates.  He reveals that in the last 30 years, we’ve lost 50% of the world’s corals.

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Too Big To Fail, (Not) Too Small To Jail


Maggie Glass is a New York-based film editor and writer.

In the aftermath of the financial crisis of 2008, a vast amount of blame was directed at the large banks for their irresponsible and legally questionable practices. And yet, few of these institutions faced any criminal repercussions – with the odd exception of a small family bank in Chinatown. Steve James’s latest film, “Abacus: Small Enough to Jail,” focuses on the Sung family and their journey through the legal system as they defend themselves against an outsized – and ultimately unproven – litany of felony charges. A Chinese immigrant who thought he had achieved the American dream, bank founder Thomas Sung and his family instead find themselves vulnerable to abuse of power and prejudice in James’s moving and personal portrait.

 

The film tracks the beginning of the Sungs’ legal trouble when their community bank, Abacus, discovers financial misdeeds by its employees. Instead of the usual fines or increased oversight, the bank instead finds itself indicted for massive crimes in the wake of the financial crisis. The small, immigrant-serving institution was a strange target for such a large-scale investigation. Far from being the largest bank, or tenth largest bank, or even hundredth largest bank, Abacus occupied the lofty distinction of being the 2,651st largest bank in the United States. And unlike the titans of finance who were able to slink away quietly from their crimes, the employees of Abacus were handcuffed and led through a humiliating parade of media.

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