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Vérité, ecstatic truth, and history: the documentary styles of David & Albert Maysles, Werner Herzog, and Ken Burns
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Vérité, ecstatic truth, and history: the documentary styles of David & Albert Maysles, Werner Herzog, and Ken Burns
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VÉRITÉ, ECSTATIC TRUTH, AND HISTORY: THE DOCUMENTARY STYLES OF DAVID & ALBERT MAYSLES, WERNER HERZOG, AND KEN BURNS by Dana Maris Buckley A Thesis Presented to the FACULTY OF THE USC GRADUATE SCHOOL UNIVERSITY OF SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA In Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree MASTER OF ARTS (SPECIALIZED JOURNALISM, THE ARTS) August 2010 Copyright 2010 Dana Maris Buckley ii TABLE OF CONTENTS Abstract iii Introduction 1 Introduction Endnotes 8 Chapter I: David & Albert Maysles: Direct Cinema and Objectivity 9 Chapter I Endnotes 21 Chapter II: Werner Herzog: Artifice and Ecstatic Truth 23 Chapter II Endnotes 32 Chapter III: Ken Burns and the Historical Documentary 33 Chapter III Endnotes 43 Conclusion 45 Conclusion Endnotes 51 Bibliography 52 iii ABSTRACT This paper examines the idea of reality and truth in documentary filmmaking by looking at three diverse styles and ideologies. In discussing David and Albert Maysles’ use of cinema vérité techniques in the direct cinema movement, Werner Herzog’s search for an “ecstatic truth” through fabrication and artifice, and Ken Burn’s representations of the past through contemporary means, it becomes clear that there are multiple definitions of truth and reality within the documentary community. 1 INTRODUCTION On April 30, 1999, German film director Werner Herzog sat down with critic Roger Ebert at the Walker Art Center in Minneapolis and issued what he called “The Minnesota Declaration,” a statement of his principles on truth and fact in documentary cinema. In it, Herzog famously denounced the cinema vérité tradition of nonfiction filmmaking as an “accountant’s truth,” superficial and tedious. He likened vérité filmmakers to “tourists who take pictures amid ancient ruins of facts,”(1) and firmly stated his own principles in regards to documentary cinema—namely, that “fabrication and imagination and stylization”(2) are the tools with which filmmakers can reach a more ecstatic truth. Herzog has been criticized often for these views, receiving little support for his methods from the documentary community as a whole—but his outspoken commentary is a reflection of the issues that those who work in the nonfiction genre are facing at an increasing rate. Nonfiction cinema encompasses as many different styles and subgenres as there are filmmakers, going through multiple redefinitions since the earliest days of the medium. As far back as the late 19 th century, simplistic actuality footage captured real life on celluloid, with images such as trains (Lumieres’ Arrival of a Train at La Ciotat in 1895), two people kissing (The Kiss in 1896), and even a sneeze (Dickson’s Fred Ott’s Sneeze in 1894). Over a century later, multiple forms of the genre have emerged—surrealist, experimental, ethnographic, autobiographical, and animated documentaries, to name just a few. The increase in new forms of media and technology have only accelerated the 2 widening of the definition of “nonfiction,” creating a sense of confusion when it comes to categorizing films as such. This issue largely stems from a lack of consensus within the documentary community as to what the requirements are for a film to be labeled as nonfiction. The genre does not require its films to be a certain length, or of a certain budget. It does not limit itself to specific subjects, themes, or styles. It can include films that have had traditional theatrical runs, television specials and programs, even amateur footage posted directly to the Internet. It has become apparent that the lack of clear guidelines for documentary filmmaking makes it difficult for the genre to categorize its own films. As audiences, we are well aware that a film labeled as a documentary will contain a truth claim, making them more truthful, for instance, than a story that is simply based on real events, and certainly more truthful than a traditional narrative feature. However, an educated viewer will also recognize that the camera as a tool for storytelling, along with the editing process, has the ability to be manipulative even without intending to do so—and that a healthy dose of skepticism is necessary when viewing any form of nonfiction, whether it is on a movie theater screen or the most respected of news channels. As Robert Lloyd of The Los Angeles Times remarked in 2007, films such as “March of the Penguins, Super Size Me, Grizzly Man, [and] An Inconvenient Truth have drawn crowds to theaters, while an uncountable army of citizen-directors, armed with affordable DV cameras and Final Cut or iMovie, are turning cameras on their dogs, their grandmothers, their hometowns, for their own understanding and pleasure.”(3) In the modern age, with technological advances in equipment and the Internet reinventing the 3 means of production and distribution, anyone with a camera can create a documentary. What largely binds the genre together is the adherence of films to one base requirement: that they reject the false, the imagined, and the fabricated in favor of what is real, or the “truth.” As technology makes video footage easier to create and manipulate, the true story can become increasingly difficult to attain as we find ourselves sifting through content in an attempt to determine trustworthy sources. A sea of blogger voices and citizen journalists now exist without the credibility that traditional media outlets provide, leaving the cliché that “pictures never lie” grossly outdated. It has become the responsibility of the audience and the consumer to decide what constitutes “truth” and “reality,” a responsibility that once fell solely on the shoulders of publishers, studios, and networks. Complicating this divide even further is the popularity of documentary as a style as much as a genre of film and television, and while some are easily identified as fictional, others are not immediately obvious. Some narrative films have taken on this idea of documentary as a formal quality, relying on handheld effects and grainy film stock to give their stories an edgier palate, particularly within the horror genre. Contemporary films such as The Blair Witch Project (1999), George A. Romero’s Diary of the Dead (2007) and Cloverfield (2008) are all examples of narrative films that use documentary techniques to add a heightened sense of realism. At the start of the new millennium, the reality television boom created a new genre of actuality programming that appeared to depict real people in real situations—surviving on a deserted island (“Survivor,” 2000-present), living in a house with a handful of 4 strangers (“The Real World,” 1992-present), or dating a series of women in order to find true love (“The Bachelor,” 2002-present). While it is widely known now that these shows are largely scripted and carefully cast, other shows may utilize documentary-style techniques that blur the lines between “reality television” and “TV documentaries.” The History Channel’s 2009 eight-part series “Expedition Africa” was characterized by the network as a documentary, despite the fact that it was cast and designed in the same way as a reality show, complete with “Survivor” producer Mark Burnett at the helm. Shows such as this one raise questions about the kind of responsibility that networks and studios have in vetting and marketing content that is supposed to portray “reality,” and in influencing audience perceptions of the content as such. Terms like “docudrama” or “docufiction” have had to be created in order to encompass these types of nonfiction films that are not entirely based in fact. Some may be almost entirely factual, save for a few staged scenes or recreations, while others may make it difficult to find any semblance of truth whatsoever. The line between “documentary” and these hybrid genres is thin and unclear, and creates a problem when trying to decide what and who to believe. The fact that these hybridized terms are necessary harkens to the rise in films and television programs that present this combination of reality and fantasy—but a clear boundary between the two has not been established. And this issue is not restricted to the present day alone. From the beginning, filmmakers have included false information, staged scenes, and blatant manipulation of sound and image. Robert Flaherty has been discussed in the context of “docufiction,” as many of his films included fabricated scenarios. His 1922 5 silent documentary Nanook of the North famously reenacted and staged multiple events, including a walrus hunt where Nanook and the Inuits used harpoons instead of their usual rifles, to simulate a hunt done “as in former days, before the explorers came.”(4) Luis Bunuel, the master of surrealist films in Spain, Mexico, and France, subverted the ethnographic documentary in 1933’s Las hurdes, or Land Without Bread, before the ethnographic documentary movement was actually popularized. In it, Bunuel notoriously intervened on the film’s behalf, shooting a mountain goat in order to film it falling off a mountainside, and utilizing an indifferent, newsreel-style voiceover narration and an “Ironic interplay between what is said and what is seen,”(5) which, some scholars have argued, actually subverts the nonfiction genre and adds a dimension of parody. Documentarian John Grierson perhaps defined the genre most succinctly: that documentaries are the “creative treatment of actuality”(6)—although notably, not actuality itself. It is widely recognized that no documentary film or filmmaker has the ability to be purely objective. As Canadian documentarian Jennifer Baichwal acknowledges, “We’re all aware that there’s no such thing as an objective voice.”(7) Documentarians are transparent about the fact that they bring their own personal biases to their films, and that the necessary acts of choosing a subject, the subjects’ awareness of the presence of a camera, and the editing process all contribute to the manipulation of reality. However, this problem within the genre stems from the fact that documentarians and scholars have markedly different views on what makes a nonfiction film “real” or “truthful.” As reality and truth can often find themselves within the realm of the subjective, a documentarian’s 6 personal experiences, biases, and individual code of ethics can sway the set of rules that govern their filmmaking process. With such vastly disparate styles and forms of media claiming to be “documentary” works, audiences have begun to experience a buyer- beware market, where the difference between what is true and what is not becomes increasingly difficult to determine. This study is an exploration of three distinctive and highly individual styles of documentary films made by successful filmmakers operating within the last half century—David and Albert Maysles, Werner Herzog, and Ken Burns. These artists have managed to span the increasingly wide breadth of the documentary genre and to encompass both traditional and experimental formal qualities within their works, along with pioneering and becoming masters of their own distinctive brands of cinema. By looking at specific films, the goals of the filmmakers, and the effectiveness of their techniques, we begin to see just how incongruent the definitions of reality, truth, fact and fiction can become. In addition, it is important to recognize documentary film as a form of media that combines tenets of art, journalism, and entertainment—and therefore possesses the added challenge of juggling aesthetics, hard facts, and audience attention spans. The filmmaker is left with the task of determining which aspects are the most crucial, and not all may be important to every individual or every story. Taking these issues of the genre into account through the films of the Maysles brothers, Herzog, and Burns, we can begin to observe the ways that these artists in particular address the intrinsic problems and challenges of personal subjectivity in a medium that largely strives for objectivity. 7 A question that remains unanswered is whether or not documentary films have an inherent responsibility to be strictly factual, and if the addition of artifice is damaging to the integrity of the genre as a whole. The issue is about more than semantics alone, or whether or not the term “documentary” should be applied to such a wide range of filmic styles. Some filmmakers may feel strongly that the documentary genre has a responsibility to audiences to uphold the tenets of fact and reality in order to maintain credibility, and to keep the line between documentary and narrative cinema from becoming nonexistent. Others might argue that the medium itself makes that an impossible, unreachable goal, and that an exaggerated truth is perhaps the only way to reach any form of truth at all. By looking at the work of three acclaimed documentarians and the work of those who study the genre and its movements, it becomes clear to see that no one answer can sufficiently define the documentary genre as a whole. An exploration of the techniques of these successful documentarians, however, will begin to shed some light on the effectiveness of their methods, the problems they face in utilizing such individual styles, and the issues that audiences is presented with when they can no longer clearly make the distinction between what is real and what is not. 8 INTRODUCTION ENDNOTES (1) Herzog, Werner. Herzog on Herzog. Ed. Paul Cronin. London: Faber and Faber, 2002. Pg 301. (2) Herzog, 301. (3) Lloyd, Robert. "Truth, The Franchise." Los Angeles Times 5 Aug. 2007, Sunday Calendar ed., Part E sec.: 1. (4) Barnouw, Erik. Documentary: A History of the Non-Fiction Film. Pg. 36. New York: Oxford UP, 1993. (5) Kinder, Marsha. "Revisiting Las Hurdes." (2009): Pg. 7. (6) Morris, Peter. "Rethinking Grierson: The Ideology of John Grierson." History On/In/And Film. Perth: History & Film Association of Australia, 1987. 20-30. Web. 10 Jan. 2010. (7) Capturing Reality: The Art of Documentary. Dir. Pepita Ferrari. 101 Distribution. 2009. DVD. 9 CHAPTER I: DAVID & ALBERT MAYSLES: DIRECT CINEMA AND OBJECTIVITY The cinema vérité movement that Herzog so publicly decried in his “Minnesota Declaration” stemmed from and included movements from various countries: Dziga Vertov and Russian kino-pravda (literally translated as “film-truth”) in the 1920s, British “free cinema” in the 1950s, and American “direct cinema” in the late 1950s and 1960s, to name a few. While each individual movement formed its own subtleties and set of rules, vérité-style filmmaking is generally “the cinema of the observation-documentarist,”(1) in which the camera becomes a fly-on-the-wall witness to people, places, and occasions, “minimizing the interference of direction, camerawork, and editing with events as they unfold.”(2) The term “vérité-style” as a whole has come to connote any film that observes daily life, without elements such as formal interviews, voiceover narration, an orchestrated soundtrack, or special effects, all of which have become standard practice in many documentaries today. Long-takes, close-ups on the faces of subjects, and natural sound are generally common formal qualities used within the style. Although the French cinema vérité movement (with the films of Jean Rouch as primary examples) included interviews and even artificially created circumstances from the beginning as a way of “provoking” truth, the American direct cinema movement in the 1960’s is most analogous to the style of nonfiction filmmaking that Herzog has so publicly criticized.(3) In the United States, the films of David and Albert Maysles became key illustrations of the form, particularly with the success of their most notable 10 works—Salesman (1968), Gimme Shelter (1970) and Grey Gardens (1975). These films utilized the observational mode of filmmaking, in which the camera follows its subjects dutifully through their daily routine, whether they are major celebrities like The Rolling Stones in Gimme Shelter or regular working-class men as seen in Salesman. While the Maysles brothers have been known to break their own rules at times by appearing in the frame or using effects in post-production, their best known works embody the direct cinema movement and clearly place themselves at one end of the ideological spectrum of documentary filmmaking.(4) The principles and rules that govern a vérité film perhaps make it the style of documentary practice that is most concerned with objectivity—in which artifice and construction are highly controversial, and methods of production are closely scrutinized. The aim toward this more rigorous, unbiased approach is facilitated most notably by the lack of formal, sit-down interviews or voiceover narration, which have now become such a staple within the genre, and which are fundamental in films such as those by Ken Burns, which will be discussed later in this study. The focus of direct cinema is to rely on the camera to tell the story as opposed to the subjects, witnesses, or experts. The camera takes on the point of view of the spectator, as though the audience is physically in the room with the subject, often times creating a profoundly effective sense of intimacy and a personal relationship with the people we are observing. James C. Lipscomb is a member of Drew Associates, the documentary group formed in the early 1960’s by Robert Drew, who is often called the “founder of direct cinema” in the United States. As Lipscomb observes in an article in Film Quarterly, 11 The cinema vérité film-maker is a special kind of film journalist who is trying to record what really happens more truly than a reporter taking notes. He turns the camera on because he thinks something important or beautiful, sad or funny is happening before him and he wants to share that vision with the viewer. If there is a story, it is not one that he created, but rather one that he placed himself in the way of watching, a real-life drama. None of this means that the film-maker necessarily forfeits his point of view. (5) David and Albert Maysles began their filmmaking career in the early 1960’s, just as cinema vérité was beginning to gain popularity as a collective movement. Cameraman Albert Maysles in particular began to emerge as a force in the genre, eventually coining the term “direct cinema” to refer to the American vérité films that were becoming more prevalent.(6) The Maysles’ documentaries developed out of their “desire to create more ‘truthful’ (that is, more authentic) films [which] took on a nearly spiritual component as they celebrated and explored the humanity of their subjects.”(7) In this way, their films did not often take on the quality of an exposé or a harsh criticism of the subject. As Joe McElhaney states in his book about direct cinema and the Maysles brothers, Maysles films, like virtually all films that emerge out of the direct cinema tradition, partake of what one may loosely term a liberal humanist viewpoint: a belief in the notion of spontaneity and freedom, and a skepticism toward the value of overly organized and systematic belief systems…Maysles films rarely examine the social and institutional underpinnings of the worlds they depict. More typically, Maysles’ liberal humanism focuses on behavior, gesture, spoken language, personality, and interactions among people. (8) The effectiveness of their style relies heavily on this intimate exploration of their subjects—something that comes to fruition specifically within the films that explore celebrities and other characters who are not usually accessible to the average viewer. 12 One of their earliest major documentary films, What’s Happening! The Beatles in America (1964) chronicled the British band’s first US tour in 1964, setting the stage for the more sophisticated films on celebrity that would follow. In it, Albert Maysles captures the band interacting playfully on the plane from London and on a train from New York, along with concert footage and their pivotal performances on the Ed Sullivan show. Some of the most interesting scenes in the film are of the four musicians in their more private moments, away from the rapidly expanding crowds of fans. It has the distinctive feel of Richard Lester’s A Hard Day’s Night, the comedy/”mockumentary” released later that same year, in which the band is shown playfully joking with one another and displaying the same loveable, youthful innocence that What’s Happening! attempts to capture in real, unscripted life. The Maysles’ continuously rolling cameras allowed them to capture the intimacy of being within the personal circle of celebrities, whether in quiet, understated moments, or during times of high excitement. While the Beatles know that the camera is present and address it often, its ubiquitous nature almost begins to make it forgettable. What the vérité, observational format could reveal (and that formal interviews with the Beatles likely could not), is their individual personalities away from the constantly nagging media presence that had begun to manifest itself during the first half of the 1960’s. The camera is still part of this media presence that surrounds the band, but its constant background presence allows the celebrities to let their guards down—even for just a brief moment. Though the band was only beginning to realize the extent of their following in America, What’s Happening! places them in a different 13 context than their television appearances or magazine interviews—it explores their interactions with each other, out of the spotlight, and away from their fans, without overtly asking questions of them. This more subtle approach proves itself to be a valuable tool in exploring the personalities of the famous and the culture of celebrity. The Maysles brothers continued their tradition documenting celebrities and cultural figures with films such as Meet Marlon Brando (1965) and With Love From Truman (1966), which offered a portrait of Truman Capote. Their 1970 film, Gimme Shelter, demonstrated a mastery of the form, chronicling The Rolling Stones as they toured the United States in 1969. The film acts as “partly a traditional concert film, partly a sobering social document, partly an exploration into new ways of presenting direct cinema.”(9) Beginning with performance footage from Madison Square Garden in New York, the camera follows the band on stage, into recording studios and hotel rooms, and ends with their notoriously catastrophic Altamont Free Concert at the Altamont Speedway in northern California, in which a member of the Hell’s Angels fatally stabbed a member of the audience—an event that many would say marked the end of the era of peace, love and happiness. More than this singular incident though is the uncanny way in which it invokes the entire looming presence of the late 1960’s. For those who did not live through it, its fly-on-the- wall style manages to create an experiential viewing experience, where the film’s audience is just as confused as the audience at the Altamont, bumping and jostling their way through an event that clearly illustrated the social context in which the event was happening. As film studies scholar Jonathan Vogels says, “Gimme Shelter is an 14 important historical artifact, spotlighting a particular and notorious moment in time.”(10) But the Altamont concert, however magnetic in its promise of mayhem and eventual murder, is not the sequence that most requires the use of the vérité style. The film attempts to gradually chip away at the immense celebrity that clings to The Rolling Stones, presenting the British rock icons in a combination of intimate and public settings. While the concert footage captures Mick Jagger’s unforgettable stage presence and the range of emotional tones within their music, the most effective sequences are reminiscent of ones with The Beatles in What’s Happening!—the private ones, in which the camera unobtrusively trains itself on the faces of the band members in quiet moments. At the start of the film, the band is shown listening to a radio program the day after the disastrous Altamont concert, where Meredith Hunter, a rowdy young concertgoer, was stabbed to death after members of the Hell’s Angels saw him carrying a gun. Emotions are clear on their faces, humanizing the young men who, by today’s viewing, have bordered on becoming caricatures of themselves. The camera moves from drummer Charlie Watts, to Jagger, and back again, catching their reactions as one caller criticizes the band for allowing the concert to erupt into such a state of anarchy, and while one member of the Hell’s Angels makes an impassioned defense of his gang. The reliving of the previous night segues into footage of earlier concerts, the band letting loose in their hotel room, and later, listening to a recording of “Wild Horses” in the famous Muscle Shoals, Alabama, recording studio—easily one of the film’s most beautiful and personal sequences. Here, Albert Maysles is given the opportunity to showcase the brilliance of his camerawork and sense of timing. Using the traditional vérité-style facial close-ups, he 15 rests on Watts for what becomes an uncomfortably long period of time before panning to Jagger’s wry smile, and finally coming to rest on Keith Richards, eyes closed, silently mouthing the lyrics. Indeed, the effectiveness of the scene lies in Albert Maysles’ ability to anticipate his subjects, and to know exactly when and where to direct the camera’s gaze. These more intimate moments showcase again not only Maysles’ expertise, but also the value of this method of filmmaking—quietly observing the unfolding action instead of specifically searching for it or attempting to create it. Vogels claims that these scenes reveal a different dimension of the band not seen in interviews or through their concert footage alone. Perhaps more illustrative of the Stone’s disconnectedness is the behind-the-scenes glimpses of the group…reveal[ing] the group to be surprisingly distanced from their own music. In passive roles as listeners and observers, they are generally transfixed by their own performances, listening intently, sometimes mouthing the words or dancing a little. Another musician-based direct cinema film, D.A. Pennebaker’s Don’t Look Back (1966), contrasts sharply. In that film, Bob Dylan works consistently at his music…there is a clear sense that Pennebaker’s and Dylan’s presentations of Bob Dylan the performer onstage reflect only a small percentage of the passion and commitment he feels as a songwriter and musician. The members of the Rolling Stones, on the other hand, in their pursuit of building image, seem to have removed themselves not only from what happens in front of them at their concerts but also from their own talents as musicmakers. (11) In invoking Pennebaker’s vérité film on Bob Dylan, Vogels states that the behind-the- scenes direct cinema footage reveals something rare about the band’s interaction with their own form of art—a strange disconnectedness that does not come across during the dynamic concert footage, and certainly not during the filmed press conferences or formal 16 interviews. It also speaks to the idea of using celebrity in order to speak more broadly about the media as a whole. As Vogels says, The amused reactions of the celebrity to his or her performance allowed the filmmaker to reveal the truth behind the contrivance of the mainstream media’s interview of that celebrity. The celebrity in turn becomes a surrogate for the filmmakers’ criticism of popular media, and with a sort of knowing wink, filmmaker and subject reveal that they are in agreement on this issue. (12) Vogels argues for the vérité style as a tool for reaching a deeper understanding of the relationship between celebrity and the media, something that the artists communicate through their body language and facial expressions as they react, but could not be conveyed as succinctly through words—especially words conveyed to the mainstream media in interviews. While the Stones, for example, may have shirked the traditional interview format if it had been attempted, the Maysles prove the effectiveness of vérité techniques—by using wide angle shots and following the band, and by allowing the action to unfold organically and the audience to witness it. What results is a specific style, which enhances a specific cultural moment at the end of a tumultuous decade. This observational method is still used today in many documentary films and television programs. HBO, one of the leading producers of original award-winning documentary television, utilizes the vérité style often—Shari Cookson’s Memory Loss Tapes (2009), part of The Alzheimers Project, and Bill McCullough’s Cutting Edge, a look at barbershops on Harlem’s 125 th Street, both present their subjects in a way that is unobtrusive and that, as HBO Documentary President Sheila Nevins stresses, “don’t rely on talking heads.”(13) The success of HBO’s documentary films and their usage of the vérite techniques pioneered by the Maysles brothers and other key direct cinema figures 17 of the 1960’s shows that the style has both staying power and relevance nearly fifty years later. But cinema vérité is certainly not without its critics, or without valid arguments against its claims of objectivity and truth. As James Blue stated in Film Comment in 1965: Cinema vérité has its orthodoxies, its heresies, its unitarians and its fundamentalists. At no time in the history of film art have mystical and moral considerations been so important in the formation of a film aesthetic. (14) These “mystical and moral considerations” have made cinema vérité a controversial style amongst filmmakers, critics, and academics from the 1960’s to the present day, mostly based on claims that vérité practitioners made themselves. As documentary scholar Bill Nichols recounts, “the ‘vérité boys’ of the 1960’s (Robert Drew, Ricky Leacock, D.A. Pennebaker, David and Albert Maysles, Fred Wiseman, and others)…proclaimed everything except what took place in front of the camera without rehearsal or prompting to be fabrication, inauthentic.”(15) While Werner Herzog simply claims that the style is a shallow “accountant’s truth,” other filmmakers have gone further to explain their distaste for a form of cinema that claims to have created objective films without taking sides or having an agenda. As Pennsylvania State University communications professor Jeanne Hall says, Most [documentary scholars] simply dismissed cinema vérité films for not being ‘windows on the world’ and denounced cinema vérité filmmakers for believing or pretending that they were…the rhetoric of the vérité movement took on a life of its own. (16) 18 Errol Morris, director of acclaimed films such as The Thin Blue Line (1988) and The Fog of War: Eleven Lessons from the Life of Robert S. McNamara (2004) has also argued against claims that the vérité aesthetic is the most direct way of achieving truth. He states: …The claims of cinema vérité are spurious…it shows that style does not guarantee truth. The use of available light and a handheld camera does not mean that what you are doing is any more truthful than anything else. Truth is a pursuit, it’s a quest. (17) For Morris, the act of placing a camera in front of naturally unfolding action does not assure that it will be more truthful than recreated scenes. The form itself is not the means of reaching the truth—instead, it is the attempt itself, the search for the truth of a story. As a director who uses recreations in many of his documentary works, Morris vouches for the pursuit of truth as the crux of nonfiction filmmaking—not truth itself. Joe McElhaney, in his book on Albert Maysles, addresses some of the concerns that are inherent within the movement as well—concerns that are often perpetuated by the filmmakers themselves. He reiterates a quote by Albert Maysles, who states: The contemplation of things as they are, without error or confusion, without substitution or imposture, is in itself a nobler thing than a whole harvest of invention. (18) McElhaney recognizes that Maysles perhaps becomes polemical when describing his views on the pursuit of truth, by stating that this “noble” depiction of things as they are is something more important than invention. Jeanne Hall addresses this as well, saying that “Cinema vérité filmmakers claimed to have created a cinema in which no side was taken 19 and no cause defended,” a claim that was seen as an “inadequate goal with inadequate means” by scholars and critics. (19) But debates about vérité style documentaries do not stop at issues of fabrication and invention alone—they also faces judgments for their formal and technical methods as perhaps only grazing the surface of the issues that are being addressed, despite the fact that vérité filmmakers may spend much more time observing their subjects than documentarians who utilize other methods. McElhaney goes on to explain: The films of direct cinema are particularly vulnerable to criticism…their apparent investment in the camera’s capacity to directly reproduce and reveal reality, their reliance on continuity editing in a kind of mimicry of classical narrative cinema, and their frequent lack of interest in directly implicating the work’s source of enunciation have drawn sharp criticism ever since the form’s emergence over four decades ago. (20) McElhaney recognizes one of the more prevalent arguments against the direct cinema movement by addressing these issues, which is that its strict rules may inhibit it from achieving the kind of depth that other styles might be more able to explore. Reliance upon the technology of the camera as an all-powerful tool for recording reality, the editing process as a way of creating a linear narrative, and the lack of a deeper probing into the credibility of its subjects are valid concerns, and work against the idea that objectivity and interference are inversely proportional. Despite arguments that vérité filmmakers are actually allowed more freedom because of their ability to gather footage over longer periods of time spent with their subjects, the argument comes down to individual tactics, and whether filmmakers utilize their chosen style to its full effect. 20 Direct cinema still embodies many of the issues that exist today in documentary filmmaking. Questions of ethics and disparate definitions of “truth” manifest themselves in the debates between those who find the observational method of filmmaking to be inadequate, and those who feel that anything more obtrusive is a violation of the principles of the medium. Documentary scholar Brian Winston sums up the criticisms by stating that, Direct Cinema hides its processes as much, if not more, than does Hollywood. The long takes, the lack of commentary, music and sound effects, the absence of cinematic lighting, the understated titles, even the early, persistent use of black- and-white stock—what are these if not earnests of objectivity for an audience schooled in reception of realist images, earnest vouched for by the subjects’ occasional direct gaze at the lens and the occasional jump cut? (20) The claims against the vérité style seem to arise more from the claims of the movement itself—claims of objectivity and truth that critics feel are overreaching and impossible to attain. Though the style has faced a continuous backlash from scholars and academics, it remains a popular form—one that today’s audiences still find relevant, as the success of HBO’s documentaries has demonstrated. While many filmmakers have made their admiration or their distaste for direct cinema and the vérité tradition clear, it is important to examine the work of other directors who have found alternate ways of reaching their own definitions of “truth” and “reality,” as well as the effectiveness of their methods. 21 CHAPTER I ENDNOTES (1) Barnouw, 254. (2) Sturken & Cartwright, 250 (3) Lipscomb, James C. "Cinéma-vérité." Film Quarterly 18.2 (1964): 62-63. (4) Vogels, Jonathan B. The Direct Cinema of David and Albert Maysles. Carbondale: Southern Illinois UP, 2005. (5) Lipscomb, 63. (6) Vogels, 5. (7) Vogels, 6. (8) McElhaney, Joe. Albert Maysles. Pg. 7 Urbana & Chicago: University of Illinois, 2009. (9) Vogels, 98. (10) Vogels, 75. (11) Vogels, 87. (12) Vogels 32. (13) Geldin, Brian. "Tribeca Film Festival – A Conversation with Sheila Nevins." The Film Panel Notetaker — Miss a Panel Discussion? Don't Worry! We Took Notes for You. 25 Apr. 2010. (14) Hall, Jeanne. "Realism as a Style in Cinema Vérité: A Critical Analysis of "Primary"" Cinema Journal 30.4 (1991): 24-50. (15) Nichols, Bill. "Documentary Reenactment and the Fantasmatic Subject." Critical Inquiry (2008): 72-89. (16) Hall, 27. (17) Cunningham, Megan. The Art of the Documentary: Ten Conversations with Leading Directors, Cinematographers, Editors, and Producers. Pg. 57. New Riders, 2005. 22 (18) McElhaney, 22. (19) Hall, 27. (20) McElhaney, 22. (21) Winston, Brian. "The Documentary Film as Scientific Inscription." Ed. Micahel Renov. Theorizing Documentary. New York: Routledge, 1993. 37-57. 23 CHAPTER II: WERNER HERZOG: ARTIFICE AND ECSTATIC TRUTH The idea of “ecstatic truth” has always been Werner Herzog’s most essential aspiration, much more crucial than objectivity, and he has discussed the term often as a way to defend his own filmmaking process—a process that has come under much scrutiny, especially in regards to his documentary works. The majority of Herzog’s critics stand in stark opposition to his use of blatant fabrication and stylization in his “documentary” work. For many documentarians, (even those who are not part of any vérité form) strict adherence to the most objective truth possible, along with constant fact-checking, are essential—and fabrication, a violation of one of the most important aspects of the genre. In this tradition of thought, facts are truth, and even the slightest of misuses or misrepresentations presents a dangerous slippery slope, in which the entire tradition of nonfiction filmmaking could lose all credibility. The documentary’s reputation as an accurate, truthful representation of the real world around us relies on the ability of filmmakers to present it as such, despite the acknowledgement that it cannot achieve complete objectivity. For Herzog, “truth” is something more profound than facts alone can provide. Facts, to him, are the most banal aspect of the story—they are the tools of journalists, news programs, and daily papers. He sees his films as cinema, art, storytelling—and therefore, they are given license to reach beyond the factual surface to the deeper truth below. While the Maysles may search for truth within the world of the factual, Herzog is deeply convinced of the need to move outside of it in order to depict what he determines is reality. 24 Herzog has clearly placed himself in the category of modern day documentarians straddling the invisible line between reality and imagination through his personal, highly stylized brand of inimitable cinema. His “nonfiction” films are widely discussed by critics and academics who, along with other documentarians, have objected to many of his methods despite the fact that he is transparent about them. He has also been seen as a successful auteur of highly capable, singularly interesting films—controversial without a doubt, but effective in his techniques, and established within film circles. When looking closely at Herzog’s body of work, the reasons behind his distaste for vérité-style films becomes clear—its beliefs are in stark opposition to his own. Where direct cinema strives for objectivity, Herzog values personal opinion and experience. Where direct cinema takes a distanced approach, Herzog is just as much a part of the story as the subject itself. Where direct cinema observes, Herzog provokes. The contrast between these two approaches becomes particularly marked when placed side by side within the same category of nonfiction filmmaking. While Herzog’s films do not neatly categorize themselves as “documentaries,” neither do they fit into the world of narrative filmmaking. They present the challenge of drawing up more concrete terms to describe what nonfiction filmmaking is, or coming to accept what Herzog himself has always attested to—that “the boundary between fiction and ‘documentary’ simply does not exist; they are all just films.”(1) 25 Werner Herzog, born in Munich, Germany in 1942, has a body of work that comprises over fifty films for both television and theatrical release, beginning in the early 1960’s and continuing through the present day. Herzog has shaped an entire career on a highly distinctive style of filmmaking in both the documentary and narrative genres with films such as Aguirre, Wrath of God (1972), Fitzcarraldo (1982), Bells from the Deep (1993), Little Dieter Needs to Fly (1997), Cobra Verde (1987), Grizzly Man (2005) and Encounters at the End of the World (2007). His films have been categorized as part of the New German Cinema movement, along with other prominent directors such as Rainer Werner Fassbinder and Wim Wenders. Herzog’s work deals largely with man’s struggle against the power of nature and the utter immensity of the world around us—many of his films take place in the wild outdoors, and include vast, detailed shots of the landscape. He strongly emphasizes music and visual metaphors, and tends to rely on basic camera shots as opposed to slick Hollywood- style movement and framing. Herzog also “finds it important that the ‘real’ makes its way into the frame of his fiction films,”(2) while simultaneously relying on artifice in his documentaries. He insisted that a real, built-to-scale ship be pulled over a mountain by natives of the Amazon in Fitzcarraldo instead of relying on special effects. In The Enigma of Kaspar Hauser (1974), the title character is a man who has spent his entire life chained in a cellar, until he is suddenly set free in Nuremberg. Herzog chose the enigmatic Bruno S. for the role, a man who had spent his own youth locked away for years, along with spending time in 26 correctional and mental institutions. The closer one looks at Herzog’s body of work, the more blurred the lines become between fact and fiction, reality and imagination. Herzog’s search for an “ecstasy of truth,” or a truth beyond facts (3), has inspired his documentary career, leading to controversial, stylized films, using techniques such as recreations, scripting, and his own distinctive voiceover in an attempt to create the poeticism that he felt was distinctly lacking in traditional nonfiction forms. 1993’s Bells From The Deep: Faith and Superstition in Russia explores Russian mysticism—an area Herzog had a strong personal vision for. The film discusses this particular religion in Russia without letting the “triviality” of facts interfere, and is known as one of Herzog’s most blatantly fabricated “documentaries.” As University of Missouri-Columbia Film Studies and German Studies professor Brad Prager says in his book about the director, Both the filmed subjects and their filmmaker straddle the line between the ecstatic and the truthful. This is not only a question as to how these Russians practice their religion, but the extent to which the filmmaker approaches them with his own ecstatic eyes. This film more than any other…is the one in which Herzog most obviously eschews the accountants’ truth. (4) Prager examines the film as something that Herzog places within the context of himself, and his own view of ecstatic truth. Herzog has said of Bells of the Deep that “the best of the film is fabricated,”(5) discussing two of the most striking scenes, both of which would be problematic for most documentary filmmakers. In one, hundreds of Russians are seen bent over holes in the frozen lake, fishing—only to be described in his voiceover as “pilgrims in prayer.”(6) In another scene, Herzog discusses the legend of the lost city 27 of Kitezh, filming men crawling along the ice, ears to the ground, apparently listening for the lost city—men who, he admits, were drunks paid to appear in the documentary. Herzog claims that these instances of fabrication are essential to exploring this religious community in a way that reaches a deeper understanding—in essence, an understanding that is less exploitative than a vérité “accountant’s truth” would be. Herzog argues that his methods allow him to show the things that he might otherwise have been unable to capture on film, though more traditional documentarians may recoil from the thought of such blatant fabrication and use of misleading narration. What results is a more accurate depiction of this group Russian people, and a more poetic version of their story that would not be possible if it were shot using an observational mode. Many of the same methods of fabrication used in Bells of the Deep are also present in Little Dieter Needs to Fly, Herzog’s 1997 film about US Navy pilot and Vietnam War veteran Dieter Dengler. Dengler’s contemplation over getting a tattoo, his compulsive opening and closing of doors, and most notably, his reenacted march through the jungle, are all manufactured for the sake of the film. These scenes are meant to create a sense of who Dengler is and what his experiences as a pilot and a veteran have shaped him into being—especially in regards to his wartime experiences and the traumatic events he faced in the past. Along with these stylized aspects, he also admits “there is hardly a scene in the film that was not shot at least five times until we got it exactly right.”(7) Rehearsing and shooting multiple takes are also among the aspects that Herzog faces criticism for, as most documentarians frown upon these techniques within nonfiction filmmaking. But for 28 Herzog, this is simply another part of his complex mixture of fact and fiction, a way of achieving his ultimate goal of reaching the “truth,” through any means necessary. Herzog’s frankness and transparency about his methods of documentary filmmaking are a way of justifying what other filmmakers find to be an offense to the genre. As filmmaker Barry Stevens states in Capturing Reality: The Art of the Documentary: With a documentary, there's an agreement with the audience that you are referencing or giving an account of evidence-based reality, that you are actually saying, ‘This is the way the world is as I see it.’ And that has very little to do with whether you use actors or recreations or anything really, except that there's an agreement that this is an account of reality. People have a sense when that is violated. I just discovered that Werner Herzog, when he did Little Dieter Needs To Fly, had this scene where Dieter came home to his house in California, and he opens and closes the doors several times. Because he was a prisoner in Laos, he can't feel shut in, so he opens and closes the door very quickly to make sure it's unlocked. It's a very powerful moment and I've always remembered it in the film. Total bullshit. Herzog made that up and made him do it. And it is a wonderful dramatization of the guy's theme, but I think that's a lie. (8) Clearly, many within the filmmaking community have taken issue with Herzog’s brand of documentary cinema—but Stevens sums up the arguments both for and against his methods. The fabricated opening and closing of doors is also something that works to express what Dengler has experienced in a profound way, despite the fact that many would perhaps see it as a “lie.”. This simple sequence where we see Dengler park his car, enter his house, and make sure that he is able to open the door several times, is a visual metaphor for the psychological effects of his experiences—a true part of the subject, even if it is something created by the director. Dengler’s walk through the jungle, simulating his time as a prisoner of war, works in a similar way. Herzog acknowledges that the walk is obviously staged, and argues that this scene describes all of the truth and reality that 29 would exist had it been a real event. Dengler is forced to come to terms with his emotions, and to relive the horrific experiences of his past in some small fraction, in front of the camera. Herzog argues that Dengler’s fearful reaction to it is a completely natural, truthful expression of his past—a reaction that could not be achieved by simply allowing the cameras to roll. These scenes are staged and recreated as a visual expression of Dengler’s inner psyche, and therefore, reflect a form of reality that Herzog sees as justified and valid in the context of his film. Some filmmakers, such as Erroll Morris have argued for the use of recreations as a facilitator of reality, not a detriment to it. As he states in Capturing Reality: The Art of the Documentary, “The reenactment is not reenacting anything. It’s there to make you think about reality—what we think is reality, and what claims to be reality.” (9) Morris, like Herzog, finds that these recreated scenes strengthen the realist aspects of their work, and anchor the film’s themes in a visual sense. However, issues arise with Herzog’s staging and fabrication that perhaps other filmmakers may not face in their own films. Herzog’s recreations are not always obvious, and often require knowledge outside of the film to determine what is real and what is fabricated—unlike Morris, whose audience fully realizes he and his camera were not physically present to film a murder taking place, as it is recreated in The Thin Blue Line. In Bells From the Deep and Little Dieter Needs to Fly, audiences who have not heard him discuss and admit to the fabricated elements of his films are unable to distinguish what is real and what has been staged from the text alone. Because of this, the issues that arise from Herzog’s brand of documentary films is a very different one than what is faced by the Maysles’ direct 30 cinema—it is an issue of ethics and morals, deeply rooted in his own, personal idea of truth. Many of his colleagues find this to be suspect, afraid that it could lead to a slippery slope of avoidance of hard facts and evidence, and the eventual breaking-down of the line between documentary and narrative film genres. As Jennifer Baichwal states in Capturing Reality: The Art of the Documentary, We’re all aware that there’s no such thing as an objective voice, so you must acknowledge perspective. But at the same time, I really think that unless you are constantly checking and calibrating that perspective…you can stray off into dangerous places, ethically and morally. (10) Baichwall acknowledges that all filmmakers struggle with objectivity, and that while it is an impossible task to achieve completely, going too far into the realm of the imaginary creates problems within the basic moral framework of the film. Herzog’s means of achieving his quest for a higher truth become wrought with controversy and contrasting opinions within the film community, though he shares the same end goal as many of his colleagues. A question that remains unanswered is whether or not documentary films have an inherent responsibility to be strictly factual, and if Herzog’s films jeopardize the reputation of a style of filmmaking that relies on truthful representations of reality. His films, though perhaps exceptions of the rules, raise an interesting debate about the nature of truth and reality in documentary films, and have shown that most filmmakers are in favor of a style that embraces creativity and innovation, but also ensure that facts remain intact. Documentary filmmaker Barry Stevens observes, “You do have to be respectful of the facts…you should let the facts get in the way of a good story. And out of that will 31 emerge a true story.” (11) Stevens manages to state the overarching consensus of many documentary filmmakers—that facts are essential for a story, and should be adhered to as basic framework. Herzog is still a popular and widely regarded practitioner of the documentary art, despite the fact that his style of filmmaking is a more personal brand and less of a collective movement, as direct cinema was. His nonfiction works, whether or not he labels them a part of the genre, have made great contributions to the field and encouraged debates amongst his peers. Herzog’s films, though they could hardly be described as prosaic, do become problematic when examined in the context of documentary film as a vehicle for representing reality as it occurs naturally in life, further widening the divide between his definition of “truth” and that of other filmmakers. But Herzog and the Maysles’ brothers styles of filmmaking, and those that lie between the two on the spectrum of objectivity and subjectivity, are not the only form of documentary practice that figures into the conversation about representing what is real and truthful. 32 CHAPTER II ENDNOTES (1) Herzog, 240. (2) Prager, Brad. The Cinema of Werner Herzog Aesthetic Ecstasy and Truth (Directors' Cuts). Pg. 10. New York: Wallflower, 2007. (3) 1 Aftab, Kaleem. "Werner Herzog Q&A - News - Film - Time Out London." Time Out Worldwide - Your Guide to the Best Things to Do in the World's Greatest Cities including London and New York. (4) Prager, 129. (5) Herzog, 251. (6) Bells From the Deep. Dir. Werner Herzog. Werner Herzog Filmproduktion, 1993. Veoh. Web. 2010. (7) Herzog, 265. (8) Capturing Reality: The Art of Documentary. Dir. Pepita Ferrari. 101 Distribution, 2009. DVD. (9) Capturing Reality: The Art of Documentary. 10) Capturing Reality: The Art of Documentary. (11) Capturing Reality: The Art of Documentary. 33 CHAPTER III: KEN BURNS AND THE HISTORICAL DOCUMENTARY Historical documentaries face issues that are unique to subjects and events that have occurred in the past, which filmmakers are typically unable to physically capture on camera. When formulating a documentary on a historical topic or individual, factual correctness and an objective viewpoint become factors that are increasingly difficult to attain. Ken Burns has spent the last thirty years cultivating his own brand of documentary cinema that attempts to span monumental topics over multiple hours—such as his acclaimed 10 hour series The Civil War (1990), or the 15 hour series The War (2007) which delves into World War II, and other multi-part explorations of subjects such as baseball, jazz, or our National Parks. He has become one of the most popular American documentarians, garnering not only critical acclaim, but also audiences of up to 40 million viewers, often unheard of for the genre.(1) As historian Stephen Ambrose has said, “more Americans get their history from Ken Burns than any other source.”(2) While they are much more complex than to be categorized simply as educational television, they are also far from being overly dramatized, Hollywood-style epics. Instead, Burns works to fully flesh out his own version of the reality of past times and places, built upon the framework of strict fact checking. An emotional resonance is provided by contemporary voices and music, which contribute to the more personal, nostalgic tone that Burns is attempting to achieve. 34 Burns’ documentaries deal with the issue that all historical nonfiction films must face— how to appropriately represent realities of the past, which may or may not have photos or film footage. Since the events already occurred, these films rely on a complex combination of historical evidence and storytelling to discuss major events. Interviews with experts and historians and displays of archival materials such as photographs and written documents are combined with contemporary footage, music, sound effects, and voiceover narration in an attempt to use modern methods to accurately describe the past. As Scott Timberg stated in the Los Angeles Times in 2009, “By now, the combination of deep, authoritative male voice, pan-and-zoom camera work over sepia-toned photographs, period music, and extravagant claims about American exceptionalism have become well-know.” (3) Burns has perfected his style of the historical documentary by combining these aspects in a way that creates trust in his sources, while also managing to entertain and educate audiences. He discusses the use of archival materials and the goals of his documentaries clearly when discussing his 1990 PBS series The Civil War: These ‘verbal and visual documents’ of the past convey meaning and emotions and stories on their own, if they're allowed to speak for themselves. They can make the past, present. They can breathe life into history. They can illuminate the dramatic sweep and the minute details of important American moments – make them more memorable, more understandable than a recitation of dry facts, dates, and names. (4) The Civil War (1990) is perhaps Burns’ best-known and most successful work, premiering on PBS stations to an audience of 40 million—an unheard-of number of viewers for a historical documentary, securing its place as the highest rated series in the 35 history of PBS at the time.(5) In it, Burns attempts to convey the emotions of a precise moment in the nation’s past through a specific style, one that he says had been evolving over the course of the ten years he had already spent making similar films: …The careful use of archival photographs, live modern cinematography, music, narration, and a chorus of first-person voices that together did more than merely recount a historical story. It was something that also became a kind of ‘emotional archaeology,’ trying to unearth the very heart of the American experience; listening to the ghosts and echoes of an almost inexpressibly wise past. (6) It is no secret that Burns has created a successful personal brand and style of documentary filmmaking in his thirty years of work. Critics and audiences alike have praised him for his ability to take on themes as large as World War II, the American Civil War, jazz, and baseball. New York Times television critics and reporter Walter Goodman called Burns “the most accomplished documentary maker of his generation,”(7) and Los Angeles Times critic Howard Rosenberg described The Civil War “As scintillating and utterly seductive as television gets, a Yankee Doodle Dandy of a historical extravaganza from a man who combines a scholar's appreciation of fact with a filmmaker's eye and sensibility.” (8) Burns, while not without critics, is known for being a creator of powerful works of art that have the backing of years of research and fact-checking.(9) The effectiveness of his documentary films comes from combining archival materials, dates, statistics, and sequences of events with a rising emotional backdrop, becoming a fully developed narrative without straying into the world of fiction. Burn’s search for truthful representations of these extremely broad historical topics has led to his distinctive brand 36 of films, combining the artifacts of America’s past with today’s America—a chorus of powerful narrative voices, music, and sound effects. Distant events like the Civil War are brought to life by blending these aspects of storytelling. One of Burn’s most effective methods of invoking this sense of revitalization is the reliance upon engaging narrative voices and powerful sound effects to enliven the material. Voiceover is required to tell stories of the past, to explain what is being seen in photographs, or to read letters and documents aloud—personalities such as David McCullough, Sam Waterston, Morgan Freeman, and Garrison Keillor bring their artistry to the material in a way that encourages emotional response and audience engagement, and attempts to avoid dryness or monotony. As Burns has explained: A hallmark of my style is not just a third-person narrative, but something I pioneered, which is a chorus of voices speaking many different things from the past—first-person voices. And it’s very important to me that if I’m going to use them, they can’t call attention to themselves. They’ve got to inhabit the love letter, the newspaper dispatch, the military account, whatever it is. (10) The chorus of informative voices, like that used in Greek theater, is clearly not a new phenomenon, but is one that Burn’s documentaries utilize to a great extent, giving the centuries-old words on paper a sense of life and relevancy. Sound effects are also an effective technique used within his documentaries, lending an extra dimension to still photography. Howard Rosenberg, in a 1990 review of The Civil War, described Burn’s particular talent for creating a “living history” on the television screen through sound: …his great genius as a storyteller is his ability to draw fluidity from stillness. His camera pans charred, swollen bodies as if it were Lincoln’s own eyes wearily surveying the battlefield…all the while, bugles or drums or cannon or horse hoofs 37 or shouts or moans or readings or music come across the soundtrack…the sights and sounds are beautifully mixed. (11) The recreation of sound is a technique used by Burns, who typically does not use actual, dramatized recreations in his work. Most of the sound effects and voiceovers are layered over photographs to give the sense of reliving the events without staging and using actors—something that clearly would not fit within the tone of the film. Music works in many of the same ways as sound effects—to create the sense of presence in these times and places, using both contemporary and period music. Wartime music is particularly evocative—as Howard Rosenberg states of The Civil War, “‘Jacob’s Ladder,’ ‘The Battle Hymn of the Republic,’ and other songs, since passed down like genes from generation to generation, set moods and tones.” (12) These elements combine with the beautifully photographed letters, documents, and images to produce a sprawling, nostalgic look at America’s past. A diverse mix of perspectives is produced through the use of multiple voices, lingering sound effects, and evocative music. But these elements that make Burn’s films effective also come together to form a very specific perspective of America and a very specific type of documentary film, which has received many forms of criticism. At times, it can be as simple as the fact that his films are “too slow, too longwinded, too sentimental,” or “dull, old-fashioned, [and] predictable,”(13) while others may criticize him for leaving out aspects of the topic that they find important—Latino and Native American involvement in World War II in his documentary The War, for example.(14) Linda Brazill criticized his “boringly formulaic treatment…[and] dreamy shots of leaves drifting onto a country railroad track,” as too 38 “pretty” and simplistic to describe these historical events.(15) Yet others still have more complex arguments against the type of film that Burns is making. As critic Scott Timberg noted in the Los Angeles Times: …a backlash has been building, dismissing [Burns] as middlebrow, charging that he’s repeating himself, that’s he’s too earnest, too dark, or naively patriotic. (16) These elements that give Burn’s version of American history their emotional weight for some critics are the same elements that make his films unwatchable by others, who see their outlook as propagandistic and saccharine. Many critics have referred to his films as having “Hallmark” qualities, building a picture of the American dream, its past, and its people as something shallow and overly sentimental. In the Washington Post, critic Tim Page wrote of 2001’s Jazz that “this sort of unreflected populist Hallmark-ese seems a strange mixture of New Deal and New Age, and I don’t believe it for a moment.”(17) Television critic Robert Lloyd used the same language when referring to Burn’s documentaries in the Los Angeles Times: His work is both earnest and romantic…for all the restrained formalism of his approach, Burns can be awfully sentimental. When he gives way to his inner Norman Rockwell, his latent Steven Spielberg, as the small-town orientation of the generally hard-nosed The War often calls him to do, things can turn bad. Tom Hanks, reading the words of the Luverne, Minn., newspaper columnist Al McIntosh over images of farmland and quiet streets, is pure Hallmark. (18) For critics of Burns’ films, factual accuracy is not the issue of contention—it is instead the fact that this specific representation of an American reality is part of Burns’ personal vision, with sentimentality and nostalgia overwhelming the deeper message about what these events meant for the country as a whole. Burn’s techniques of using music to 39 “sweeten” the tone of the film, and the use of recognizable voices contribute to what critics feel is a manipulation of past events. This adds to the ongoing debate between Burns and the academic community, who have remained at odds in regards to methods of representing history. Burns has expressed his distaste for the “murder of history”(19) performed by academics, emphasizing the importance of “story” as an integral part of “history,” and stating that: Our his-story has been murdered by an academic academy dedicated to communicating only with itself and unconcerned not only with how one wrote…but also who was listening. As a result many of our important historians helped kill the general public’s appetite for history. (20) The community of academics and historians are not without their own opinions on the way that past events should be discussed and presented to the public. Historians Vivien Ellen Rose and Julie Corley have admonished Burns for his criticism of their profession, as he often uses authors and scholars as expert interview subjects in his films, using their expertise to form his own story.(21) These historians and other in their field have also argued that when presenting historical facts to the public through film and television, information should be cited and source should be explained, the same way written historical narratives are required to do.(22) A failure to do so weakens the credibility of the story that is being presented, leading to a culture of blind acceptance of what is being said and of an individual point of view. Burns argues that the narrative flow of the story and the act of making history relevant and interesting to the public are the goals of each production, and that historians “have failed and lost touch absolutely in the 40 communication of history to the public, and that it has fallen to amateur historians…to try to rescue that history.”(23) Burn’s status as a famous American documentarian, along with the encyclopedia-like nature of his films no doubt leads to a sense of singularity of opinion, of one voice speaking for the country as a whole. Rose and Corley addressed this issue in The Public Historian, describing the problem in which “the general public has only Ken Burns’ version of their lives and only his understanding of their historical importance,”(24) particularly in a nation where so many are unreceptive to the basic lessons of their own history. An inevitable range of criticisms arise from those who oppose Burn’s version of the American truth and his position as unofficial spokesperson for major events in the country’s history. Burns has confirmed that even his critical information-gathering stage is conducted with only those he works closely with: The research is done by a very small group of people, including myself and usually one or two other co-producers and the writer…I do not want someone else going into an archive of still photographs and making a preliminary decision about which photographs are good and which are not. I work with the same production people over and over again because I have to rely on their judgment to make the decisions about which first-person quotes we might consider using in our production. (25) The use of heavily researched material does not guarantee that each individual researcher’s voice will be heard. Each film becomes a singular, seamless narrative produced by the filmmaker and distributed to a mass audience as the American story when in reality, Burns relies on a small team of trusted colleagues and refrains from introducing these researching voices. With the public relying on film and television 41 media for both information and entertainment increasingly over books and newspapers, historians feel that this personal vision “limit[s] their exposure to even the most finely crafted historical narrative.”(26) The issue is not whether the films that Burns creates are “good” or “bad,” but instead that the public is watching in record numbers, and perhaps accepting his version as the only version, without consulting the texts that came before it. Entertainment is not a factor in the debate for the historian, but is a major issue for Burns, who wants to present his own American truth as something that is validated and justified by years of rigorous fact-checking—but is also a source of entertainment, far from the dry academic versions that he predicts most Americans will not seek out voluntarily. In using the documentary film as the medium for discussing history, he attempts to create something both engaging and informative. I think what the Civil War and other documentaries remind us is that there is the possibility that we have not used the full brain of the documentary. We haven’t engaged all of its parts. Embedded in it is something as entertaining, as moving, as the so-called ‘feature film,” the invented film, the fiction film. (27) Burn’s methods of representation may be a far cry from the invention and fabrication that a filmmaker like Herzog uses to create “entertaining” versions of the truth, but in many ways, his goals are the same. Both Herzog’s fictionalization and dramatization of events and Burn’s strict adherence to the facts utilize their respective techniques in the search for a personal form of truth. The use of narration, sound effects, and music give his films a very different emotional weight than that of the Maysles’ brothers as well, creating a very specific, nostalgic tone that is, in essence, a manipulation of the viewers’ reality, as the archival material is transformed by powerful voices, evocative songs, and sounds that 42 place us right in the midst of the action, whether it is on the battlefield or in a small town neighborhood, reading the last letter from a soldier. Many may take Burn’s documentaries at face value based on his insistence on depicting real people and ensuring that all of his information is verified—but even this strict adherence to facts and detailed research cannot completely rule out manipulation, whether it is intentional or not. If Burns has truly become an unofficial spokesman for the American public, then his challenge is the same as any who takes on the weight of a nation that is built upon embracing differences of opinions, beliefs, and values. The “objective truth” seems to be no easier to attain by using verified facts as it is by using fiction—Burns faces a backlash against his methods of representation just as the Maysles brothers and Herzog have, despite the fact that his films are based on research and expert testimonials. Burn’s process of attaining “truth” is a very different method than either the Maysles brothers or Herzog—yet the goal is the same. Examining these three styles shows that there are as many different definitions of “truth” as there are filmmakers. 43 CHAPTER III ENDNOTES (1) "The Civil War, The Filmmakers." PBS. (2) Cunningham, 13. (3) Timberg, Scott. "That Burns Backlash." Los Angeles Times 20 Sept. 2009, Sunday Calendar ed., Part S sec.: 10. (4) “The Civil War, The Filmmakers." PBS. (5) "The Civil War, The Filmmakers." PBS. (6) "The Civil War, The Filmmakers." PBS. (7) Goodman, Walter. "Our War the Way It Was." New York Times 1990. (8) Rosenberg, Howard. "Review: Ken Burns' The Civil War." Los Angeles Times 21 Sept. 1990, Calendar ed., Part F sec.: 1. Web. 24 Mar. 2010. (9) Edgerton, “Chalk, Talk, and Videotape: Utilizing Ken Burns’s Television Histories in the Classroom.” (10) Cunningham, 34. (11) Rosenberg, 1. (12) Rosenberg, 1. (13) Timberg, 10. (14) Timberg, 10. (15) Brazill, Linda. “Burns Misses Mark This Time.” The Capital Times, 18 November 1999. (16) Timberg, 10. (17) Page, Tim. "Filmmaker Ken Burns, Blowing Jazz's Horn." Washington Post 17 Jan. 2001. (18) Lloyd, 1. 44 (19) Thelen, David. "The Movie Maker as Historian: Conversations with Ken Burns." The Journal of American History 81.3 (1994): 1031-050. 20) Thelen, 1032. (21) Rose, Vivien E., and Julie Corley. "A Trademark Approach to the Past: Ken Burns, the Historical Profession, and Assessing Popular Presentations of the Past." The Public Historian 25.3 (2003): 49-59. (22) Rose and Corley, 50. (23) Thelen, 1050. (24) Rose and Corley, 51. (25) Thelen, 1036. (26) Rose and Corley, 50. (27) Cunningham, 34. 45 CONCLUSION Documentarians are truth-seekers. Despite the dissimilarity of definitions of “truth” and methods of searching for or attaining it, the goal of each documentary film is to present some form of truth to its audiences. The Maysles’ idea of seeing as believing, Herzog’s frank poeticism, and Burns’ meticulously-researched histories are tied together by their attempt to reach for the unattainable concept of reality—a concept that is nearly impossible to define. The documentary film as a method for searching for truthful representations of reality is something that remains subjective and personal, despite its objective nature. Throughout the decades in which film has been a popular artistic medium, it has been used to express personal vision, to tell stories, to advocate for important issues, and to educate the masses. It is a tool for entertaining, for facilitating discussion, for raising questions and for raising awareness. Its ability to intersect with multiple disciplines makes it a valuable instrument with few limitations—it can combine science with entertainment, journalism with art, and history with the present day. The films of David and Albert Maysles, Werner Herzog, and Ken Burns may seem to be disparate styles, operating within different parameters. But a closer look at these three styles in context with one another within the genre of documentary filmmaking shows that they are inherently tied together, crossing paths and combining influences. It is easy to see these three major figures as exceptions to the rule, as their fame or notoriety now lends its own distinctive preconceptions to their work before it is even 46 seen. But the same ethical issues of reality and representation that exist within a direct cinema film by the Maysles’ brothers, a fact/fiction hybridization of Herzog’s, or a historical epic made by Ken Burns have been grappled with in the documentary community for decades. It is no secret, nor is it disputed, that objectivity is an impossible goal in any film. As Robert Lloyd states: …the truth about documentary film is that any documentary tells only a partial truth. Every film is the product of a series of subjective decisions, based on the material acquired and the story it seems to want to tell. It’s only a reflection of the way we all have to focus on bits of the world to understand it—a kind of fiction. (1) Even if complete truths were somehow attainable, and filmmakers were able to put aside their own subjective viewpoints, the depth of research and fact-checking necessary to examine all aspects of a subject or views on an issue demand generous amounts of time and money—both of which are in short supply in the increasingly fast-paced film and television industries. As humans, it is an impossible task to remove our distinctive blend of backgrounds, assumptions, and freedom of choices from creating any form of art, whether it attempts to be objective or not. With this as a basic understanding, the issue then becomes a matter of seeking truth—something that has the potential to be different from one person to another. By looking at these three successful documentary filmmakers, it is clear to see this idea in action. While all are attempting to convey some form of truth, the methods of representation are completely exclusive to the filmmaker’s own idea of what it means to display the facts about a certain person or topic. 47 As noted, the documentary genre has become a buyer-beware market, in which audiences are confronted with increasingly variable forms of nonfiction filmmaking and must watch with a discerning eye. Between direct cinema and the narrative fiction film lie animated documentaries, the films of Michael Moore, reality television, citizen journalism, viral YouTube hits, video podcasts and more. The field is growing not simply in terms of the number of practitioners, but also in the increasingly wide scope of what is acceptable to call a documentary. The Center for Social Media, in their study of ethical challenges in documentary film, summed one side of the issue up succinctly in saying that: Filmmakers…find themselves without community norms or standards…their communities are far-flung, virtual, and sporadically rallied at film festivals and on listservs. Documentary filmmakers need a larger, more sustained and public discussion of ethics, and they also need safe zones to share questions and report concerns. Any documentary code of ethics that has credibility for a field with a wide range of practices must develop a shared understanding of values, standards, and practices. A more extended and vigorous conversation is needed in order to cultivate such understanding in this field of creative practice. (2) The study from the Center for Social Media concludes that there should be a clear-cut set of standards within the documentary community, which will give filmmakers a set of moral and ethical guidelines. In looking at three filmmakers as distinct as the Maysles’ brothers, Herzog, and Burns, it becomes apparent that quality documentary films have the ability to combine art and entertainment in the pursuit of truth. A set of guidelines may work to control the kind of films that are categorized as documentaries and organize a method of filmmaking that seems to be in the midst of an identity crisis. A uniform 48 moral and ethical code would certainly work to ensure that the integrity of the genre is intact, and that confusions about the legitimacy of certain films would be cleared up. The confusion the documentary genre creates is due to the fact that it is such an anomaly. It can be seen in many ways—as strictly another form of art, as another form of entertainment or education, or as something more akin to journalism, where facts are of the utmost importance, above craft or technique. While those who favor the journalistic approach may find themselves drawn to Burn’s idealistic, factually verified documentaries, others may prefer the looseness that Herzog’s artistry provides. A strict code of ethics, if applied to all documentary films, could easily become something that stifles creativity and places roadblocks in front of important, quality nonfiction films just as easily as it could help to validate the genre as a whole. A simplistic answer to the argument is to give the audience the power to choose the films that they see as representative of their own version of truth and reality. Some may find that their own ethical framework does not support films like Herzog’s, while others may find his work more entertaining or of a higher artistic value than that of the Maysles brothers or Ken Burns. Studios and television networks need to take responsibility for their role in both the production and marketing processes, where accuracy and public perception are formed. Problems of reality are inherent at all stages of film and television creation and development, and it is the collective task of the filmmaker, the studio or network, and the audience to ensure that an accurate story is told. Without the restriction of codes or 49 ethical guidelines that the field of journalism imparts upon its practitioners, film and television can declare itself anything from simple entertainment for the masses to highbrow educational content. While many viewers may see themselves as discerning, active participants in the media they consume, a much larger number of viewers are seeking entertainment, not an exercise in information gathering. While audiences may have the ability to fact-check the sources of a filmmaker, it is highly unrealistic to expect them to do so. While it is important to question voices of authority, the real accountability lies with the filmmakers who are creating nonfiction content, and the studios and networks who decide if it is seen and how it is branded. In the current cultural landscape, the idea of “reality” has become a fashionable topic of debate. Whether the idea of reality is constructed or authentic, virtual or concrete, ideological or visible, it remains an issue of debate among filmmakers, critics, scholars, and audiences—a debate that is ongoing and unlikely to be won. It is important, though perhaps unrealistic, for audiences to decide what they are seeking when turning on the television, renting a DVD, or paying for a movie theater ticket. Though is not always the case, it is possible for entertainment and trustworthy information to exist together in the nonfiction arena. Disguising artifice behind documentary techniques and selling drama as reality are the contributing factors behind the confusion that now cloaks the community of nonfiction filmmakers and audiences alike. Transparency becomes the key to ensuring that the integrity of nonfiction film and television remains intact, while also allowing the personal and artistic vision of filmmakers to thrive. While transparency on the part of the 50 filmmaker himself is integral, the way Herzog, for example, openly admits his uses of fabrication, it is transparency on the part of the networks and film studios that needs to be enforced more strictly to ensure that they are actively vetting the content they produce and broadcast. Requiring transparency and accuracy in representing realities has become a crucial factor in maintaining the authority and trustworthiness of the documentary. 51 CONCLUSION ENDNOTES (1) Lloyd, 1. (2) Aufderheide, Patricia, Peter Jaszi, and Mridu Chandra. Honest Truths: Documentary Filmmakers on Ethical Challenges in Their Work. Publication. Center for Social Media, Sept. 2009. 52 BIBLIOGRAPHY Aftab, Kaleem. "Werner Herzog Q&A - News - Film - Time Out London." Time Out Worldwide - Your Guide to the Best Things to Do in the World's Greatest Cities including London and New York. 3 Feb. 2006. Web. 25 May 2010. <http://www.timeout.com/film/news/901/>. "Albert Maysles: Altamont Revisited." Interview by Keith Phipps. The Onion A.V. Club. 18 Oct. 2000. Web. 15 Dec. 2009. <http://www.avclub.com/articles/albert- maysles,13682/>. Aufderheide, Patricia, Peter Jaszi, and Mridu Chandra. Honest Truths: Documentary Filmmakers on Ethical Challenges in Their Work. Publication. Center for Social Media, Sept. 2009. Web. Barnouw, Erik. Documentary: A History of the Non-Fiction Film. New York: Oxford UP, 1993. Print. Bells From the Deep. Dir. Werner Herzog. Werner Herzog Filmproduktion, 1993. Veoh. Web. 2010. <http://www.veoh.com/browse/videos/category/faith_and_spirituality /watch/v15085228D6H3CCEN>. Bernink, Meike. The Cinema Book. Annapolis: British Film Institute, 1999. Print. Bordwell, David, and Kristin Thompson. Film Art: An Introduction. Boston: McGraw- Hill, 2004. Print. Braudy, Leo, and Marshall Cohen, eds. Film Theory and Criticism Introductory Readings. New York: Oxford UP, USA, 2004. Print. Capturing Reality: The Art of Documentary. Dir. Pepita Ferrari. 101 Distribution, 2009. DVD. Church, David. "Werner Herzog." Senses of Cinema (2006). Senses of Cinema. June 2006. Web. Nov. 2009. <http://archive.sensesofcinema.com/contents/ directors/06/herzog.html>. "The Civil War . The Filmmakers." PBS. Web. 26 May 2010. <http://www.pbs.org/ civilwar/filmmakers/>. The Civil War. Prod. Ken Burns. PBS, 1990. DVD. Corrigan, Timothy. The Films of Werner Herzog: Between Mirage and History. New York: Routledge, 1987. Print. 53 Cunningham, Megan. The Art of the Documentary: Ten Conversations with Leading Directors, Cinematographers, Editors, and Producers. Berkeley, CA: New Riders, 2005. Print. "Documentary - Definition and More from the Free Merriam-Webster Dictionary." Dictionary and Thesaurus - Merriam-Webster Online. Web. 26 May 2010. <http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/documentary>. Geldin, Brian. "Tribeca Film Festival – A Conversation with Sheila Nevins." The Film Panel Notetaker — Miss a Panel Discussion? Don't Worry! We Took Notes for You. 25 Apr. 2010. Web. 26 May 2010. <http://thefilmpanelnotetaker.com/tribeca-film-festival-a-conversation-with- sheila-nevins-april-25-2010>. The German Cinema Book (BFI Modern Classics). Annapolis: British Film Institute, 2003. Print. Gimme Shelter. Dir. David Maysles and Albert Maysles. Perf. The Rolling Stones. Criterion, 1970. DVD. Goodman, Walter. "Our War the Way It Was." New York Times 1990. ProQuest. Web. 24 Mar. 2010. Hall, Jeanne. "Realism as a Style in Cinema Vérité: A Critical Analysis of "Primary"" Cinema Journal 30.4 (1991): 24-50. JSTOR. Web. 25 May 2010. <http://www.jstor.org/stable/1224885>. Herzog, Werner. Herzog on Herzog. Ed. Paul Cronin. London: Faber and Faber, 2002. Print. "Interview with Albert Maysles." Interview by Ben M. Perfect Sound Forever. Jan. 2004. Web. 2 Nov. 2009. <http://www.furious.com/perfect/albertmaysles.html>. Kinder, Marsha. "Revisiting Las Hurdes." (2009): 1-10. Print. Lipscomb, James C. "Cinéma-vérité." Film Quarterly 18.2 (1964): 62-63. JSTOR. Web. 3 May 2010. <http://www.jstor.org/stable/1210954>. Little Dieter Needs to Fly. Dir. Werner Herzog. Perf. Dieter Dengler. Werner Herzog Filmproduktion, 1997. DVD. Lloyd, Robert. "Truth, The Franchise." Los Angeles Times 5 Aug. 2007, Sunday Calendar ed., Part E sec.: 1. ProQuest. Web. 10 Apr. 2010. 54 Marcorelles, Louis. Living Cinema; New Directions in Contemporary Film-making. New York: Praeger, 1973. Print. Maslin, Janet. "Little Dieter Needs to Fly." Review. The New York Times 8 Apr. 1998. Web. Nov. 2009. <http://movies.nytimes.com/movie/review?res=9802E6DE1F3AF93BA35757C0 A96E958260>. McElhaney, Joe. Albert Maysles. Urbana & Chicago: University of Illinois, 2009. Print. Morris, Peter. "Rethinking Grierson: The Ideology of John Grierson." History On/In/And Film. Perth: History & Film Association of Australia, 1987. 20-30. Web. 10 Jan. 2010. <http://wwwmcc.murdoch.edu.au/ReadingRoom/hfilm/MORRIS.html>. Nichols, Bill. "Documentary Reenactment and the Fantasmatic Subject." Critical Inquiry (2008): 72-89. JSTOR. Web. 25 May 2010. Page, Tim. "Filmmaker Ken Burns, Blowing Jazz's Horn." Washington Post 17 Jan. 2001. Web. 15 Apr. 2010. Prager, Brad. The Cinema of Werner Herzog Aesthetic Ecstasy and Truth (Directors' Cuts). New York: Wallflower, 2007. Print. Renov, Michael. The Subject of Documentary. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota, 2004. Print. Rose, Vivien E., and Julie Corley. "A Trademark Approach to the Past: Ken Burns, the Historical Profession, and Assessing Popular Presentations of the Past." The Public Historian 25.3 (2003): 49-59. JSTOR. Web. 5 May 2010. <http://www.jstor.org/stable/3379183>. Rosenberg, Howard. "Review: Ken Burns' The Civil War." Los Angeles Times 21 Sept. 1990, Calendar ed., Part F sec.: 1. Web. 24 Mar. 2010. Rosenthal, Alan. New Challenges for Documentary Second Edition. New York: Manchester UP, 2005. Print. Sturken, Marita, and Lisa Cartwright. Practices of Looking: An Introduction to Visual Culture. New York: Oxford UP, USA, 2001. Print. Thelen, David. "The Movie Maker as Historian: Conversations with Ken Burns." The Journal of American History 81.3 (1994): 1031-050. JSTOR. Web. 5 May 2010. <http://www.jstor.org/stable/2081444>. 55 Thompson, Kristin, and Bordwell, David. Film History: An Introduction. New York: McGraw-Hill Humanities/Social Sciences/Languages, 2002. Print. Timberg, Scott. "That Burns Backlash." Los Angeles Times 20 Sept. 2009, Sunday Calendar ed., Part S sec.: 10. ProQuest. Web. 15 Mar. 2010. Vogels, Jonathan B. The Direct Cinema of David and Albert Maysles. Carbondale: Southern Illinois UP, 2005. Print. Winston, Brian. "The Documentary Film as Scientific Inscription." Ed. Micahel Renov. Theorizing Documentary. New York: Routledge, 1993. 37-57. Print. Zalewski, Daniel. "The Ecstatic Truth." The New Yorker. 24 Apr. 2006. Web. 14 Oct. 2009. <http://www.newyorker.com/archive/2006/04/24/060424fa_fact_zalewski? currentPage=1>.
Abstract (if available)
Abstract
This paper examines the idea of reality and truth in documentary filmmaking by looking at three diverse styles and ideologies. In discussing David and Albert Maysles’ use of cinema vérité techniques in the direct cinema movement, Werner Herzog’s search for an “ecstatic truth” through fabrication and artifice, and Ken Burn’s representations of the past through contemporary means, it becomes clear that there are multiple definitions of truth and reality within the documentary community.
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How truth and beauty moved from the classical to the modern
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Buckley, Dana Maris
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Vérité, ecstatic truth, and history: the documentary styles of David & Albert Maysles, Werner Herzog, and Ken Burns
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Annenberg School for Communication
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Master of Arts
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Specialized Journalism (The Arts)
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08/05/2010
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08/01/2010
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Burns,documentary,film,Herzog,Ken Burns,Maysles,OAI-PMH Harvest,reality,Truth,vérité
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documentary
Herzog
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