Documentary Films and Programs

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      ‘Secret Mall Apartment’ and the Case for Art in Unexpected Places

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      Jeremy Workman’s documentary looks back at a project that may sound like a joke but had serious underpinnings.What is art? Everyone has a different definition, not just at this moment in history but across eras. Art is a pretty picture. Art is what’s in a museum. Art is what makes us human. Art is something to sell, or buy, or make, or make fun of. Art is everything, or nothing at all.Defining art isn’t the stated aim of “Secret Mall Apartment” (in theaters), Jeremy Workman’s new documentary about artists who in 2003 managed to create and live undetected for four years in an apartment nestled in a shopping mall in Providence, R.I. That sounds bizarre because it is.Inspired by a commercial for the mall, Providence Place, in which a mother claims she wishes she could live there because it would make shopping so convenient, the artists found an empty, secluded space away from the retail corridors and planned a kind of performance art happening: They’d live there for a week, documenting it, subtly poking fun at developers’ obsessions with so-called underutilized spaces.It seems like a practical joke, but the context was deadly serious, as Workman shows by structuring the film akin to a spiderweb. At the center is the mall apartment itself and the reasons the artists ended up staying several years. This story is built out with interviews with the participants — many of whom had never revealed their involvement — and with footage they shot on the tiny digital cameras we used to tote around back in the mid-aughts, small enough to fit in an Altoids tin.Sprawling from this central story — full of funny anecdotes about almost getting caught and their solutions to problems like an undetectable wall — is a sober set of concerns. Chief among them is the way that city officials and developers were addressing urban decay in Providence, and how the centerpiece of their solution was meant to be the mall. Workman makes ample use of news video to demonstrate how locals talked about the project at the time, including working-class residents who noted that the planned shops and the positioning of the mall entrance away from the less affluent part of the city signaled that it wasn’t meant for them at all. He also enlists a crew to construct a full-scale model of the apartment so that the original dwellers can experience it again.We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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      The Best True Crime to Stream: 1970s and ’80s Kidnappings

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      Across television, film and podcasting, here are five stories of child abductions that shook parents across the United States.Documentary Film“Chowchilla”It took just a few minutes into this 2023 documentary for me to be dumbfounded that I had never heard about this chapter in American history, when an entire school bus of children and their driver, 27 people in total, disappeared mid-route on a hot summer day in 1976 in the small California town of Chowchilla.What unfolded from there and the motivation behind the kidnapping are beyond imagination. In fact, those responsible for the crime were inspired in part by the Clint Eastwood movie “Dirty Harry.”In this documentary, from CNN Films and streaming on Max, we hear from some of the abductees, who recall the experience in great detail. Unlike many other such stories, we learn quickly that no one died in the ordeal, but that doesn’t make the decades-long fallout less tragic.The trauma was so acute that the survivors were able to help catapult the field of child psychology forward. “Chowchilla children are heroes,” Lenore C. Terr, a child psychiatrist who has studied the victims in depth, said in the film. “And they continue to teach us what childhood trauma is.”Documentary Series“The Beauty Queen Killer: 9 Days of Terror”For this three-part 2024 docuseries from ABC News, Tina Marie Risico — who survived a nightmarish nine days with the serial killer Christopher Wilder in 1984 before he made the astonishing decision to release her — sits down to tell her story for the first time.We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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      in Television

      ‘Fight for Glory’ Is an Ecstatic Treat

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      This three-part documentary about the 2024 World Series has an interesting task: Retell a story that is already pretty good and pretty legible.A lot of TV sports documentaries in the post-“Drive to Survive” world take a broad, rudimentary and personality-driven approach: Make the sport welcoming to new viewers, and give extant fans new access to their faves. After “The Last Dance,” we also got a wave of sit-down interviews and ostensible introspection — the stories behind the story.“Fight for Glory: 2024 World Series,” a three-part documentary that arrives Friday, on Apple TV+, is playing a different game.This mini-series, directed by R.J. Cutler (“The September Issue,” “Martha”), is almost all on the field. Rather than cutting away to seated talking-head interviews, the additional intel and commentary is delivered in voice-over, while the camera stays on the game. Only a few players get any back story, and only one, the Dodgers’ Freddie Freeman, drives the emotional arc of the show.“Glory” has an interesting task, which is to retell a story that is already a pretty good, pretty legible story without the documentary. Championships have built-in stakes; the Yankees and the Dodgers are internationally known legacy franchises; many of the players here are already huge, huge stars; and some of the contextualizing footage is from news conferences. There is no excavation of the unknown. The games have been played.Instead, “Glory” is a distillation, an ecstatic highlighting of highlights in their most alluring form. Sure, there’s a brief interlude about the battle between a batter and a pitcher, but that takes all of one at-bat. The hero here is home runs, and not just any home runs but grand slams — and not just any grand slams but a walk-off grand slam from Freeman, the World Series M.V.P.The Yankees fan in me was of course writhing in agony while I watched this. But the sports hedonist in me was dancing a jig. Just the good parts, please, and make them extra good. Never let me go more than a few minutes without hearing the crack of a bat and the roar of a crowd — a Yankee Stadium crowd, when possible. Feature only super-duper fans, and show them only losing their minds. Replay the injuries in slow motion. Frame the errors as egregious and the homers as a symbol of processing personal tragedy. Show us some loving families so that we may experience their joy as well. Take us all out to the ballgame, why don’t you. More

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      ‘Art for Everybody’ Review: The Hidden Life of the ‘Painter of Light’

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      Thomas Kinkade turned himself into a ubiquitous brand — but there was more to him than that, a new documentary shows.One of my high school jobs was stocking shelves and tending the register in a Christian bookstore in upstate New York. “Bookstore” is a bit of a misnomer: while we did sell books — Bibles, relationship manuals about love languages, “Left Behind” novels — most of the store’s floor space was devoted to things that were not books at all: Christian music CDs and cassette tapes, plus “gift” items, usually displayed in themed zones: baptisms, amusements and brands like Willow Tree, Precious Moments and Veggie Tales.When I was there in 2001, our biggest sellers came from one section in the store that was set up to resemble a small living room, with a couch and a rug and a wall hanging. This was the Thomas Kinkade section, named for the artist who created the images of colorful homes nestled into sweet landscapes that were then painted and embroidered and printed onto anything a typical Christian bookstore patron might desire. You could buy Thomas Kinkade collectible plates, Thomas Kinkade throw blankets, Thomas Kinkade lamps, Thomas Kinkade crosses, Thomas Kinkade mass-produced cross-stitched Bible covers. With the flick of a button, Thomas Kinkade framed prints would convert images of glowing windows to actual glowing windows via little embedded lights. You could deck your whole life out in Thomas Kinkade.Kinkade, who turned out these original images and called himself the “Painter of Light,” is the subject of the new documentary “Art for Everybody,” directed by Miranda Yousef. Kinkade is sort of the Kenny G of American art, ubiquitous and beloved and very easy to deride. The documentary brings in a variety of art critics, journalists and historians to do just that, with reactions ranging from sniffs to an earnest consternation over what Kinkade’s anodyne, even retrograde images signify about their buyers. The New Yorker writer Susan Orlean, who profiled Kinkade in 2001, provides some background from a decidedly outsider perspective: she hadn’t heard of Kinkade in his ’80s and ’90s heyday, and found him to be as much of an oddity as a cultural phenomenon.But I suspect Orlean is an outlier, and not just because according to the documentary, at one point one in every 20 American households purportedly purchased “a Kinkade” — meaning a licensed print — to put on the wall, and possibly many more. For those who grew up in and around Christian culture in the United States, especially the evangelical flavor, he was ubiquitous from the 1980s onward, present in church lobbies and grandma’s living room. As the art critic Blake Gopnik notes in the film, Kinkade “fed on the disdain” of critics and the establishment, positioning himself as diametrically opposed to an art world seen as degenerate and anti-family during the 1980s and ’90s culture wars. Kinkade served up a vision of a perfect, beautiful world, with himself as a defender (as he says in archival video) of “family and God and country and beauty.”All of this was very lucrative for Kinkade, who was a marketing genius — one interviewee suggests Warhol might have been jealous — and an outspokenly religious family man. But that makes his death in 2012, at the age of 54, even more startling. After a precipitous decline owing to mounting alcoholism and including public urination, heckling and erratic behavior (plus a failed stint in rehab), Kinkade died of an alcohol and Valium overdose.We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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      How ‘No Other Land’ Became an Unlikely Box Office Success

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      The Oscar-winning documentary has surpassed $2 million at the box office despite the lack of a traditional distribution deal.“No Other Land” has racked up festival awards, critical acclaim and the Oscar for best documentary feature. Yet the film, a narrative exposé about Israeli demolitions of Palestinian homes directed by two Palestinians and two Israelis, has not been acquired by a traditional North American distributor. This is partly a reflection of the collapse of studio interest in newsy documentaries as well as hesitance around a movie that condemns Israeli policies.But as the filmmakers rolled out the movie without the marketing muscle and prestige of a typical release, it has flourished. By the admittedly parched standards of post-pandemic theatrical releases of topical documentaries, it is a hit.“No Other Land” has been a top 25 film each of the past three weeks since its Oscar win, according to the film database Box Office Mojo, with ticket sales set to eclipse $2 million domestically by the end of next weekend. It was playing on 130 screens across the country last weekend, a small number when compared to the thousands of a studio blockbuster, but robust given its circumstances. (The film’s theatrical rights have been acquired in more than 20 other countries.)“Documentaries are having a harder time theatrically these days,” said Connie White, who has programmed “No Other Land” at a dozen theaters from Brookline, Mass., and Pleasantville, N.Y., to Tucson, Ariz., and Omaha. “This is remarkable.”At Film Forum in Manhattan, “No Other Land” sold out seven shows its opening weekend in February and a week’s worth of evening screenings after its Oscar win. It “is shaping up to be among the highest-attended films in our 55-year history,” said Sonya Chung, the cinema’s president and director.At the national Alamo Drafthouse chain, which screens studio tentpoles like “Captain America: Brave New World” and “Snow White,” “No Other Land” has been the 14th-biggest film since its Jan. 31 release, a spokesman said.We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

    • 138 Shares178 Views

      in Music

      Girls to the Front: Punk Pioneers Are Coming to Lincoln Center

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      The institution’s annual American Songbook series honors “singer outsiders” including Fanny and Poly Styrene in events curated by Kathleen Hanna and Tamar-kali.For more than 65 years, Lincoln Center has hosted virtuoso concert musicians, opera singers and ballet stars.But a noise queen with ripped tights and a screeching guitar?Enter Kathleen Hanna and Tamar-kali, musicians with big bootprints in the punk scene, and curators of the latest iteration of Lincoln Center’s venerable American Songbook series. Their version honors “singer outsiders,” which includes a series of concerts and tributes to acts like the Slits, Poly Styrene of X-Ray Spex and more, this month and next. It’s the first time Lincoln Center has celebrated the raw, propulsive D.I.Y. genre of punk, let alone the women who kicked their way through.The idea was to introduce an uptown audience to “our canon,” as Hanna, the Bikini Kill and Le Tigre frontwoman, and riot grrrl originator, put it. They booked contemporary artists to showcase punk’s elasticity, and to highlight styles that have historically been overlooked.“As a songwriter, there’s a lot of delegitimizing of aggressive music,” Tamar-kali said. But curating for Lincoln Center offered validation: “It just feels like I’m real musician now,” Hanna said, and they both laughed.Tamar-kali, a Brooklyn singer and composer (born Tamar-kali Brown), helped found the New York collective Sista Grrrl Riot, an outlet for feminist Afropunk, in the late ’90s; she and Hanna met in the early aughts and have been seeking ways to work together since.“As a songwriter, there’s a lot of delegitimizing of aggressive music,” said Tamar-kali, one of the series’ curators.Jack Vartoogian/Getty ImagesWe are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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      The Comedian Who Anticipated Our Reality-Bent World

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      You’re in a comedy club, and the guy onstage has gone quiet. He looks down at his feet, fidgets with the microphone, smiles a queasy, tight-lipped smile and, after nearly a minute of this, looks as if he might be about to cry.Listen to this article, read by Eric Jason MartinHis name is Andy Kaufman, and it’s 1977. Maybe you’re unfamiliar with him, or maybe you’ve heard he’s an up-and-coming comedian with a gift for prankish anti-bits. He has performed on “The Tonight Show Starring Johnny Carson” and “Saturday Night Live,” and he killed on those shows. But tonight, taping his part in an HBO “Young Comedians Special,” he has told one stinker after another, and the people who have laughed have laughed in the wrong places: at him, not with him. Other people have started to groan and boo, and Kaufman seems to be breaking down. “I don’t understand one thing,” he finally says. People laugh again, sure it’s a put-on, or hoping it is, because the alternative would be too embarrassing. He goes on: “No, seriously, why everyone is going booo, on, like, when I told some of the jokes, and then when I don’t want you to laugh, you’re laughing? Like right now.”He continues to stammer, and then he’s sobbing outright, scolding the crowd through tears. “You really showed me where I’m at tonight,” he says, emitting a raw, ugly sound, like the honk of a sick goose: Heegh-heegh. “I was just trying to do my best heegh-heegh.” He keeps scolding and honking, but as he does, the honks form a rhythm. With one hand, then both hands, he begins to play bongos in time with the honks, shaping it all into a ridiculous song. The crowd laughs harder at this twist than they’ve laughed all night, and their delight seems mixed with gratitude — for this reassurance that Kaufman wasn’t really upset, for this slippery return to terra firma.In the history of comedy, no one has shown a fuller commitment to cultivating silence, awkwardness, concern, bewilderment and vitriol than Andy Kaufman. Any comedian trades in misdirection on the way to the surprise of a punchline. But Kaufman, as much of a performance artist as he was a stand-up, saw misdirection as the main event. “I’ve never told a joke in my life,” he once said. Laughter was one among many responses he sought to engineer. “He just behaved strangely, in order to get a reaction of any kind,” Jay Leno, who worked the same clubs as Kaufman in the ’70s, has recalled. “Even hostile.”Trading against his air of childlike sweetness, Kaufman scrambled the line between entertainment, tedium, self-indulgence and combativeness. For years, he assumed the persona of a snarling misogynist and wrestled women in clubs and on TV. Some of the women were plants, some were volunteers. Kaufman beat them all. This routine, along with his belligerent lounge-act alter ego, Tony Clifton, proved so unpopular that Kaufman’s manager feared it was ruining his career. But Kaufman, more interested in provocation than adulation, only dug in more.We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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      In ‘Meanwhile,’ a Nation Remembers to Breathe

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      The director Catherine Gund fuses work from multiple artists with archival footage and interviews to craft an exploration of Black resilience.The makers of “Meanwhile” (in theaters) describe it as a “docu-poem,” which is a bold choice: Not many people encounter feature-length nonfiction poetry onscreen. But in about 90 minutes, the director Catherine Gund fuses work from multidisciplinary artists, words from the author Jacqueline Woodson, soundscapes by the musician Meshell Ndegeocello, archival footage and interviews in a way that elevates each of those elements, crafting an exploration of Black resilience. If in verbal poetry the meaning often resides in surprising juxtapositions, words used in ways that surprise and unsettle us, then this is, indeed, poetry.The spine of the film is breath: the act of breathing, the suppression of breathing, the absolute necessity of sharing breath, and space, with one another. Throughout the film, the sound of someone breathing is layered into images of artworks, threaded through conversations, quietly present beneath spoken lines. It’s intimate, an invitation to consider the theme.And to expand it, too: Artists and activists, the film suggests, generate breath for a community to take in — and breath is what makes survival possible. In this case, the focus is on Black Americans, as illustrated by clips of grief and police violence toward civilians in the wake of George Floyd’s death. But more than simply meditating on a community’s turmoil and pain in a single historical moment, “Meanwhile” extends its gaze forward and backward, asking what joy looks like, and what it takes to keep on breathing when the world wants you to stop.Near the start, onscreen text provides a twofold definition of the word “meanwhile.” The first is sequential: “in the intervening period of time.” The second is simultaneous: “at the same time.” The two seem a bit contradictory, but as “Meanwhile” builds to a crescendo, it becomes clear how in harmony they are. In an archival interview, the musician Nina Simone says that “freedom is a feeling,” and that it means “no fear.” Thus, the movie suggests, freedom is something you can experience while also working toward freedom’s creation. Artists know that for sure — “Meanwhile” aims to make it clear to everyone.Poetry by nature is allusive rather than literal. It gestures at meaning while trusting readers to lean in and discover significance for themselves. “Meanwhile” works the same way, and thus feels like both a provocation and a request to consider what flourishing looks like in this chaotic moment — for Black Americans, and for anyone who finds themselves drowning, struggling to breathe. More