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      ‘Twice Colonized’ Review: Untangling the Personal and Political

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      This documentary follows a renowned Inuit activist over seven years, making sense of the ways in which racism and impoverishment can abrade one’s sense of self.The charismatic Inuit lawyer Aaju Peter is no stranger to cinema. Some viewers will know her from films like “Arctic Defenders” (2013), about Inuit activists’ struggle for self-government, and “Angry Inuk” (2016), which follows an Inuit campaign to allow seal hunting. Peter returns to the screen in “Twice Colonized,” but this time, the focus is not on her fight against colonialist policies. It’s on Peter’s fight with herself — with all the wounds that colonization has inflicted on her life and her soul.Peter grew up in Greenland, a Danish territory, in the 1960s and, as was common with high-performing young students, was shipped off to high school in Denmark. Later in life, she moved to the Canadian Arctic. In “Twice Colonized,” which follows Peter closely across seven years, she contends with her life under Danish and then Canadian colonialism, and the corrosive separations from her language, culture and family that assimilation required. Both she and the director, Lin Alluna, take on a difficult task: untangling the personal and the political, making sense of the ways in which racism and impoverishment can abrade one’s sense of self.Much like its heroine, “Twice Colonized” is a storm of emotion and conviction. Peter is tortured and vulnerable as she mourns her son’s death by suicide and struggles to break up with her abusive partner; she is also joyful and strong as she communes with other Indigenous people on her travels and speaks forcefully about Inuit rights on global platforms.The film seems to writhe alongside her, with shaky camerawork, jagged cuts and a haunting soundtrack full of breathy chants. If it can feel haphazard and narratively unsatisfying at times, it’s also thrilling in the way it matches Peter’s rhythms, refusing to sand down her defiant complexity.Twice ColonizedNot rated. In Danish, English, Greenlandic and Inuktitut, with subtitles. Running time: 1 hour 31 minutes. Available to rent or buy on most major platforms. More

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      ‘Sorry/Not Sorry’ Review: Does Louis C.K. Get the Last Laugh?

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      Cara Mones and Caroline Suh’s earnest and frustrating documentary, produced by The New York Times, has a bitter punchline.In the fall of 2017, The New York Times published sexual misconduct allegations against Harvey Weinstein and Louis C.K., one month apart. Both men were powerhouse producers whose misdeeds were an open secret within the entertainment world, and both articles have been given their own film: Maria Schrader’s “She Said,” a chronicle of shoe-leather journalism, and now Cara Mones and Caroline Suh’s “Sorry/Not Sorry” (produced by The New York Times), an earnest and frustrating documentary whose murky irreconcilabilities are tethered to the fact that Louis C.K. was convicted only in the court of public opinion.While the interview subjects agree on Louis C.K.’s guilt (he released a statement in 2017 admitting to sexual misconduct), the dramatic conflict arises in his penalty. After his status as a revered truth teller was revoked and his show “Louie” was pulled from streaming, Louis C.K has since rebranded as a renegade (and won a Grammy). Depending on the talking head, his moderate marginalization is either excessive punishment or an unearned pardon.The film pokes at this ethical morass from a few angles, most confidently when speaking with the comedians who risked their own careers breaking the industry’s silence (or obliviousness, as some performers here claim).These talented women — Jen Kirkman, Abby Schachner and Megan Koester — tell their stories with charm and humor over a mischievous, overkill score that would be better suited to an outright comedy about a dowager poisoning her rival’s plum tart. The three are far more insightful, hilarious and honest about sexual politics than the Louis C.K. of today, who continues to dole out defensive shtick to his die-hards. But the film’s bitter punchline is that he’s the one still selling out Madison Square Garden.Sorry/Not SorryNot rated. Running time: 1 hour 30 minutes. In theaters. More

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      ‘Eno’ Review: Creativity, 52 Billion Billion Ways

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      A new documentary about the groundbreaking artist Brian Eno breaks its own ground, too.The key to “Eno” comes near the beginning of the film — at least, the beginning of the first version I saw. The musician Brian Eno, the documentary’s subject, notes that the fun of the kind of art he makes is that it’s a two-way street. “The audience’s brain does the cooking and keeps seeing relationships,” he says.Most movies are made up of juxtapositions of scenes, carefully selected and designed by the editor. But “Eno,” directed by Gary Hustwit, turns that convention on its head. Writ large, it’s a meditation on creativity. But every version of the movie you see is different, generated by a set of rules that dictate some things about the film, while leaving others to chance. (I’ve seen it twice, and maybe half the same material appeared across both films.)Eno, one of the most innovative and celebrated musicians and producers of his generation, has fiddled with randomness in his musical practice for decades, often propelled along by new technologies. He agreed to participate in “Eno” only if it, too, could be an example of what he and others have long called generative art.The word “generative” has become associated with artificial intelligence, but that’s not what’s going on with “Eno.” Instead, the film runs on a code-based decision tree that forks every so often in a new path, created for software named Brain One (an anagram for Brian Eno). Brain One, programmed by the artist Brendan Dawes, generates a new version of the film on the fly every time the algorithm is run. Dawes’s system selects from a database of 30 hours of new interviews with Eno and 500 hours of film from his personal archive and, following a system of rules set down by the filmmakers with code, creating a new film. According to the filmmakers, there are 52 quintillion (that is, 52 billion billion) possible combinations, which means the chances of Brain One generating two exact copies of “Eno” are so small as to be functionally zero.This method is unusual, even unique, among feature-length films. Movies are linear media, designed to begin at the beginning and proceed in an orderly, predictable fashion until the end. The same footage appears in the same order every time you watch.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 Documentaries of 2024, So Far

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      “Spermworld,” “Onlookers” and “32 Sounds” are worth watching for the different ways they allow us to see the world.Now that 2024 is half over, I’ve started collecting candidates for my list of the year’s best films — and that, of course, includes documentaries. I’ve written about many great nonfiction films already this year (including some favorites like “Songs of Earth,” “Ryuichi Sakamoto: Opus” and “Art Talent Show”). Yet plenty fly under the radar, so I wanted to highlight three documentaries I haven’t written about that are worth your time.The first is “Spermworld” (Hulu), directed by Lance Oppenheim (who also made the recent, amazing HBO documentary series “Ren Faire”). Oppenheim’s singular style is dreamlike, heightening reality so it becomes poetic and unworldly. In this movie, he follows several “sperm kings,” men who connect with would-be parents looking for sperm donors via the internet, rather than at a sperm bank. The movie illuminates the reasons they choose to donate as well as the reasons people seek donors in this unconventional way. That premise could be cheesy, exploitative or salacious. Instead, it’s gripping and empathetic and unlike anything you’d expect. (The documentary is based on a 2021 New York Times article, and is a New York Times co-production.)I also loved “Onlookers,” Kimi Takesue’s unusual film about tourism in Laos. You can imagine a journalistic approach to this topic, which might involve interviews and investigative work, or perhaps a first-person travelogue approach. But Takesue eschews all those tools for something entirely different: a series of long takes, set up as locked, wide camera shots. Tourists and locals amble through the frame, taking pictures, talking to one another, buying items and going about the activities typical of tourism in the region. What you slowly realize you’re watching is the way that constant observation creates a certain sort of performance as well as disruption. Tourists are there to look at locals, and locals look right back at them, watching their behavior as well. But there’s an extra layer, because here we are as viewers, watching people be watched. So who is the real onlooker?A final film worth seeking out is Sam Green’s “32 Sounds” (Criterion Channel), an immersive sound documentary that Green has toured as a live performance throughout the world over the past few years. Now it’s available for home viewing, and the good news is that the experience is just as excellent through your headphones as it might be in a theater. That’s because “32 Sounds” aims to make you aware of the world of sound literally vibrating around you, and it’s designed to make you feel as if you’re inside the documentary rather than just watching it. Green narrates the film, which is both funny and full of ruminations on how sound creates meaning in our lives. Sometimes onscreen text instructs you to close your eyes so you can pay fuller attention to what you’re hearing. It’s the sort of movie that can change the way you live, and that’s what the best films do, isn’t it? More

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      in Theater

      Jeremy O. Harris’s ‘Slave Play’ Documentary Is Fueled by Experimental Films

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      The playwright Jeremy O. Harris’s “Slave Play. Not a Movie. A Play.” wears its intellectual references on its sleeve.Jeremy O. Harris’s new documentary — titled “Slave Play. Not A Movie. A Play.” — is ostensibly focused on acting students rehearsing scenes from his provocative “Slave Play,” which was nominated in 2020 for 12 Tony Awards.That’s only the beginning.The documentary, which is streaming on Max, becomes an examination of Harris’s artistic influences and why he wants his play to be seen solely as a work of theater. Part of the strategy is calling back to hallmark experimental documentaries.The playwright Jeremy O. Harris, left, providing feedback to acting students who are rehearsing “Slave Play.”HBO“It’s really important to pay homage to these figures who are just now starting to really get the celebration they deserve, but also opened the door for me to do what I’m doing,” Harris said in an interview.Here are some of the references that informed “Slave Play. Not A Movie. A Play.”:‘Symbiopsychotaxiplasm: Take One’“Symbiopsychotaxiplasm: Take One” is a movie about making a movie about directing a screen test.Janus FilmsUnderstanding the premise of this making-of-the-making-of documentary requires some investment.On its first layer, “Symbiopsychotaxiplasm: Take One” (1968) is a screen test filmed in Central Park. On the next, it’s a movie about William Greaves directing the screen test. And then it’s a movie about making a movie about directing a screen test.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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      A New Norman Mailer Documentary Explores His Thorny Legacy

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      “How to Come Alive With Norman Mailer” hits on an ingenious structure that avoids hagiography even as it includes friends and family.Given the hagiographic bias of most celebrity documentaries, “How to Come Alive With Norman Mailer” (in theaters) sails into choppy waters. The director Jeff Zimbalist had to figure out a way to sum up one of the 20th century’s most admired, and most notorious, cultural figures. Mailer’s legacy as a novelist, speaker, filmmaker and pop culture icon — the movie reminded me how often he’s mentioned in “Gilmore Girls” — is full of bad behavior and also brilliant work, and making a film about such a person seems nearly impossible in our nuance-averse climate.The key is to play with the documentary’s structure, eschewing the usual soup-to-nuts setup. “How to Come Alive With Norman Mailer” is admittedly designed as a roughly chronological recounting of the writer’s life, covering all the highlights: six wives (one of whom he famously, horribly stabbed with a penknife), nine children, a stint in the military, best-selling novels, a fascination with brawling, combative TV appearances, opinions about God and machines and Americans’ midcentury impulse toward conformity.But Zimbalist hits on a great idea: arrange the film in terms of what Mailer’s friends, enemies and acquaintances believe his “rules for coming alive” might be. The author’s life and legacy can thus be traced through those rules, and his evolution as a person — and he did evolve, constantly, insatiably — starts to make more sense. What emerges is a portrait of a man as often at war with himself as with his family, friends and countrymen, driven relentlessly toward machismo and always spoiling for a fight. This is not a person you can present neutrally to an audience.There are seven rules, announced in intertitles, including, “Don’t Be a Nice Jewish Boy,” “Be Wrong More Than You’re Right” and “Be Willing to Die for an Idea.” It’s an appealing structure, and the many interviewees discuss the ways Mailer embodied them, supported by archival film and interviews with the man himself. There’s a lot of footage to work with. By midcareer, Mailer was ubiquitous on camera; as one person notes, he seemed to never turn down an opportunity to be interviewed or share his views publicly.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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      ‘Confessions of a Good Samaritan’ Review: An Altruistic Story

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      In Penny Lane’s newest film, she turns the camera on herself to document her experience donating a kidney to a stranger.Would you donate a kidney to a stranger? Early in “Confessions of a Good Samaritan,” the filmmaker Penny Lane (“Hail Satan?”) flips the question around. With so many people in need of transplants, why wouldn’t you give one of yours?In the film, Lane puts this conviction to the test. Seated before a backdrop, she mulls over her drive to donate — she cringes at the idea that people will think she’s only doing it for a film — and explores the practice more broadly by interviewing doctors and other non-directed donors (a.k.a. altruistic donors). She pairs these testimonies with the history and ethics of organ transplants, including an impressive selection of archival clips. (I’d watch an entire documentary about the Dutch “Donor Show” that featured patients supposedly competing for a transplant.)But what begins as an optimistic piece of advocacy eventually veers into something more complex, ambivalent and even frantic. As Lane prepares for surgery, undergoing health screenings and drawing up a will, she grows increasingly aware of her solitude. A single woman without children, she struggles to name a health care proxy, cries while appointing a cat guardian and worries about being alone during recovery.Lane’s grappling with these feelings lends depth to what could have been a pat participatory exercise. The film never draws a line between its subject’s isolation and despair and that of the tens of thousands of Americans awaiting kidney transplants, but it doesn’t have to. Like the deed of a good Samaritan, the work speaks for itself.Confessions of a Good SamaritanNot rated. Running time: 1 hour 45 minutes. In theaters. More

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      ‘Fahrenheit 9/11’ at 20: Revisiting the Fear and Anger

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      Michael Moore’s hit documentary isn’t a prosecutor’s brief but a political and emotional appeal, rooted in the ways in which the country’s burdens are unequally borne.Michael Moore’s 2004 documentary “Fahrenheit 9/11” opens with a dazed look at the 2000 presidential election, when it seemed that Vice President Al Gore might defeat George W. Bush, then the governor of Texas. “Was it all just a dream?” Moore’s voice-over intones, before going on to chronicle Bush’s first year in office, the Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist attacks, and wars in Afghanistan and Iraq.The opening might remind some viewers of witnessing election night 2016 and Donald Trump’s surprise victory, but that’s only one echo of several in Moore’s blockbuster documentary. Twenty years ago, “Fahrenheit 9/11” landed in an era facing similar challenges to today: wars abroad that divide people at home, worries that the country was losing sight of long-cherished principles, fears about presidential abuses of power. It felt like a do-or-die moment, much as 2024 does, and Moore embraced the roles of truth-teller, fire-starter, satirist, confidant, and man-of-the-people bullhorn.The movie was a popular phenomenon: It became the top-grossing documentary domestically, according to Box Office Mojo, making $119 million. This was years before streamers pumped out hours and hours of nonfiction features and series. Controversy erupted even before it was released, when Disney tried to block its distribution out of political concerns. After a Palme d’Or win in Cannes, a June release followed.The groundswell showed that Moore was tuning into a national mood. As Bush sought re-election in the thick of the Iraq occupation and terrorism alerts, Moore’s film vented about the toll of the Iraq War and the administration’s overall response to the 9/11 attacks. (Cue the infamous Aug. 6, 2001, C.I.A. warning to Bush: “Bin Laden Determined to Strike in U.S.”) Whipping up sympathy and outrage over the deaths of young U.S. soldiers and Iraqis, and the perceptions of Bush as out of touch, Moore stirs up a potent cocktail of damning news clips, filmed confrontations and tag-alongs, and plain old ridicule (for instance, Attorney General John Ashcroft bellowing a patriotic song of his own composition).It’s all less preachy than polemical, with doses of Mark Twain showmanship and heartstring-pulling. Moore’s feature managed to capture a popular political narrative about recent U.S. history without feeling out of date as soon as it was released. It’s a feat that today’s constant EKG of social media response has made more difficult (along with evolving trends in how movies are made and released). In a time before YouTube, Moore’s documentary performed a service in surfacing footage of casualties or abuses in Iraq, or insensitive presidential gaffes, that was not always available to see.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