Documentary Films and Programs

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      ‘The Beach Boys’ Review: How to Make Good Vibrations

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      This Disney documentary looks at the family ties and sweet harmonies that turned a California band into a popular treasure.The wholesome ocean-breeze look of the Beach Boys could make the group a punchline if it weren’t for their sweet sunshine sound. The origins of their intricate harmonies undergird “The Beach Boys,” a Disney documentary directed by Frank Marshall and Thom Zimny that notes obstacles in the band’s career but mostly tries to keep the good vibrations going.Brian, Dennis and Carl Wilson grew up in a musical household in Hawthorne, Calif., and eventually pooled their ample talents with a cousin, Mike Love, and a friend, Al Jardine. As told through a patchwork of polite interviews and mostly mundane clips from performances, the rise of their music was fueled by four-part harmonies, surf culture and entrancing orchestration not unlike Phil Spector’s Wall of Sound.Brian, who hated touring, was the band’s homebody musical mastermind, and he could imbue their pop with an outsider’s moods, while the Wilsons’ father, Murry, put on the pressure as their manager. Snippets from “Pet Sounds,” their landmark 1966 album, never fail to rejuvenate the movie. But after a while, you get the sense of a band that stopped growing, though the movie traces a fruitful competitive streak with the Beatles.Any deviations from the film’s obligatory timeline tour are very welcome, like a mortifying studio recording of Murry holding forth, and it’s a treat to hear the esteem for Brian among the Wrecking Crew, the storied group of session musicians. And for the pop romantics among us, the Beach Boys can still cast a spell with those four little words: Wouldn’t it be nice?The Beach BoysRated PG-13 for drug material and brief lapses into unsunny language. Running time: 1 hour 53 minutes. Watch on Disney+. More

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      ‘Queen of the Deuce’ Review: A Mother of Invention

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      This warm remembrance of a Times Square legend is too careful with its iconoclastic heroine.“Queen of the Deuce,” a curiously flat recounting of the life and titillating times of the adult-theater entrepreneur Chelly Wilson, offers a sadly conventional profile of one of the most vividly eccentric characters in the history of New York City.A Greek Jew who snagged one of the last boats to New York in 1939, a whisker ahead of the Nazi occupation, Wilson wasted no time transforming her hot-dog stand into a thriving pornography empire. From the late 1960s to the ‘80s, she played a pivotal role as the owner of multiple theaters, an importer of pornographic films and, eventually, a founder of her own production company.Ensconced in her apartment above the all-male Adonis Theater, Wilson, who died in 1994, held court among entertainers, Mafia dons, a roster of possible female lovers and shopping bags stuffed with cash. (Her Mob connections are as politely glossed over as her intriguing private life.) Cozy interviews with her children and grandchildren reveal a woman who rarely spoke of her past, including an arranged marriage to a man who repulsed her. Home movies, photographs and a smattering of surviving friends project a severe yet gregarious woman who rarely smiled and who loved to gamble. Her Friday poker nights were the hottest ticket in town.Tastefully directed by Valerie Kontakos, “Queen of the Deuce” is the story of a shape-shifter: a twice-married gay woman, a Sephardic Jew who celebrated Christmas (albeit with surveillance monitors parked behind the tree). The style is stilted, the look rudimentary, with Abhilasha Dewan’s cheeky animation supplying an occasional visual lift. Yet as Wilson’s former errand boy guides us around her onetime fiefdom — conjuring an area fizzing with smut until doused by Giuliani — we may sense the milieu, but its matriarch remains stubbornly indistinct.Queen of the DeuceNot rated. Running time: 1 hour 18 minutes. In theaters and available to rent or buy on most major platforms. More

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      ‘Taking Venice’ Offers a Glimpse at Conspiracy Theories Around the 1964 Biennale

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      The documentary offers a glimpse of how the arts were treated very differently in midcentury America.Something about “Taking Venice,” Amei Wallach’s new documentary about the 1964 Venice Biennale (in theaters), feels almost like science fiction, or maybe fantasy. Imagine the U.S. government taking such a keen interest in the fine arts that there may or may not have been an attempt to rig a major international prize for an American artist. A painter, no less!History buffs already know that during the Cold War, American intelligence agencies were heavily involved in literature, music and the fine arts, seeing them as a way to export soft power around the world and prove U.S. dominance over the Soviet Union. “Taking Venice” tells one slice of that story: a long-rumored conspiracy between the State Department and art dealers to ensure that the young painter Robert Rauschenberg would win the grand prize at the event sometimes called the “Olympics of art” — and a “fiesta of nationalism.”So … did they conspire? “Taking Venice” does not exactly answer that question, though various people who were involved give their versions of the story. But that question is far from what makes the documentary so interesting. Instead, it’s a tale of Americans crashing what had been a European party in a moment when American optimism was at its height. Artists like Rauschenberg, Jim Dine, Frank Stella, John Chamberlain and Jasper Johns were making work that exploded ideas about what a painting should be and do. As one expert notes, they dared to make art that suggested the present was important, not just the past.And they had support from their government in ways that were weird and complicated. In a 1963 speech a month before his assassination, President John F. Kennedy declared, “I see little of more importance to the future of our country and our civilization than full recognition of the place of the artist.” Then again, as several people note, the freedom of expression that American art was supposed to illustrate on the world stage — often without the artists’ full realization of the government’s involvement — was subject to its own kind of censorship. Government entities like the House Un-American Activities Committee and intelligence agencies decided who was allowed to represent the country and whose voices were unwelcome.Yet it’s still fascinating to imagine a time, not all that long ago, in which painting, sculpture, jazz, literature and more were considered keys to the exporting of American influence around the world. It’s a cultural attitude that’s shifted tremendously in the years since, at least on the broader scale, away from seeing art as embodying a culture’s hopes and dreams and toward something more crass.But with this year’s edition of the Biennale underway, the question of what it means to be an American artist (or an artist from any country) is still one worth wrestling with, and something “Taking Venice” explores, too. “Art is not only about art,” Christine Macel, the curator of the 2017 Biennale, says at the start of the film. “It’s about power and politics. When you have the power, you show it through art.”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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      ‘Black Twitter’: Movements, Memes and Crying Jordan

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      This new Hulu docuseries explores how a social media subculture influenced American culture at large.When Prentice Penny first began work on the forthcoming docuseries “Black Twitter: A People’s History,” the last thing the director wanted to do was explain to anybody just what Black Twitter was. How could he?“Everybody has a different opinion what it is, and a different entry point and path to how they feel about it,” he said.“Black Twitter” is a kind of shorthand descriptor referring loosely to commentary, jokes and other kinds of cultural conversation and activism driven largely by Black users of the social media platform now named X. What Penny wanted to do was capture the pivotal moments that have come to define this organic online community, including the movements (Black Lives Matter; OscarsSoWhite) and defining hashtags (#uknowurblackwhen, #BlackGirlMagic) it has propelled and championed.And he wanted to do all of this while Black Twitter was still around.“So much of Black culture in this country isn’t documented,” Penny said. “When you see books about culture and race being banned, when you see narratives saying, oh, there were good sides to slavery, you realize that Black Twitter could be here today and gone tomorrow.”Prentice Penny, left, Joie Jacoby and Jason Parham at the film’s debut at the South by Southwest film festival in March.Andrew Walker/DisneyIndeed, since Penny started the project, Twitter itself has disappeared — or the name officially has, anyway. “I don’t trust anybody who stopped calling it Twitter,” said Jason Parham, a producer on the show whose 2021 Wired story “A People’s History of Black Twitter” inspired the series.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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      Yance Ford’s “Power” Documentary Argues That Policing and Politics Are Inextricable

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      Though Yance Ford’s new Netflix documentary takes on a much-explored topic, its mix of personal and polemic makes for a strong argument.“Strong Island,” the 2017 Oscar-nominated documentary directed by Yance Ford, was a deep investigation into the death of Ford’s brother and a jury’s subsequent refusal to indict the man who shot him. There’s a flavor of the same grief and fury that drove that film in Ford’s newest work, “Power” (now streaming on Netflix), which methodically builds a case against modern American policing.Ford’s documentary is not the first on the subject, nor will it be the last. The intersection of policing and the justice system has been a compelling topic for documentarians for a long while now, spun up alongside investigative reporting that unpacks assumptions about law enforcement. The results have been kaleidoscopic in nature. Just to name a few:Stephen Maing’s “Crime + Punishment” (2018, on Hulu) followed the whistle-blower police officers known as the “N.Y.P.D. 12.”Peter Nicks’s “The Force” (2017, on Hulu) captured a seemingly unending chain of crises within the Oakland police department.Ava DuVernay’s “13TH” (2016, on Netflix) explored the roots of the prison-industrial complex.Theo Anthony’s “All Light, Everywhere” (2021, on Hulu) probed the pervasive role of surveillance, like police body cameras, in keeping order.And Sierra Pettengill’s “Riotsville, U.S.A.” (2022, on Hulu) took footage from fake towns built to train police to respond to civil unrest in the 1960s and turned it into a startling history of the militarization of law enforcement.“Power” is most like “13TH” in its structure and approach, relying largely on historical context, archival footage of network news and political speeches, and a bevy of scholars and experts to explain an array of issues. How did policing and politics get intertwined? Why did American police become more like the military? What does the term “law and order” mean on the ground? How and why are armed officers involved with everything from patrols to strikebreaking?But where “13TH” often took a poetic approach, “Power” mixes polemics and the personal. The aim, as the title suggests, is to underline how much of our contemporary conversations about policing are really about power: who is in a position of power, when can that power be used, and when is it given to others. Ford operates as narrator, his voice guiding us through the maze.This is heady stuff, even if it’s not particularly new information. As with many documentaries that aim to construct a political and social argument, it’s a little like drinking with a fire hose, even if you’re familiar with the history and questions. The point isn’t the data, but the spider-web nature of the argument; seemingly disparate things (labor strikes, slave patrols, the removal of Indigenous Americans from their land) are drawn together in “Power,” which becomes an act of pattern recognition. It is not easy viewing, but it’s a strong introduction to a topic that seems freshly relevant every day. More

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      Caitlin Clark Hype Will Test the W.N.B.A.’s Television Limits

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      The docuseries “Full Court Press” closely tracked college stars like Clark and Kamilla Cardoso. Fans who want to follow elite W.N.B.A. rookies could have a tougher time.The decision makers for the docuseries “Full Court Press” chose wisely when selecting which women’s college basketball players they would follow for an entire season.They recruited Caitlin Clark, whose long-distance shots at the University of Iowa made her a lucrative draw. Kamilla Cardoso, a Brazilian attending the University of South Carolina, could provide an international perspective. Kiki Rice, from the University of California, Los Angeles, would be the talented but reserved young prospect.Those selections proved fortuitous when each player advanced deep into the N.C.A.A. tournament. Clark and Cardoso competed in the most-watched women’s championship game in history before becoming two of the top three picks in the W.N.B.A. draft.“The way that it turned out, it’s like, ‘This is not real life,’” said Kristen Lappas, the director of the four-part ESPN series that will air on ABC on Saturday and Sunday. “That just doesn’t happen in documentary filmmaking.”Interest in women’s basketball is surging because of young talent. Clark, Cardoso and other top rookies like Angel Reese and Cameron Brink are providing the W.N.B.A. a vital infusion of star power, quickly obliterating one record when 2.4 million viewers watched April’s draft.Now the league, whose media rights package expires in 2025, must capitalize by making sure fans can easily follow the players they grew to love during their collegiate careers.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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      ‘Black Twitter’ Review: Hulu’s Docuseries Doubles as a Snapshot of Recent History

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      Hulu’s docuseries on a social-media subculture doubles as a serious snapshot of recent history.Who created Twitter?On one level, the business level, the Wikipedia level, the answer is simple: Twitter, a social-media service allowing users to post brief messages, was founded in 2006 by Jack Dorsey, Noah Glass, Biz Stone and Evan Williams.But on the level of culture, the people who “create” a social platform — that is, who decide what it’s for, what it can do, how it feels — are the people who use it. “Black Twitter: A People’s History,” which arrives on Hulu on Thursday, argues that it was Black users who, as much or more than anyone, gave Twitter its voice.A couple of caveats are useful here. Though Twitter, now called X, is a global infosystem with worldwide effects, the three-part documentary, based on a Wired oral history by Jason Parham, focuses mainly on Twitter as an American phenomenon. And Black Twitter, the series is careful to point out, isn’t a monolith or formal group but the more general phenomenon of Blackness and Black culture manifesting online.“Black Twitter” treats the network not mainly as technology or business but as a cultural artifact — a platform, even an art form, for commentary, community and comedy. Twitter, it argues, is another part of American culture, like music and food, that Black Americans defined by coming to it from the margins.“In the same way that we took our lamentations and made gospel music, we took a site like Twitter and we made it a storytelling forum,” Meredith Clark, a journalism professor undertaking an archive of Black Twitter, says in the documentary. Or as the comedian Baratunde Thurston pithily puts it: “We repurposed Twitter the way we repurposed chitlins.”This scaffolding of ideas elevates “Black Twitter” above the kind of remember-this-remember-that pop-history documentary that it can resemble on the surface. Appropriate to its subject, it tells its story in a series of small bites. It stitches together interviews with academics, journalists, entertainers, viral stars and figures from business and politics with a nimble narration by the director, Prentice Penny.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 Contestant’ on Hulu Offers a Glimpse of Reality TV Ethics

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      The documentary tells the strange story of a groundbreaking 1998 Japanese TV show but doesn’t go far enough in its examination.So imagine this. It’s 1998. You want to be a comedian, and you’re desperate for work. You strike out for the big city and start going to auditions. Then, to your utter joy, you’re cast on a reality show.When you show up to set, though, things get weird. You’re ordered to remove all your clothing and you’re handed a stack of blank postcards and a pen. The goal is to use them to enter magazine contests — lots of them — and win prizes. Once the prize value totals a certain amount, you’ve won. What have you won? Well … you’ll see.This is a real thing that happened to Tomoaki Hamatsu, known as Nasubi: He was selected by Toshio Tsuchiya, a Japanese reality TV producer, to do just that on a nationally broadcast TV show. (If the story sounds familiar, it’s because it was the basis for a popular “This American Life” episode.) If you can believe it, Nasubi’s story gets weirder from there, and is now the subject of Clair Titley’s new documentary, “The Contestant” (available on Hulu).The film was made with the participation of a number of figures involved in the original production, including Tsuchiya and Nasubi. It retells the story using interviews and a great deal of footage from the actual show, which underlines how innovative it was. Nasubi’s life inside the room was broadcast before voyeuristic webcams were common, and it began running the same year that “The Truman Show,” with its oddly similar plot, was released.“The Contestant” is worth watching for the strangeness of the story. I found it curiously underdeveloped as a documentary, though. It’s been more than 25 years since Nasubi’s ordeal, years in which questions of exploitation and ethics in reality TV — surrounding everything from Bravo’s “Real Housewives” empire to “The Jinx” and a whole lot more — have been, if not at all solved, at least explored at length, relitigated every time news surfaces about the manipulation of subjects or the truth behind the scenes. (“UnReal,” a scripted drama based on the machinations on a “Bachelor”-like show, is a revealing way to dig into those questions. It’s available on most major platforms.)The big question isn’t why arguably unscrupulous reality TV keeps getting made, because we know the answer. The bigger question is why we keep watching it, and what kind of human qualms and compunctions we have to push aside to indulge. “The Contestant” has at its fingertips a rich text for exploring our current reality landscape, not to mention our fascination with social media meltdowns. But it doesn’t really go there, preferring instead to reassure us that Nasubi is OK.But the film’s failure to dig into its story further doesn’t mean we can’t — and “The Contestant” is a great starting point for conversations like these. That’s why it’s worth watching and thinking about. Because it’s not just a crazy story: It’s an important one in our media-saturated, always-on, can’t-look-away age. More