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      In ‘Subject,’ Documentary Stars Look Back

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      A talk with the directors Jennifer Tiexiera and Camilla Hall about their film that checks in on the subjects of high-profile documentaries.Being a documentary subject can be a thankless kind of stardom, without much control over how your life story is told. In “Subject,” Jennifer Tiexiera and Camilla Hall went back to five famous documentaries and asked their stars about their experiences: “Hoop Dreams,” “The Staircase,” “Capturing the Friedmans,” “The Square” and “The Wolfpack.”Rather than a “where are they now” update, Tiexiera and Hall investigate the unexpected personal ramifications and ethical quandaries that arise. Arthur Agee of “Hoop Dreams,” for example, speaks of earning around $500,000 through profit-sharing.I spoke with the filmmakers about what they learned, and their dauntingly extensive efforts at making “Subject” a full collaboration with their subjects. Below are edited excerpts from the conversation.Whose documentary experience surprised you most?JENNIFER TIEXIERA: I would say Margie’s [as the daughter of a man tried for murder, Michael Peterson]. When you watch “The Staircase,” you’re caught up in the story and you’re not thinking about this young girl whose face is now everywhere. She’s truly been defined by that series for the last 20-some years now. Her story has been told and sold over and over and over again.CAMILLA HALL: I think Margie got a comment saying the acting was better on the HBO show [the true-crime mini-series starring Colin Firth and Toni Collette] than the Netflix show [the documentary series]. I think Ahmed’s journey in “The Square” is also so dramatic. Where Ahmed [Hassan] comes from in Cairo is a very underprivileged neighborhood. And he became the face of the Egyptian revolution!Jennifer TiexieraNoam GalaiCamilla HallRita BaghdadiWere there positive effects to participating in a documentary?HALL: Susanne [Reisenbichler, the mother of the nearly housebound family in “The Wolfpack”] talks of how letting somebody in from the outside was the first time she fully understood her level of despair. I think she had just been living in this bubble for so long. That intervention had an enormously positive impact on her life and has led to her total independence. Now she’s a domestic abuse support adviser.Arthur was able to use the “Hoop Dreams” brand and has his own line of merchandise. Ahmed is an Emmy-winning cinematographer as a result of “The Square,” and we were able to get him a visa to move to America because of that award.How did you get people to open up?HALL: I think we created a platform where their voice was the most important at the end of the day. They had final say over how they would be presented in “Subject.” They were able to watch the rough cut of the film and give feedback. And there wasn’t much coaxing. They knew exactly what they were doing — it was almost like Margie directed her own scenes.TIEXIERA: And they’re co-producers, by D.P.A. [Documentary Producers Alliance] standards. When it came to what was very important to them, we adjusted their agreements to reflect that. Jesse [the son in “Capturing the Friedmans” who served 13 years in prison on child sexual abuse charges] wanted to be aware of the distribution: where this is going to go and who’s going to see it.We did reach out to a few people for “Subject” who weren’t ready to go back into that place but still loved the idea. For example, Carole and Howard from “Tiger King” became supporters of “Subject.” And Mark Borchardt [of “American Movie”] was a great sounding board.Did you cut anything from “Subject” based on feedback from participants?TIEXIERA: The biggest hurdle was when Susanne and [one of her sons] Mukunda agreed to be part of “Subject,” and Mukunda’s brothers did not want to be. They had had a different relationship and experience and didn’t want to be on camera. I want to say it was a couple of weeks before our premiere, it came back that they did not want to be part of the archival [material]. So we had to re-cut the entire “Wolfpack” section and keep them out, except for one of the brothers who was OK with it. Legally, sure, we could have kept that. But it’s just not what we were doing.We also feature 112 films and series [in montages], and people have been able to see it and say, I don’t like where my film is placed. We’ve been able to go back and take it out or move it to a different location.Would you ever participate in a documentary about your life?HALL: So, we are considering that in the series that we’re developing at the moment.TIEXIERA: If you would ask me this last year, I would say absolutely not. But as we develop the series with Time Studios, it’s come up a few times. In the spirit of “Subject,” the series would be a collaboration between the participants [in documentaries], and we would have the time to bring the directors’ voices into it, and then we also reflect on the process while we’re making it. It’s very meta! More

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      ‘Subject’ Review: A Question of Ethics

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      Filmmaking principles come under scrutiny in “Subject,” a documentary about the making of documentaries.Many of the most compelling documentaries of the past several years, from Nathan Fielder’s HBO mini-series “The Rehearsal” to Kirsten Johnson’s self-reflexive feature “Cameraperson,” actively engage with the ethics of documentary filmmaking, posing difficult questions about participation, consent and the responsibility of the artist to the subjects of their art. These projects differ from “Subject,” Jennifer Tiexiera and Camilla Hall’s film about documentary ethics, in that their questions are posed by the filmmaking itself, threaded artfully into the documentary form. “Subject” just speaks the questions out loud, turning them into reductive fodder for talking heads.Tiexiera and Hall have assembled a kind of “Avengers” of nonfiction cinema here, as the participants in several high-profile docs reflect on the process of having had their lives laid bare on film. Their experiences range from a kind of wistful pride (Arthur Agee, of “Hoop Dreams,” looks back on the memory fondly) to clearly painful disillusionment (Margaret Ratliff, of “The Staircase,” makes a persuasive case that the movie practically ruined her life), and their testimony usually underscores a broader dilemma around the principles of storytelling and the nature of truth. Producers and critics are also on hand to expound on these topics in a cursory, surface-level way.“Subject” is at its clearest when interrogating the material conditions of documentary filmmaking, as during a segment about whether the subjects of nonfiction films have the right to be paid for their participation; it feels slipperier when glossing issues of diversity and representation, using buzzy phrases like “decolonize documentaries” in place of intellectual heavy lifting. And at no point do Tiexiera or Hall deal with their own complicity in any of this: They are, after all, making a documentary, and we get no sense of how they might answer the questions they pose to other documentarians. Perhaps we need another documentary to explore the making of this one.SubjectNot rated. Running time: 1 hour 37 minutes. In theaters. More

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      ‘In the Court of the Crimson King’ Review: 50 Years of Off-Kilter Rock

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      Toby Amies’s documentary dives into the history of the British progressive rock band King Crimson and its chief disciplinarian, Robert Fripp.The director Toby Amies’s documentary “In the Court of the Crimson King” is part road chronicle and part retrospective, and captures King Crimson, the adventurous British rock ensemble, at what may be the end of its existence. Robert Fripp, for years the band’s sole original member, has strongly suggested that its 2021 tour would be its last. (It hasn’t toured since.)One of the originators of the subgenre called progressive rock or art rock, King Crimson is, depending on whom you ask, either impossibly pretentious or startlingly adventurous. Fripp, an endlessly thoughtful and meticulously articulate guitarist, is the group’s most tireless and paradoxical explainer in the film. He’s fond of pronouncements like, “For silence to become audible, it requires a vehicle. And that vehicle is music.”At one point Fripp describes his experience in the band from 1969 to 2016 as “wretched.” What changed in 2016? He put together a group of stellar musicians who did as he requested. The film features their thoughts along with interviews with past members who had strong differences with Fripp.While the YouTube videos Fripp and his wife, the singer Toyah Willcox, began making during the pandemic reveal the guitarist as a mild-mannered, eccentric, uxorious madcap, he can come off like an egghead martinet in the context of the band he has helmed for half a century. But he is as hard on himself as he is on anyone else, practicing the guitar four to five hours a day and subjecting himself to other forms of discipline such as taking a cold shower in the morning: “Your body doesn’t want to go under a cold shower,” he says in the film. “So you’re saying to your body, ‘Do as you’re told.’”Bill Rieflin offers another perspective on the band, as a musician who chose to spend his last years alive touring with Crimson. He died of cancer in 2020. His devotion renders Fripp’s adages about the sacred nature of music-making palpable.In the Court of the Crimson King: King Crimson at 50Not rated. Running time: 1 hour 26 minutes. In theaters. More

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      ‘Sly’ Review: No More Mr. Tough Guy

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      This documentary from Thom Zimny tracks Sylvester Stallone’s life and career, though focuses too much on “Rocky” and “Rambo.”“An actor is what he looks like,” Sylvester Stallone told The New York Times in 1976, and more than most stars, Stallone has been viewed as an action figure come to life. In “Sly,” the director Thom Zimny excavates the acts of self-creation behind a career that minted two indelible titular characters in “Rocky” and “Rambo” — whose underdog narratives proved highly influential.“Sly” kicks off with Stallone, now 77, lamenting how life whizzes by, followed by a montage set to Gang of Four’s sizzling “To Hell with Poverty.” Made in collaboration with Stallone’s production company, Balboa Productions, the film doesn’t go on to become an exposé. But it does dwell on his being the son of a violently abusive father, growing up in Hell’s Kitchen in Manhattan before a series of moves.His resulting desire for approval is par for the course among star biographies, but that hurt and his father’s vicious jealousy become the most poignant aspects in the film’s increasingly predictable path. Stymied in the 1970s by stereotypes about his looks and voice, Stallone essentially became his own hero by writing screenplays, soon manifesting success when “Rocky” (1976), which he wrote, won the best picture Oscar over “Taxi Driver,” “All the President’s Men,” “Network” and “Bound for Glory.”What ensues in this documentary is largely a pop-psychologized tour through the “Rambo” and “Rocky” sequels, with the odd outlier. Quentin Tarantino, a Stallone superfan; Frank Stallone, Sylvester’s brother; Talia Shire (Adrian herself); and Wesley Morris, a Times culture critic, offer commentary — with Arnold Schwarzenegger (who also recently got the Netflix documentary treatment) playing hype man.But Stallone’s flair for words — and his references to Arthur Miller’s “A View from the Bridge” and the 1968 dynastic drama “The Lion in Winter” — make one wish he’d talked about much more than his greatest hits and misses.SlyRated R for tough talk. Running time: 1 hour 35 minutes. Watch on Netflix. More

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      ‘Beyond Utopia’ Review: Exit Strategies

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      This film, directed by Madeleine Gavin, documents the experiences of defectors from North Korea.“Beyond Utopia,” a documentary on defectors from North Korea, begins by pre-empting the inevitable questions about how it was made. “The film contains no recreations,” the opening titles explain. The footage, we are told, was shot by the filmmakers, the subjects and operatives in the underground network that helped those subjects escape.That access alone gives the movie an intense interest. Directed by the longtime editor Madeleine Gavin, “Beyond Utopia” pivots around Seungeun Kim, a pastor in South Korea who has spent more than two decades assisting North Koreans who want to escape the totalitarian regime. The precarious course to safety generally runs through multiple countries.There are two main rescue missions chronicled in the film. One involves Soyeon Lee, a past defector who lives in South Korea and is trying to retrieve her son from the North. At the time this documentary was shot, the boy was 17, and she had not seen him in 10 years. Does he want to defect? The mother believes so, although communication is difficult, and there is no choice but to trust middlemen.The other mission involves the Ro family — a mother, father, two children and a grandmother who have, at the time Pastor Kim gets word of them, successfully crossed the heavily guarded Yalu River, which separates North Korea from China. But they need the pastor’s network to shuttle them through Southeast Asia. Until they reach Thailand, they will be at constant risk of being returned. Some of the people who cross, Pastor Kim says, wind up being sold for sex trafficking or organ harvesting.The family’s journey forms the backbone of the film, and not only because “Beyond Utopia” has some footage of them navigating the jungle by night. (Who could even keep a camera going under those circumstances?) There is also a chance to see them adapt to an unfamiliar — and, to them, practically unbelievable — environment, and to see their reactions as they realize what they learned in North Korea was wrong. “I feel like our country must become more developed,” says the grandmother, once they have reached Vietnam. “I mean I know how intelligent our Marshal Kim Jong-un is, so are our people just not smart?”“Beyond Utopia” fills out these stories with the history of North Korea, a country that Sue Mi Terry, a former C.I.A. analyst and a producer on the film, describes as “the only communist Confucian hereditary dynasty in the world.” Defectors like the activist Hyeonseo Lee fill in the picture on what life is like there, and how propaganda could convince the North Korean populace that they are living in a utopia.The engrossing, often tense proceedings are slightly marred by a pushy score. All the same, being able to experience the escape alongside these subjects greatly distinguishes this documentary.Beyond UtopiaRated PG-13. Descriptions of torture and brutality. In English and Korean, with subtitles. Running time: 1 hour 55 minutes. In theaters. More

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      ‘Going to Mars: The Nikki Giovanni Project’ Review: An Afrofuturist Space Odyssey

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      The experimental documentary is punctuated by Giovanni’s poetry, read both by her and the actress Taraji P. Henson. But the film offers only what the poet is willing to give.Nikki Giovanni wants to die in zero gravity.“We don’t have any poets in space,” she says in a speech featured in “Going to Mars: The Nikki Giovanni Project,” a documentary about the elusive artist, directed by Joe Brewster and Michèle Stephenson.Giovanni would like to travel to the space station to record what she sees, adding that, when it’s time for her to go, she can simply be released into the ether. This desire — part jest, part genuine — drives the biographical project, in which the directors try to capture Giovanni’s legacy and her Afrofuturist vision for Black women.“Going to Mars” combines archival footage of Giovanni and moments in Black history, images of space and present-day interviews and speeches to paint an expansive picture of the poet’s evolution from young firebrand to elder. Giovanni posits that viewers should turn to Black women to learn about surviving in space because of our ability to survive all the hardships thrown at us on Earth. Throughout, the scenes are punctuated by her poetry, read by both Giovanni herself and the actress Taraji P. Henson.The documentary offers only what the poet is willing to give. And Giovanni is a challenging subject: She has firm boundaries, and there are questions she refuses to answer. “You want me to go to someplace that I’m not going to go, because it will make me unhappy,” she says in response to a question about her childhood. “I refuse to be unhappy about something I can do nothing about.”Yet other times Giovanni’s work speaks for itself. She won’t discuss how she felt after Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated, for instance, but what follows is a powerful rendering of her poem “Reflections on April 4, 1968,” in which she expresses anger over the injustice. Here, and in general, viewers must fill in their own blanks.Going to Mars: The Nikki Giovanni ProjectNot rated. Running time: 1 hours 42 minutes. In theaters. More

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      ‘The War on Disco’ Explores the Racial Backlash Against the Music

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      “The War on Disco,” a new PBS documentary, explores the backlash against the genre and the issues of race, gender and sexuality that informed it.The plan was simple enough: Gather a bunch of disco records, put them in a crate and blow them to smithereens in between games of a doubleheader between the Chicago White Sox and Detroit Tigers at Comiskey Park. What could possibly go wrong?This was the thinking, such as it was, behind Disco Demolition Night, a July 1979 radio promotion that went predictably and horribly awry. The televised spectacle of rioters, mostly young white men, storming the field in Chicago, sent shock waves through the music industry and accelerated the demise of disco as a massive commercial force. But the fiasco didn’t unfold in a vacuum, a fact the new “American Experience” documentary “The War on Disco” makes clearer than a twirling mirror ball.Premiering Monday on PBS, “The War on Disco” traces the rise, commodification, demise and rebirth of a dance music genre that burned hot through the ’70s, and the backlash against a culture that provided a safe and festive place for Black, Latino, gay and feminist expression. Originating in gay dance clubs in the early ’70s and converted into a mainstream sensation largely through the 1977 movie “Saturday Night Fever,” disco engendered simmering resentment from white, blue-collar kids who weren’t cool enough to make it past the rope at Studio 54 and other clubs. The film details disco’s role as a flashpoint for issues of race, class, gender and sexuality that still resonate in the culture wars of today.“Saturday Night Fever” helped turn disco from a club phenomenon into a mainstream sensation.Alamy, via PBS“These liberation movements that started in the ’60s and early ’70s are really gaining momentum in the late ’70s,” Lisa Q. Wolfinger, who produced the film with Rushmore DeNooyer, said in a video call from her home in Maine. “So the backlash against disco feels like a backlash against the gay liberation movement and feminism, because that’s all wrapped up in disco.”When the Gay Activist Alliance began hosting feverish disco dances at an abandoned SoHo firehouse in 1971, routinely packing 1,500 people onto the dance floor, the atmosphere was sweaty and cathartic. As Alice Echols writes in her disco history book “Hot Stuff,” gay bars, most of them run by the mob, traditionally hadn’t allowed dancing of any kind. But change was in the air largely because of the ripple effect of the Stonewall uprising in 1969, when regulars at a Greenwich Village gay bar fought back against the latest in a series of police raids. Soon discos were popping up throughout American cities, drawing throngs of revelers integrated across lines of race, gender and sexual orientation.Some of disco’s hottest artists were Black women, including Gloria Gaynor and Linda Clifford (who is a commentator in the film). Many of the in-demand DJs, including Barry Lederer and Richie Rivera, were gay. In its heyday disco was the ultimate pop melting pot, open to anyone who wanted to move through the night to a pulsating, seemingly endless groove, and a source of liberation.“The club became this source of public intimacy, of sexual freedom, and disco was a genre that was deeply tied to the next set of freedom struggles that were concatenate with civil rights,” said Daphne Brooks, a professor of African American studies at Yale University who is featured in the film, in a video interview. “It was both a sound and a sight that enabled those who were not recognized in the dominant culture to be able to see themselves and to derive pleasure, which is a huge trope in disco.”Studio 54 in 1978, as seen in “The War on Disco.” The club was famous for its glamorous clientele and restrictive door policy.Alamy, via PBSAll subcultures have their tipping points, and disco’s began in earnest in 1977. The year brought “Saturday Night Fever,” the smash hit movie about a blue-collar Brooklynite (a star-making performance from John Travolta) who escapes his rough reality by cutting loose on the dance floor. Inspired by the movie, middle-aged thrill seekers began dressing up in white polyester and hitting the scene. The same year saw the opening of Studio 54 in Manhattan, which became famous for its beautiful-people clientele and forbidding door policy.“There was this image of the crowd outside the door on the news, with people being divided into winners and losers,” said DeNooyer, the “War on Disco” producer. “And the majority were losers because they didn’t get by the rope. It was an image that spoke powerfully, and it certainly encouraged a view of exclusivity.”At least one man had reason to take it all personally. Steve Dahl was a radio personality for Chicago’s WDAI, spinning album rock and speaking to and for the white macho culture synonymous with that music. On Christmas Eve in 1978 Dahl lost his job when the station switched to a disco format, a popular move in those days. He didn’t take the news well. Jumping to WLUP, Dahl launched a “Disco Sucks” campaign and, together with the White Sox promotions director Mike Veeck, spearheaded Disco Demolition Night.Organizers expected around 20,000 fans on July 12, 1979. Instead, they got around 50,000, some of whom sneaked in for free. Admission was 98 cents (WLUP’s frequency was 97.9), leaving attendees plenty of leftover cash for beer. Located in the mostly white, working-class neighborhood of Bridgeport, Comiskey Park had a built-in anti-disco clientele.During the first game of the doubleheader, fans threw records, firecrackers and liquor bottles onto the field. By the time the crate of records was blown up, the place was going nuts, with patrons storming the field and rendering it unplayable. The White Sox had to forfeit the second game.The Disco Demolition Night promotion at Chicago’s Comiskey Park quickly spun out of control, with thousands of people storming the field.Chicago History Museum, via PBSThere were other anti-disco protests around the country in the late ’70s, but none so visible or of greater consequence. As the film recounts, reaction was swift; radio consultants soon began steering toward nondisco formats. “Disco Demolition Night was a real factor, and it did happen very quickly,” DeNooyer said. “And we hear from artists in the film who experienced that.” Gigs started drying up almost immediately.Commercial oversaturation didn’t help. Disco parodies were becoming rampant, including a memorable one in the 1980 comedy “Airplane!,” and novelty songs had been around since Rick Dees’ “Disco Duck” in 1976 (followed up by the lesser-known “Dis-Gorilla” in 1977). But the film makes clear that the Disco Demolition fiasco and resultant coverage was a major factor in the death of disco’s mainstream appeal.“The War on Disco” also features a 2016 interview with Dahl, who insists racism and homophobia had nothing to do with that particular display of anti-disco fervor. Demolition Night attendees who were interviewed for the film echo this sentiment.“I would not dispute that is their truth,” Brooks said. “But I think one of the insidious ways that white supremacy has done a number on this country is that it permeates every aspect of our cultural lives. People don’t want to be told that they’re entangled in something that’s not entirely of their control.”It’s also important to note that disco didn’t die so much as its more mainstream forms ceased to be relevant. The music and the culture morphed into other dance-ready genres including house music, which ironically emerged in Chicago. When you go out and cut loose to electronic dance music, or EDM, you are paying homage to disco, whether you know it or not. The beat is still pulsating. The sexual and racial identities remain eclectic. The Who may have bid “Sister Disco” goodbye in their 1978 song, but the original spirit lives on. As Brooks put it, “Its vibrancy and its innovations just continued to gain momentum once the spotlight moved away from it.”The culture, and its devotees, outlived the clichés. Disco is dead. Long live disco. More

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      ‘After Death’ Review: Visions at the Brink From Those Who Returned

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      A documentary about near-death experiences crescendos with redemptions and literal come-to-Jesus moments.The faith film “After Death” enters a crowded field of testimonials about near-death experiences, a staple of YouTube videos and bookstores. This documentary convenes a supergroup of writers and survivors: from early expounders like the author Raymond Moody (widely credited with coining the term “near-death experience”) and the cardiologist Michael Sabom, to such recent best-selling names as the pastor Don Piper (“90 Minutes in Heaven”) and a surgeon, Mary Neal (“To Heaven and Back”).The members of the group recount their forays into the hereafter, illustrated with murky re-enactments of what brought them there: a car accident, an abdominal rupture, a near-drowning, a plane crash. There’s the initial pretense of scientific objectivity, but it soon feels beside the point. These accounts crescendo naturally with redemptions and literal come-to-Jesus moments.In the documentary, written and directed by Stephen Gray and co-directed by Chris Radtke, not much deviates from the usual tropes: People drift out of their bodies and journey into light, love, and new awareness (with PBS “Nova”-style trippy imagery). That sounds transcendent, and reassuring, but the stories are rolled together in a hash of editing, and the speakers can be oddly low energy. One exception is Howard Storm, a professor-turned-minister who believes he was hustled not toward heaven but to the darkest reaches of hell.Released on more than 2,000 screens by the studio behind the recent child trafficking movie “Sound of Freedom” — at a time when a majority of Americans say near-death experiences are possible — this film also closes with a QR code to buy more tickets. But whether you believe these phenomena are spiritual journeys or visions created by the human mind (or both), the film loses its sense of epiphany in the lackluster jumble of its moviemaking.After DeathRated PG-13. Running time: 1 hour 43 minutes. In theaters. More