Today I watched a short film, 5 mins, about a filmmaker who left his camera equipment in a New York cab, and his adventures trying to get it back.
Wish I could describe it in further detail, but that's it. The guy leaves his bag in a cab, which is full of all his film stuff, a total of 13,000 dollars in equipment. He calls the cab company, tries to track down the driver, calls 311, tries to contact the cab station, just about everything he can do to get it back. In the process he interviews a few different cab drivers to see what they would do if they found that bag in their car, and what they do with lost belongings. Some say it's gone forever, some say they would return it, and one guy says all other taxi drivers are assholes. So it's a hung jury on that.
Eventually he makes contact with the driver, the driver still has his stuff, and he offers to return it. In exchange our thrilled narrator gives him 500 bucks reward, and that's that.
This story is supposed to make some kind of statement on the kindness of strangers, but all I could think was "how does a professional filmmaker forget all of his luggage in a cab?" Who does that?
Today I watched a very short and very funny film about a certain flight of stairs in NYC.
At the 36th subway station, there's one step in a flight of stairs that is slightly off in size by a fraction of an inch. The result? Everyone trips on that exact step, all the time. The film is just a collection of people tripping over the same step throughout the course of the day.
The first thing that came to mind after watching this was schadenfreude, which is a German word for taking pleasure in another's misfortune. It's amazing how often I find people, or myself, laughing at schadenfreude. 'America's Funniest Videos' is basically just syndicated schadenfreude, so is 'Jackass', 'Candid Camera', or 'Curb Your Enthusiasm' or 'The Office', relying on a form of social schadenfreude.
Is it morally wrong to laugh at other people's misfortune? If it is, why does the laughter come so easily, almost automatically? Can it be wrong if it's a natural response? Even when I see people I know get hurt I sometimes laugh (think about people slipping on ice).
I've been considering this new theory on schadenfreude that maybe we aren't laughing at them because they are hurt or embarrassed, or even laughing because we're thinking "glad it wasn't me". Personally I feel a sense of relief watching people make simple mistakes because I'm glad to know I'm not the only one who makes them. I mean, I know people make mistakes but seeing it actually happens make me feel more like a regular person. So watching strangers trip over a stair makes me feel better about myself.
What do you think? Why do we laugh at schadenfreude?
Today I watched a bizarre little short about window-cleaners on the Empire State Building. The film was made in 1938 and seems to be one of those short newsreels they'd show before movies back then.
The whole things only a few minutes long and consists mainly of window cleaners climbing the long building floor by floor, sticking their heads out each window grabbing onto the ledge for dear life, and trying to clean the windows. Meanwhile the narration is cheese-tastic and filled with window puns (hence the title).
For such a short film it gave me a lot to think about; why are the windows cleaned? Obviously for aesthetic purposes, but is that it? Is it worth the hard, dangerous work just to have shiny windows? How many window washers have fallen or died while on the job? How has window washing changed over time, with the invention of new technology and safeguards and whatnot? Why would someone want to be a window washer?
I also love the old timey-ness of the video. It makes me want to watch more of these newsreel type things.
I just looked up how many windows the Empire State Building has- 6,500 windows over 102 floors. Wowee.
Here's the video. The youtube page is filled with old clips like this.
Today I watched a short little ditty called "This is my Home", which I found randomly someplace online.
The film follows eccentric New Yorker Anthony Pisano who lives in what looks like an impressively sized antique store. Actually it's just his house, filled to the brim with the odds and ends that he has collected over the years. For reasons unexplained, he likes to sit outside his apartment in the hopes that strangers will walk by and want to look around his place. Once he's explained that nothing's for sale, he tends to strike up conversations with the non-customer, and enjoys their company.
Pisano seems like a cute, funny, quirky old man who wants more than anything someone to talk to. He's probably realized that a life of collecting objects isn't nearly as satisfying as collecting friendships and relationships, so maybe he's looking to make up for lost time by welcoming strangers into his home.
It's an interesting look on what the things we own say about us.
Another day, another amazing documentary. Yesterday's film made it to my Top 5 list, and today's is my new #1. Good week.
'Dark Days' follows a group of homeless men and women who've decided, for various reasons, to live underground in NYC's abandoned subway stations. They construct shanties out of found materials, basically putting together mini-apartments deep in the heart of the NYC subway system. Some live alone, some with a friend or partner, most with pets of some kind. They spend their time collecting cans, sorting through garbage for things to sell, or scavenging for food.
What I learned: I've never seen a film follow homeless people so closely and consistently before. You follow 4 or 5 of the same people throughout their day. The film does a good job of portraying all dimensions of living the life of a nomadic vagabond. We see how they shower and cook their food, but we also see them relaxing, sleeping in and idly chatting with their friends. It's a tough life, for sure, but the film includes a lot of lighter sides too.
They are homeless for a lot of different reasons. Some were kicked out of their homes, some had crippling drug addictions and others have mental disorders. Most of them had been living on the streets when they found out about the underground tunnels that provided warmth, free electricity and a place to keep their possessions.
What really shook me was how genial most of them seemed. I guess after 10 years of being homeless, you'd be less down in the dumps about it. Half the film seemed to be of them laughing or goofing around with their friends. Very few scenes were angry or negative- the only argument was between two roommates about not leaving food out for the rats to find. If I were in their shoes I'd be despondent with sorrow all day, every day. I guess it's amazing what kinds of lives you can get used to.
What I liked: Man...so much. For one, it's not preachy. There are no heavy handed lectures from the filmmaker about the need to wipe out homelessness, or the usual pointing of fingers to the culprits of poverty such as the police or our society's selfish nature. In fact, the film lacks both a narrator and a narrative, relying instead on a simple progression of interrelated segments. This allows the film to flow naturally from one scene to the next, with shots of mice running through the streets or water dripping from an errant faucet as segues.
You do feel the filmmaker's presence, even if it's not through heavy-handed commentary. Marc Singer is a not just the filmmaker, he's a member of the underground community: after stumbling upon the subterranean population he decided to live among them. He was so interested in their story he decided to make a film about it, in part to share the story but also as an excuse to get to know some of the eccentric characters that shared the space with him. His interest and respect for his subjects comes through in the film. Unlike some of the films I've watched, he's not exploiting his subject, or projecting his own views through heavily edited footage.
Finally, and maybe what I appreciated the most, the film was just done really well. It's always pivotal to have strong content, interesting subjects, and enough themes to give the audience something to discuss, but if you're movie's effing boring, then no one's gonna make it past the first 30 minutes. The film is shot with a lot of....well, I guess the only word that fits is patience. There are long, meandering shots of the overcast NY sky or bustling traffic, while minimal music plays in the background. Interviews with subjects were rare. This fits the feel of the film so perfectly; none of these people have anywhere to be, or anything waiting to get done. They experience a deeper sense of freedom than most of us will ever know. Most of the shots were more vicarious; watching silently as they went about their day or talked with their friends.
What I didn't like: I hate to say it, but I'm dying to know what happened to these people. At the end of the film, the city has kicked them out of the subway station and has put them in govt.-owned apartment complexes. Seems like the perfect ending right? Well, what happens to the ones who were addicted to hard drugs? None of them had jobs, so how are they taking care of themselves? How are they adjusting? I know if I were to find out, some wouldn't be doing well, and it'd just bum me out. But I grew so invested in their lives I guess I want to know.
Homeless is a big problem. It's a social issue that just does not compute for me. I can understand violence and war before I can understand how we still have homeless and destitute poverty in this country. I can't fathom how an entire society can continue to turn a blind eye to an entire group of people crying out for help. But the way to fix it won't be by pitying them, or by throwing money at them either. It's going to be through developing a sense of understanding and empathy, and this film does just that.
The film can be found on Netflix instant.
Here's the trailer:
And here's one of my favorite scenes. Two guys discuss their long history of pets:
