» Errol Morris Charles Musser

Have Errol Morris and Chris Choy ever met? Their personal and cinematic styles are so extraordinarily different, it is almost hard to imagine; and yet they both made ground-breaking, innovative courtroom documentaries ca. 1988, which profoundly contributed to the revitalization of documentary practice in the United States: Chris’s Who Killed Vincent Chin? (1987, with Renee Tajima-Peña) and Errol’s The Thin Blue Line (1988). Both films are audacious, inspirational and ultimately complementary. On an obvious level, everyone agrees that Ronald Ebens killed Vincent Chin: there were numerous eyewitnesses and Ebens himself confessed. For that crime, he received nothing more than probation. If the immediate answer to the film’s title is obvious, a search for deeper answers is far more troubling. In contrast, Randall Adams was convicted of murdering a police officer and faced death until The Thin Blue Line effectively proved that Adams was innocent and identified the actual killer. Yin and Yang. I wrote about both these films in an essay: “Film Truth, Documentary and the Law: Justice at the Margins,” University of San Francisco Law Review 30:4 (Summer 1996), 963-984. (At present it seems to be available on line here.)

I can’t take any credit for this, but a mere eight days separated their recent visits to Yale. Chris showed her documentary Sa-I-Gu (1993) about the experience of Korean women (mostly small business owners) during the 1992 Los Angeles Riots/Rebellion that was sparked by the Rodney King trial–-and excerpts of forthcoming effort that re-examines that upheaval some 20 years later. Sa-I-Gu shares a recurrent theme with her other documentaries: Asian Americans have to stop acting like a model minority and stand up for their rights! For his presentation at the Art School, Errol returned to The Thin Blue Line and the noir films of the 1940s and early 1950s that inspired him.

One thing for sure. Until very recently I avoided those posed portraits of eager scholar and famous filmmaker. They have always seemed slightly tacky. I’ve known both Errol and Chris for more than 20 years but never requested a photo op from either one. Obviously, that has just changed. The public diary, narcissistic ruminations and inevitable self-promotion of this website is certainly one explanation. But it also has something to do with the rapid passage of time and being ready to document at least one instance in our associations. So somewhat shamelessly here they are–along with the posters for Chris and Errol’s visits:

photo by Victoria Chu

****

As readers of my website know, I have been working on a documentary: Errol Morris: A Lightning Sketch (2013). It’s been shown as a work in progress at several universities and even a few odd classes largely devoted to documentary. It all came about because my own failed efforts to get Errol down to Yale. Fate had something else in mind: a backdoor documentary. Carina Tautu and I went up to his Cambridge offices to record a conversation with Errol and bring it back down to show at a festival of his films, which I programmed. The rest, as they say, is history–or friendly persistence on my side and a certain graciousness on Errol’s. Since our visit, he has made two appearance on the Yale campus– under someone else’s auspices. Once again this has all been to the good. I haven’t had to worry about hosting and both times showed up at his events with video camera in hand. My goal has simply been to have some kind of lasting record of his speculations on cinema and the nature of our universe. In fact, Errol asked his hosts at the Art School if someone could record his conversation as he was walking into the “pool.” So I quickly solved that problem. I could easily begin to see this as one of my responsibilities.

Among the various high points of his talk, Errol shared his “Fuck You Theory of Art” with the MFA art students, where he had a ready audience. In a way, many of the filmmakers that have fascinated me practice this in some shape or form. Chaplin–for sure. Oscar Micheaux–certainly. No filmmaker has ever made a film that said “Fuck You” to his star more than Micheaux did to Paul Robeson in Body and Soul (1925). And in a different way, much could be said about Ernst Lubitsch and Lady Windermere’s Fan, released in the same month. On this particular occasion, Morris focused on Johann Sebastian Bach’s The Passion of our Lord Jesus Christ according to the Evangelist Matthew. EM sees himself as being in this tradition: certainly it is crucial for understanding many of his individual films as well as his body of work as a whole. One should emphasize perhaps that the other side of this “Fuck You” approach is incredible rigor and discipline.

Well if Errol will let me, I will post that section of his talk sometime in the future.

I often post about the films and filmmakers I go to see as an audience member. But sometimes I get to be the filmmaker and show my film. It is only fair. Of course, in the role of traveling showmen, we no longer traipse about with a reel or two of film. One can no longer identify fellow filmmakers at the airport by the instantly recognizable 16mm film carrying case they surely haul onto the plane. Now we just slip a DVD into our briefcases (or in my case, Danish school bag).

I am just back from Harvard where I showed Errol Morris: A Lightning Sketch on February 25th in the Department of Visual and Environmental Studies. It was for Robb Moss’ class, Documentary Workshop.

Robb Moss and his class, Documentary Workshop

His students had seen two Errol Morris documentaries in preparation for my visit. My homework assignment was to fill an increasingly embarrassing hole in my viewing knowledge: Moss’s Same River Twice (2003).
It returns to a group of friends he filmed river rafting in the 1970s, which resulted in Riverdogs (1982). That material is the jumping off for his documentary as he catches up with these friends some 30 years later–as they reflect upon (and often struggle with) relationships, work, age and health. The film and the issues that it explores certainly engage me but the more distant past of leisurely encounters with nature were remote. I remember one summer in the 1970s, when I finally got outside the city for a day or so, my eyes ached from all the green. By the late 1970s I was spending my days in the editing room–or increasingly reading microfilm. My river experiences, if you will, came earlier. They were in the Outer Banks of North Carolina which I visited often, and where I worked as a commercial crabber and fisherman from the end of high school into college. (And where I did my first filming.) But my stint on Hearts and Minds (1972-1974) put an end to that kind of exploration forever–replacing it with a new type of encounter. Perhaps I should finally return to Edenton.

(I suspect these encounters with nature are much rarer today.)

I found The Same River Twice poignant for another reason. Several names in the credits were people I had come to know (directly and indirectly) through the making of A Lightning Sketch. This included Ann Petrone, who appears in my film and is Errol’s producer/office manager. But it was Karen Schmeer–the editor on Same River Twice––that struck home most poignantly. Karen Schmeer was killed in a horrendous hit and run auto accident in January 2010 and her death was still reverberating through Errol Morris’s office when we filmed. She was the editor on several of his films, notably The Fog of War (2003), which she was cutting while she was also cutting Same River Twice. (Amazing!) Her name and her contributions to Morris’s career came up several times and in the end, we dedicated A Lightning Sketch to her.

Kareen Schmeer

I didn’t know Karen, but I vividly remember reading about her death and the shock and sense of loss it cause. As someone who still sees himself as a New York-based film editor–an identity I established for myself as an adult in my 20s and into my early 30s, I thought to all those times when the film itself continues to consume an editor’s thoughts. One is in the film world much more than the real world. There is a sense, too, that we New Yorkers act like we own the streets–which we do except when some crazed driver comes out of no where and creates death and mayhem. Surprisingly, in the wake of my making the Morris bio, I have been meeting many of Karen Schmeer’s friends and colleagues and have been piecing together her life. These included Robin Hessman (made of My Perestroika) and film critic and historian Gerald Peary, who made the documentary For Love of the Movies (2009).

A few more photos from my class visit.

Teaching Assistant Lucy Lindsey and Robb Moss

Robb’s class reminded me a lot of my own. Roughly the same size. Grads and undergrads, all sitting around a seminar table. It is just that their table is made of mahogany while ours is definitely more downscale. The fact of this symmetry only became apparent through the good offices of a young filmmaker and mutual friend whom Robb and I both mentored: Rebecca Wexler. It is due to her good offices that we have a slowly evolving association that will hopefully take us in interesting directions. Thank you Rebecca.

***

This might be the place to add a few photos and remarks about a couple of other visits I made in the fall, when I was still recovering from having my camera stolen.

Charles Musser

cultural historian/filmmaker/professor

Errol Morris

All posts tagged Errol Morris

Errol Morris and Chris Choy @ Yale

On the Road: Charlie, the traveling filmmaker