What really happened?

Robert Wood was a Dallas police officer who was shot and killed during a routine traffic stop in November of 1976. One month later, with no leads and little hope of making an arrest, 16-year-old David Harris came forward claiming to have been in the car when another man, Randall Adams, killed officer Woods. Harris’s testimony lead to Adam's hasty conviction and life-sentence.

Fast forward eleven years and Errol Morris accidentally happens upon this story. Unsettled by the details of the case, Morris begins his own interview investigation. The Thin Blue Line is what happens when a game of Clue meets an episode of Law and Order meets reality TV meets a full-length documentary film. The entire documentary is no more than real-life people simply telling their side of a story; one that has very real-life (and permanent) consequences. As small, seemingly “true” details have set the wheels of justice rolling in the wrong direction—beyond anyone’s ability, it seems, to control—it becomes painfully obvious that Adams is innocent.

One year after the documentary’s release, twelve years after Adams’ initial conviction, the documentary prompts a review of the case and Adams is released from prison to live the remaining 20 years of his life in hermit-like obscurity. (Details not included in the film; read more here.)

This film addresses difficult, yet fundamental questions about justice: Who decides what’s true? What happens when human justice assumes control over life and death? How do my preconceptions, desires, and desperation shape my ability to see?  And what power do my words have to create, judge, and justify reality?

The Thin Blue Line reminds and inspires us that films do matter; that they have the ability to change our stories and the world.

Enjoy via Netflix Instant Stream.

What is real?

Let’s start with the irony. No film genre employs the power of technology more fiercely than science fiction does while simultaneously warning us of the dangers of it. Maybe the greatest example of this paradox is The Matrix.

Almost thirteen years ago exactly, the Wachowski brothers brought an epic storyline to the big screen in a way most moviegoers had never seen. Fully loaded with religious symbolism, the film begged to be taken as something more than an American take on a Kung-Fu movie. As audiences watched Neo bend backwards to avoid flying bullets and ward off punches at lightning speed, they willingly suspended their disbelief in order to take in the visceral ride.

Herein lies the wonder of The Matrix: A film that created a virtual reality by the power of computers argues that living in a delusional world of alternate reality, created by computers, is the greatest threat to humankind. The only way The Matrix works, as a film, is if you enter into it in the exact manner that the film warns people away from living. The Matrix is a call to have a rebirth with new eyes—to see what is real in a world of lies—and it does this by lying to our eyes.

As the big summer blockbusters [at least the studios hope they are] start to make their way into theaters near you, it will become obvious just how obsessed America is with the idea of needing a savior. Once again, superheroes will fly onto the big screen in droves. Thirteen years after Neo became another face of salvation for us, Hollywood continues to acknowledge our thirst for more.

But what does a savior look like? Is the picture presented in Neo a reflection of what we collectively seem to desire so deeply? Is a savior a good guy with a gun that outlasts the bad guys with guns? Is a savior counter-cultural [different from the surrounding world] or super-cultural [an extreme, more powerful version of the surrounding world]?

The Matrix offers possible answers to these questions. You need to decide if they’re real.

What do post-modern sensibilities, shortwave radio static, September 11^th, and alt-country-pop-rock have in common?

The correct answer is Wilco’s album Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, but I also would’ve accepted rednow (I mean, who even knows what rednow is really about anyway?).

This month is the 10^th anniversary of Wilco’s most famous and most unique album. It’s a bit strange to me that this album is already 10 years old, but still clearly communicates an experience of disconnection. This experience made perfect sense to so many of us after September 11. It was one of the only albums that could begin to capture how we felt after that day. Plenty of bands were making music to boost our spirits and help us overcome these feelings, but none of these (U2’s “Walk On” and Bruce Springsteen’s “The Rising”) were able to really come close to being able to sit with us in those odd feelings of disconnection that we felt—not as individuals, which is how the disconnection associated with post-modernity has mostly  been described, but as a society and nation of people.

The album still contains some of the best indie pop-rock from the first decade of the millennium, but all that comes mixed together with quiet dreamy melodies and not so quiet “noise.” All this coalescing on a single album creates the feeling of dislocation that post-modernity has for so long spoken of,  yet this music somehow allows us to be disconnected together. This album is less a sequence of songs and more of a single progression of an experience.

Even 10 years after September 11^th and the dislocation that we as a nation and a society felt, one can pick up this album and feel the dislocation that might not be directly related to a national tragedy, but still exists in many of our lives from time to time.  What Yankee Hotel Foxtrot does is what art should do. It shouldn’t just move us, but should also be able to put its finger on the experience when we don’t feel able to move at all.

Can brokenness be too familiar?

If Iran is known for anything (in America), it's not film.

Rather, our common assumptions are derived from the numerous sound bytes we receive from Western news outlets. Reports of Iran's emerging nuclear program. Stories of Iran's conflict with neighboring states. And accounts of various abuses midst the theocratic rule.

And here lies the beauty of foreign films. We get a different window. One that's built from within foreign borders. One that tells another story.

A Separation, arguably Iran's most prominent and acclaimed film to date, assumes this role in more ways than one. The Western world witnesses an Iranian culture contrary to our presumptions. The state of Iran receives a story that it wishes was different. And the narrative itself revolves around the reality of opposing story lines.

Set in the capital city of Tehran, the film opens with a husband and wife facing an Iranian judge – a role that writer and director Asghar Farhadi subtly suggests is occupied by the viewer – shooting the entire scene from the (unseen) judge's perspective. The couple is before the court attempting to settle a domestic dispute about whether or not they should leave Iran (the aspect of the film that the Iranian state is not thrilled about). The wife Simin (Leila Hatami) wishes to pursue greater opportunities for herself, their daughter, and women in general. Nader (Peyman Moaadi) refuses to leave due to his ailing father's bout with Althzeimers – an easy excuse in lieu of the unspoken, yet apparent, resentment that has plagued their marriage.

The result is a separation eerily familiar to Western culture.

In fact, the titles namesake permeates the script. We see it in Nader and Simin's fallen marriage. We see it within class distinction, in government rule, and in the prominence of religious differences. All of which can easily be mistaken as distinctively "Iranian".

But Farhardi has crafted a story that eventually breaks any remaining cultural barriers that might exist for Westerners.  Brokenness is brokenness. And the pursuit of justice and grace is a reality that goes well beyond the cast.

A Separation is undoubtedly worthy of it's recent Oscar win (Best Foreign Picture) and arguably the top "dysfunctional family" film of the year. And while I have no real means of knowing whether or not this is an adequate representation of Iranian culture, it certainly provides a new window and tells a story that you won't hear on CNN – one that might be a bit more familiar than you'd think.