Here’s the conundrum of reviewing Reporter: It’s self-serving for me to tell you how moving it is and what essential work is being done by Nicholas Kristof during his constant excursions to the darkest corners of the globe. I want to say he shines light on those corners (he won one of his two [!!] Pulitzer Prizes for his crucial role in alerting the world that there was genocide occurring in Darfur). I believe he does. But then, I want you to believe in Kristof’s work and in journalism generally for totally selfish reasons (my own profession is, um, journalism). Why should you believe me when I tell you Eric Daniel Metzgar’s documentary is not just good but crucial?

You should believe me because I will never be the journalist Nick Kristof is. He’s not just great; he’s on another level. There is a certain kind of genius that just comes naturally. Perhaps you have been lucky enough to come across a person with this hardwiring in your own life; it’s a treat to watch such outliers in action. Kristof, equipped with Ivy League degree and an education in hard knocks six continents wide, makes a b-line for trouble like he’s missing some evolutionary biology, the part that makes us concede the relative lack of protection afforded us by, say, a pen and pad of paper and head away from the village where militias just slaughtered an unknown number of citizens. Kristof sees this as the perfect place to find his way into some hearts and minds back home. Metzgar makes a point of showing Kristof’s no-hesitation commitment to getting the best story.

Reporter follows Kristof and a teacher and a student who won a contest where the prize was going along with the venerable New York Times columnist. Metzgar was initially reluctant. He was offered the chance to follow Kristof with his camera but initially balked when he came across one particular line from the trip’s itinerary: “Visit the warlord Nkunda. Spend the night in the brush with his child soldiers.” He eventually changed his mind. Lucky us. The aforementioned visit with the warlord is only one of several occasions where Metzgar shows us what a truly professional journalist looks like in action. It unfolds something like this: Roll footage of group hiking up the hill that leads to the warlord’s mansion. Play audio from separate interview with Kristof where he’s talking about the challenge of asking the tough questions to a warlord (a warlord). Kristof is casual, disinterested, even, despite the fact that Nkunda can absolutely kill him and dump him in the bushes with impunity. We arrive at the table where the interview is to take place. Everyone’s maybe a little more careful with language, body and otherwise, and Nkunda arrives. Kristof starts him off with some softballs about his background and the goals of his NGO (Non-Government Organization), which is about where 99.9% of the population would have stopped. Kristof plows on, though, asking Nkunda about his role in the violence and pointing out that the biggest losers in all the constant fighting are the citizens Nkunda says he’s there to help.

So on one level, Metzgar made Reporter to demonstrate the function of journalism in society. As the profession falters in the face of rising apathy, it’s starting to be uncertain whether we actually need these people or if we can now disseminate information worldwide all on our own. The problem, as one person interviewed in the film points out, is that no one is entering “genocide” in his or her search engine. So we need someone to champion those without power, those forced into silence.

But Reporter is really more about the science of making people care, something Kristof is exceedingly good at. There are a number of passages in the film that talk about the psychology. One study shows that people are much less likely to donate when faced with two starving African children as opposed to just one. The idea that atrocities on a large scale too frequently become statistics rather than tragedies is well known, but that our sympathy erodes when the number rises to two? How are we supposed to combat the big issues with such erratic support?

For Kristof, the answer is to find that one person whose story is heartbreaking, relatable and a microcosm of the whole and enter there. He uses facts and statistics but uses them carefully and judiciously. He comes up with a hypothesis about the larger issue and tests it on the people it affects.

Metzgar has shot a gorgeous, difficult documentary and it is my profound hope, as a journalist and a human being, that Reporter picks up a head of steam and bowls over as many people as possible.

by Kiernan Maletsky

Martin Strel, the four-time world record holder in endurance swimming, is standing on a street corner in California, all 200-plus pounds of Slovenian glory bulging out over a straining Speedo. He tells passers by about his next endeavor, swimming the entire Amazon River, and he’s met with crazy stares and disbelief. But Martin doesn’t seem to notice. He’s done this twice before – once down the Yangtze and again down the Mississippi – so why not the Amazon next? To him it only seems natural. To us, he’s crazy. But it’s clear from the start that Martin isn’t ordinary…even if he doesn’t seem to recognize it.

We get to know Martin in his homeland of Slovenia, where he basks in his national celebrity status. He makes his own rules; he parks his car wherever he pleases, enjoys a free lifetime membership to Atlantis, Europe’s largest waterpark – complete with psychedelic waterslide – and is known for his multitasking, something of a national pastime for Slovenians Martin’s son says, like, for instance, drinking and driving. At one point we see Martin learning English via cassette tape, practicing his breathing exercises and drinking a beer…all while driving 100 miles per hour down the highway. And when he’s not teaching flamenco guitar lessons or eating horseburgers with his son, he’s swimming 20 kilometers a day and obsessing over his fast-approaching adventure, even in his dreams.

When he’s downing a bottle of whiskey mid-swim, it’s clear to us he’s no Lance Armstrong or Michael Phelps. But he’s passionate, albeit eccentric. It’s this slightly buzzed, only half translated yet confident charisma that makes him lovable and laughable and one of the best protagonists to uninhibitedly dominate a film in a long time. And the best part about it is that he has no idea how great he is.

Well…yes, actually, he does. He just doesn’t realize how comical that is.

But it’s right about here, at the start of the Amazon swim, that the laughs bring with them a new depth. The swim turns out to be far more difficult than Martin had us believing at the start. Yes, we knew there would be piranhas and alligators and that the crew would be carrying guns and machetes, just in case. We didn’t know that the river was in flood stage until Martin was fighting eddies and deadly whirlpools just to stay afloat. And we didn’t take into account the parasites, the sunburn, driftwood or foggy conditions. It isn’t until day nine, when Martin is suffering from second-degree burns on his face and has already lost 12 pounds, that we start to comprehend the realness of what he’s doing and question the feasibility of his goal. Will he make it? And what kind of sad state will he be in if he does?

Slowly, we see Martin, and most of his crew, deteriorate. Martin battles his high blood pressure, a parasite infection in his brain, hallucinations and his own sanity. Living on the river turns out to be, in some ways, more difficult mentally than physically. Martin’s navigator, Matt, a fisherman from Wisconsin, after three sleepless days starts rambling nonsense – “[Martin’s] the last superhero in the world!” – to anything with ears, and Martin, floating belly-up in a drunken/sleep-deprived/hallucinatory stupor, admits to us, “Now I’m close over into fourth dimension.” None of this surprises Martin’s son. This happens every trip.

Martin’s son is our guide as narrator through what he calls the strangest and worst 70 days of his life. He helps us understand why it is that his father is gambling with his life in the world’s longest, most treacherous rivers. In the Yangtze, when Martin swam through trash and alongside dead bodies, he says he did it to promote awareness about the world’s polluted rivers. His son sees three motivations in the Amazon: (1) to protect the rainforest, although no one knows what the hell he means by that, (2) to wage a personal battle on the memory of an abusive childhood, and (3) to prove validity in the idea that anyone can achieve impossible dreams.

By its end, Big River Man shares an intimacy with its audience that leaves us feeling like we just compared battle scars over copious bottles of wine with old friends. Martin and his crew have a natural presence that allows their true story to resonate with us and for their personalities to leave a lasting, certainly singular impression.

by Kelli White

Documentaries give the viewer a unique opportunity to take an in depth view at an issue or event. This was certainly the case with Rise Up a documentary chronicling the lives and burgeoning careers of three musicians in Jamaica over the course of a few years.

Going into this film, I knew virtually nothing about Jamaican music. I knew who Bob Marley was, but that was about it.  Not even being a very big fan of what I had heard of Jamaican music, I was a little skeptical of how much I would enjoy what I heard.  However, the music was pleasant and the film enjoyable and easy to follow.

One of the best aspects, in my opinion, was the way that the filmmaker, Luciano Blotta showed how music was woven into the fabric of Jamaican society. Blotta portrays music as an integral part of the culture by showing many different residents singing and creating songs on the spot for the camera.  A soundtrack of natural sounds and Jamaican music backs the film, giving the audience a sense of what is like to live in this atmosphere of music.

The subjects of the documentary are diverse and interesting. Turbulance is a young man from the ghetto who is driven to become one of Jamaica’s top performers.  Kemoy is a shy country girl with a beautiful, big voice. These characters contrast to Ice, a young white man from an affluent family. All three dream of success but face difficulties in achieving their goals. Ice lacks credibility because of his family’s wealth. Kemoy faces increased obstacles because she is a woman and Turbulance finds it difficult to get recognized in his own country.

Blotta shows their lives bluntly letting the viewer see the good and the bad of the characters and allowing the audience to make their own decisions about the three characters.

The film also includes some breathtaking views of the Jamaican countryside and eye opening shots of what it is like to live in the ghettos of the city. The camera zooms down streets on the back of a motorcycle and pans through the streets of the slums giving viewers a clear idea of the home of the characters.

by Katie Drexler

As far as bio-documentaries go, Sergio is a new twist to an old format. Its heroic quality leaves the audience enveloped in the emotion the film projects. It has everything a film should offer: suspense, love, raw emotion, even a little bit of humor and scandal, not to mention a main character with movie-star looks. With all of these characteristics meticulously and perfectly combined, it’s easy to forget that it’s nonfiction. Director Greg Barker (Ghosts of Rwanda) takes chances and eschews the predictability most documentaries possess in his film about former U.N. worker Sergio Vieira de Mello.

For 34 years Vieira de Mello served as a diplomat for the United Nations. Most recently, he worked as High Commissioner for Human Rights and was appointed as Special Representative of the U.N. Secretary General to Iraq. By this point Vieira de Mello had already established himself in his career as a great humanitarian. He worked during some of the darkest days in Cambodia, Bosnia, Croatia and East Timor, a short list of many. But through the strife these countries faced, he always worked toward the light of a brighter future. For this continuous strive and dedication, he was globally well known and admired.

The 55-year-old Brazilian has been called many things, even a cross between James Bond and Bobby Kennedy; but most simply called him Sergio, one of the only members of the United Nations known by his first name alone. He was dashing and high-minded with a charming smile and handsome demeanor, but he was also bold, motivated and strong-willed. Barker’s archival footage of Vieira de Mello captures these traits beautifully, making it easy to fall in love with the man behind the name, or at least understand and appreciate him more wholly.

The film is based on Samantha Power’s 2008 biography Chasing the Flame. The book ends with the horrific bombing of the Canal Hotel, the U.N. headquarters in Baghdad, where Vieira de Mello tragically died under the rubble of his third-floor office in August 2003. It’s with this part of Vieira de Mello’s life that Barker’s film takes a cinematic turn, leaving the audience captivated and consumed in the dramatic intensity of the event.

At this point in the film Barker turns up the suspense, catapulting his documentary into a riveting piece of cinema. He combines archival footage of the bombsite along with feed from the press conference that was occurring during the explosion. These documentarian aspects provide a foundation of reality and credibility. But it’s his suspenseful recreation of the bombing that gives it dramatic flare – the audience hears the explosion and the screen goes black. In these moments, Barker displays seamless cinematography that gives the audience a realistic account of the tragedy. It can’t be ignored that some of the assurance and reality of these scenes should be credited to U.S. soldiers William von Zehle and Andre Valentine’s compliance with reenacting their own roles in rescuing the victims out of the overwhelming wreckage.

Every bit of drama in a film needs its counterpart of emotions from the heart. Interviews with von Zehle; Valentine; Gilda Vieira de Mello, his mother; and Carolina Larriera, his coworker and fiancée, among others, add that sentiment that brings Vieira de Mello to the audience on a more personal level. He was more than a name; he was a man to be honored, admired and loved. Sergio is an astonishing and gripping depiction of the man behind the name and leaves the audience enthralled even after the credits end.

By Abbey Trescott

You’re 46 years old. You’re driving, and you get rear-ended. Three days later, you can’t remember who you are, your family, or even where you are. “Forgetting Dad” narrates this true-life tale of Richard Minnich through his son, film director Rick Minnich, and the turmoil his amnesia has brought to his family. But things aren’t all what they seem.

Through a series of interviews, reflections, home movies and reenactments, “Forgetting Dad” unfolds a story of either out-of-this-world circumstance or 18 years of deception. At the time of the accident Richard Minnich faced some serious problems, including affairs, potential legal issues with the bank he had been fired from, failure to keep a job and more. So, was the amnesia really amnesia, or was it a man trying to escape the life and responsibilities of a troubled existence? The film keeps you guessing with twists and turns and revelations that make the real reason for the “new Richard” unclear.

Interviews lead the narrative, with the director’s voice and home movies transitioning the viewer from one stage of the 18-year saga to another. Richard’s second wife, Lora, who was in the car with him at the accident, initially illustrates the toll his memory loss has taken on the family and how his amnesia progressed. He never regained his memory, and it doesn’t seem like he made much of an effort to regain it. Interviews with his children also immerse the viewer into a family ridden with depression, drug problems, and the ever-present question, “If your father no longer remembers you, does he stop being your father?”

Directors Rick Minnich and Matt Sweetwood excel in their treatment of the story, leaving the viewer with not just a tale of an unfortunate situation, but also a larger question of personal identity. Home movies of the “old Richard” and happy family outings in the 1960s and ‘70s are sprinkled throughout the film and work nicely with the descriptions of the “new Richard,” giving the audience a clear contrast of the two lives. Reenactments of doctor’s visits sometimes seem out of place in the film, giving parts of the documentary a Discovery Channel “Mystery Diagnosis” vibe, but emphasize the true medical mystery of Richard’s amnesia, of which there is no physical evidence.

The only piece missing from this documentary is recent interviews with Richard, which he was unwilling to give. The film balances this out with home movies from Richard taken previous to filmmaking, and the emphasis on his family’s reactions to the amnesia. Some of the family members are more suspicious than others, but all have the feeling that the Richard they knew is dead, replaced by a man they only physically recognize.

The film balances nostalgic scenes well with the stark reality of the situation, making the contrast between old and new a major theme.  And even though old home movies and happy memories make the old Richard seem ideal, it becomes obvious that the old Richard had plenty of skeletons. The directors also seem to avoid the soap opera trap that would be easy for this kind of story to fall into, illustrating drama along with solemn perspective. So, did Richard really have a rarest of the rare condition, or does he deserve a standing ovation for his almost two-decades long performance? The film keeps you entertained, wondering and reflecting beyond show time.

By Nancy McMullen

A little girl sits cross-legged on the floor, cradling a yellow teddy bear. Mildred, from Operation Bobbi Bear, helps to stretch a rubber band around the bear’s neck where the girl’s neighbor clenched his hands around her throat. The girl sticks band aids over the places he violated her, so she doesn’t have to say them aloud, then cries into Mildred’s shoulder because she is too afraid to go home.

This is daily work for the women of Bobbi Bear in Durban, South Africa, and one of the first scenes of Kim Longinotto’s documentary film “Rough Aunties” to grace viewers’ eyes. Longinotto traces founder Jackie Branfield and her force of friends and liberators — Eureka Oliver, Mildred Ngcobo, Sdudia Maphumulo and Thuli Sibiya — through 10 weeks of equally poignant struggles, laying open the emotions behind their seemingly fearless exteriors. The recipient of this year’s True Vision Award, Longinotto’s work is as raw and gutsy as the women she captures on camera.

Longinotto lets the “Rough Aunties” speak for themselves, keeping herself outside the frame while the action unfolds. The scenes shift from head-on interviews with Bobbi Bear members — including a particularly moving close-up of Mildred as she reveals her own history of abuse — to the women’s banter as they chatter over one another, arguing whether Bobbi Bear has toughened their skin against offenders.

It seems Durban’s skies are always ready to open up, and Mildred’s stark white interview backdrop abruptly transforms into torrents of rain pelting frantic wiper blades. What follows is Thuli’s interview with a girl who has been raped by her grandfather, the scene punctuated by rumbling thunder. Longinotto adds music only to transition in and out of the film, playing the same joyful reggae melody at the beginning and end. This way, the situations and conversations that play out are unembellished, messy and real.

The women at Bobbi Bear seem unafraid. They accompany police on raids looking for the accused, breaking down doors in the middle of the night. They shoo away a woman who scolds them for not arresting a girl’s father first. He raped her before her brother did, the woman repeated. But despite their unquestionable gumption, Longinotto allows Jackie, Mildred, Eureka, Thuli and Sdudia many moments of distress on screen. Eureka sobs after a robbery and inadequate health care cause the death of the father of two girls, while Sdudia cries out after losing her 7-year-old son, Shababa, to the river he must cross to go to school.

Shababa’s funeral is the longest series of shots in the film. Sdudia’s lamenting cries go on for minutes as Longinotto pans across the community united as they stare in silence at the water behind her. The women of Bobbi Bear surround Sdudia in a tight circle, as if to protect her. The funeral is an extended period of vocal mourning — the women sing until Longinotto pulls up a shot of Jackie commending Sdudia for her strength. Sdudia asks to come back to work the very next day. By letting them cry, Longinotto shows that empathy is part of what allows these women to plow forward.

The funeral has the potential to take away from the film’s overall message with its dominating length, but in her characteristic way, Jackie shapes the loss into a new platform for Bobbi Bear. These children need a bridge to get to school, so she will make the corporation responsible for rerouting of the river also responsible for Shababa and others’ deaths. Bobbi Bear doesn’t just tackle abuse; these women are fighting on multiple fronts, from corruption in health care to the neglect of social services.

If there is any complaint about this film, it is that Longinotto leaves out most of the history behind the organization and tells nothing of Jackie’s past. I wanted to know about her childhood and her reasons for starting Bobbi Bear. I wondered what happened to the children Longinotto introduced to the audience and left out once Shababa’s death overshadowed the plot.

For all its heaviness, however, the film isn’t without some humor. Jackie’s cell phone rings like a police siren, the office is always running out of tissues, and according to Eureka, it’s Zulu culture to use the “f-word.” The women learn from and counsel one another, bridging the gaps between race and experience.

In the end, Jackie attempts to convince her husband to adopt a troubled little girl named Nonhlanhla, who has suffered years of beatings by her uncle. The film ends in a freeze-frame image of Jackie’s daughter and Nonhlanhla in an embrace, signifying hope for the future. A little cheesy, but effective nonetheless. Longinotto’s genuine portrait shows that, thanks to the women of Bobbi Bear, Zulu culture no longer has to be a culture of silence.

by Jessica Showers

Necrobusiness unravels a tale of deception, shady business dealings, lies and murder yet manages to entertain viewers with genuinely comical scenes throughout.

The 95 minute documentary takes place in Lodz, Poland. The viewer enters the film when reporter Monika Sieradzka goes on assignment to find out more about a crime that has been going on in Lodz for years, possibly the biggest in Polish history.  Sieradzka enters in the middle of an investigation as Lodz funeral director and Mayor Wiltold Skrzydlewski speaks to the local press about a plot in the city involving health officials from underpaid paramedics to doctors and specifically mortuary worker Jacek Tomalski.

Allegedly, paramedics were given money for the dead bodies they brought to various funeral directors in Poland.  The directors in turn were paying the paramedics and other health workers by scamming grieving families out of exuberant amounts of money given by the Polish government for the deceased’s funeral expenses.  A very prosperous and dangerous business of exchanging money for dead bodies goes on for years in the city.

After a failed assassination attempt on Skrzydlewski’s life by competitor Tomalski, supposedly because he was going to leave the others out to dry to gain more for himself and his business, the documentary follows Tomalski’s trail and its effects on his mind and family.  During the trial, the third member of the criminal hierarchy, simply called Sumera throughout the documentary, speaks willingly and even comically about Tomalski and Skrzydlewski’s involvement, even as he awaits his own trial.

This film noir actually possess a lighter, quirky side that allows the viewer to gain an understanding about the gruesome case with comedic relief. Directors Richard Solarz and Fredrik von Krusenstjerna use comedy as a constant factor in the documentary, making it okay and even natural for the viewer to laugh through the film with quirky characters such as Sumera, who spend the majority of the documentary acting  like a secret agent and throwing everyone left field with his random responses.

Sumera is first introduced meeting reporter Sieradzka in a covered train station. Sumera can be seen throughout the documentary speaking in hushed tone, wearing shaded glasses at all times, even in the courtroom or indoors interviewing with Sieradzka.  The height of comedy is the court scene where Sumera is caught tape recording the proceedings in which he is a defendant, while on the stand.

Sumera’s seemingly total separation from the deaths, blackmail and scandal that he is allegedly involved in, and the reaction of those around him to his nonchalance, allows the viewer to laugh in typically tense scenes.

“Basically nothing is closed to the public,” stated co-director Fredrik von Krusenstjerna when asked about the seemingly unlimited access to buildings and areas throughout Lodz during the documentary that allowed the viewer to get a full understanding of the crime and its effects. Solarz and Von Krusenstjerna successfully use cartoon sketching, perky music and constant comic relief to show the viewer the horrors of a murder money scheme gone awry and the lives of those closely affected.   The directors balance the use of indoor and outdoor scene shots, all doing various times of daylight, to give the film a very clean and visually pleasing day to day setting.  The film ends on with Skrzydlewski untouched and the trial ongoing.

by Asia Jones

Think about a typical Saturday night. Does it involve dancing? A simple pleasure that most of us take for granted is not even legal in other countries such as Afghanistan. “Afghan Star” is a documentary about a competition in Afghanistan much like “American Idol.”  This eye-opening film brings attention to the competition itself and cultural differences between countries as well as the differences between the Afghan people themselves.

The film follows four contestants: Rafi, Lima, Hammeed and Setara through their journey in the competition. All four contestants are from different tribes of Afghanistan, which makes for an intriguing competition that works to unify the country. All of their cultural values come together in music. Music, which was not even allowed in their country until very recently. The Taliban banned music from 1996 to 2001. During their reign, the Taliban limited TV and programming. When the TV network Tolo TV came about and produced a show about music controversy arose.

The director, Havana Marking, does not start off slow in her first feature film. The cultural differences are apparent as soon as the film starts with a young boy singing in a rundown house. Marking then immediately starts to reveal women’s issues in Afghanistan. Out of all of the people auditioning for Afghan Star, three are women. Lima and Setara make it through to the top 10 where tempers start to rise. Music is seen as freedom to many people, but dancing has been forbidden for many years. When Setara dances and takes off her veil in the episode she is kicked off the show, threats for her life start to pour in. The audience is on the edge of their seat following this performance. She needs to stay in safe places and cannot go back to her hometown. It is shocking to see just how serious people react to what seems like such an innocent act.

The story is uplifting if for no other reason than to see people like Setara that strive for freedom so passionately that they put their life on the line. You feel personally invested in the story in the way that Marking shot and edited the film. You can see how much they love music in their facial expressions when they step on stage. I found myself wanting to know who would win Afghan Star more than I have ever wanted to know the winner of American Idol. Those contestants want the title of Afghan Star more than any contestant on any reality show I have ever seen. The winner would be a symbol of freedom for their country as well as a unifying factor. 11 million people voted for the winner of Afghan Star, which is about the equivalent of one-third of the population of Afghanistan. This was also the first many people had seen democracy. You feel for these people and what they go through everyday. The film ends with a glimmer of hope. While the concept dancing is still very foreign to some people, music has now become part of their lives in the form of an “Afghan Star.”

by Lisa Appleton

We all know from the campy kids’ shows of our youth that responsibility isn’t always the easiest choice, in fact, it’s often times the most difficult option.  The film No Impact Man aims to teach us that although challenging, choosing the ecologically responsible course of action is worth the effort.  Indeed, after a year of living without the amenities of a disposable lifestyle, the No Impact family is closer, healthier and happier than before.

The premise is simple. For his next book, Historical non-fiction writer Colin Beavan decides to become the No Impact Man by picking up his carbon foot and stepping as lightly as possible. To do this he spends a year progressively eliminating his contributions to humanity’s desecration of the planet, by cutting down on the trash he produces and the carbon emissions he funds. His list of no-this and no-thats is long, illustrating just how much of our culture is detrimental to the environment. Among other taboos were no coffee, no take out, no elevators, no superfluous shopping, no carbon-emitting transportation, no electric, and—yes of course—no toilet paper as well.

It gets interesting when he drags his consumerist wife Michelle Conlin, a writer for Business Week, and their two-year-old daughter Isabella into the picture.  Oh yes, and they are also going to keep living in their ninth floor, Fifth Avenue apartment in New York City for their year with a minute environmental impact.   Here the film begins to follow two parallel stories: one of sustainability and one about family.

Conlin is not the kind of person you’d expect to go along with such a harsh change in life style.  She describes herself as the perfect example of the consumer. Conlin fears she’ll lose her job without coffee, is addicted to reality TV, doesn’t know how to cook because she always eats out and loves shopping so much that she spent 947 dollars on cloths prior to her one year fast.  Considering all of this, it’s no wonder that Conlin becomes the audience’s representative. She agrees to go along with her husband’s experiment for her child and for her health: after getting blood work done, Conlin had found that her take-out diet has left her disposed towards diabetes.

Seeing the quality of Conlin and Beavan’s relationship strengthen through the strain of his experiment makes watching the film worthwhile in the first place.  Some families would be torn apart by the such a drastic change in lifestyle, but if anything the trio is made stronger.  After all, the lack of TV and without the million distractions of a consumerist life, all the three have left is one another.

Besides the fact that the No Impact family feels good about living so sustainably, they learn a lot of ways to be more eco friendly in a practical way and by extension, so do the audience.  In this manner, No Impact Man is a sort of environmental how-to-guide for sustainability.  Beavan recognizes the fact that most of America wont go as far as he, and worries about the over all practicality of his experiment. But, with his wife’s help he realizes that it’s more about teaching us that much of our eco harmful habits are just that, habits.  Being responsible is just a matter of getting out of our bad habits and adopting practices that are not only good for the environment but also good for ourselves.

Maybe the most interesting aspect of the movie is not the extremes that the No Impact family goes to for sustainability, but the reaction of the public to their experiment.  Besides questioning Beavan’s experiment as a form of self-promotion, many of the comments he receives are quite hateful, leaving the couple to question why their lifestyle would anger so many people.  Perhaps the nature of this reaction is expressed best in Beavan’s musings on the title of the New York Times article about his family. Why, he questions, was the article’s title “A Year without Toilet Paper” instead of  “A Year Without the Food that Would Give my Wife Diabeties” or “A Year without the TV that Kept my Family from Being Together?”

By James Saracini

If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen. If you can’t stand high expectations, biting criticism and the relentless pursuit of success, don’t even set foot in Wilma Stephenson’s kitchen.

A legend in the public school system, Stephenson teaches culinary arts at Frankford High School in inner city Philadelphia. In the feature-length documentary “Pressure Cooker,” directors Jennifer Grausman and Mark Becker lead us on an unforgettable journey with three of Stephenson’s students.

In a loud, commanding voice typically reserved for boot camp drill sergeants, Stephenson barks orders at Erica, Dudley, Fatoumata and their classmates. From the proper way to dice tomatoes to the best way to arrange a plate for stunning visual effect, Stephenson keeps a sharp eye on her students’ progress—and she’s not shy about letting them know when their work falls below her standards. For the students, their mentor’s respect is hard-won through long hours in the classroom, before school, after school and during breaks.

In one of the most passionate examples of long-form storytelling to be produced in recent years, Grausman and Becker explore the most stringent challenge of these young adults’ lives. As we cheer them on, the students battle their way through a grueling culinary competition for a chance at scholarships that may prove to be their only ticket out of Philly.

Of course, it can’t be overlooked that these teenagers have already faced their share of obstacles. Through a captivating sequence that showcases students reading aloud from their scholarship essays, we learn of broken homes, handicapped siblings, controlling parents, and cultural barriers.

The tastefully-shot, gritty, urban scenery—from highway overpasses to rundown row houses—interspersed throughout the work serves to underscore the harsh realities these students face.

Yet at its core, the film retains an overarching sense of hope. The students hope for achievement, financial independence and a better way of life for themselves and their families—and Stephenson nurtures these dreams in ways no other teacher has attempted.

It would have been easy for the directors of this film to paint the lives of inner city students in the same broad strokes most audiences are familiar with: teen pregnancies, drug problems and gang activity. But they should be praised for staying true to the stories of the students they followed. This is a story of real people, doing their best to rise above a less-than-desirable situation. It is told in a manner that real people everywhere will find accessible and truthful—the mark of a quality documentary.

“Pressure Cooker” has found eager audiences at numerous film festivals, and recently screened at Columbia’s own True/False Film Fest. It is slated for widespread release in New York, Los Angeles and Philadelphia this summer.

Just as a talented chef turns raw ingredients into a masterpiece, so too does Wilma Stephenson transform her students’ raw ambitions into palatable success. The story of the students she helps mold is sure to captivate and inspire audiences for many years to come.

by Steven Welliver