Procession (2021) | Directed by Robert Greene

5/5
Robert Greene’s Procession is an exceptionally moving documentary that utilizes the tools of filmmaking as a means for the film’s participants to continue their work facing and recovering from the abuse and trauma they experienced as children. Through the use of recreation and cinematic reinterpretation of the survivors’ traumatic experiences, they’re able symbolically interrupt their abuse and protect their younger selves, speak truth into their past, and face the physical spaces in which they were abused in order to have them loom less ominously in their lives. The use of the same child actor across the scenes is a powerful choice that serves to highlight the repeated patterns of abuse throughout the Catholic Church. Greene works closely with the survivors, allowing them to shape the work to suit the needs of their recovery, rather than the needs of the film. It continues in Greene’s exploration of the act of filmmaking and performance as a means of healing, and it gives agency to these men who had their agency taken from them as children, who have repeatedly been denied justice. In a year when documentaries have crossed so many ethical lines, it’s refreshing to see a film that consistently gives its subjects such control over the process, that checks in with its participants at every step along the way, and that is always attempting to put the welfare of those involved above the finished work. And that final work is a film of tremendous empathy and compassion, an overwhelmingly emotional exploration of trauma and the healing that can come through connection and community.

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The Works and Days (of Tayoko Shiojiri in the Shiotani Basin) (2020) | Directed by C.W. Winter and Anders Edström

5/5
C.W. Winter and Anders Edström’s THE WORKS AND DAYS (OF TAYOKO SHIOJIRI IN THE SHIOTANI BASIN) is an astonishing meditation on aging, mortality, grief, and the simple things that can help us as we move on and begin to heal. We, the viewer, are invited to enter into this rural Japanese community, to hear the stories of family members, to sit with Tayoko Shiojiri during the final year of her husband’s life – to bear witness and respond with the same empathy that the filmmakers display. At eight hours in length, the film is precisely attuned to the rhythms of the day (routines we come to know so well over the course of the film), the changes in season on the ever-shifting landscape with which we grow ever more familiar, and the cycles of the year and the way it brings family and friends in and out of the narrative as naturally as our own friends and family come in and out of our lives. The film is suffused with incredible images, capturing the subtle shifts of light that occur during the day and the small, incidental details in the foreground as characters carry on lengthy monologues in the background. Dense soundscapes orient us to the location and help us find our bearings as the film carries us over the course one year. While the film is a work of fiction, it’s grounded in real events that happened to the performers. The filmmakers are so embedded in the community that they become part of the film, and the performers become integral to the filmmaking process. This is such a compelling and captivating work that, while the duration is vital to the experience, you’re never left feeling burdened by the film’s eight hours. It’s a monumental work of cinematic empathy that will have you eager to revisit this quiet village, continue peeling back the film’s layers, and sit with its reflections on our mortality and our place in this world.

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