Walking in the Clouds

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"Life should be lived on the edge of life. You have to exercise rebellion: to refuse to tape yourself to rules, to refuse your own success, to refuse to repeat yourself, to see every day, every year, every idea as a true challenge — and then you are going to live your life on a tightrope."

Philippe Petit

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The news of Philippe Petit's tightrope walk between the twin towers of the World Trade Center on Aug. 7, 1974, didn't pass without notice. The New York Times, for example, devoted a fair amount of space to the story the next day.

But it was overshadowed by bigger news. What could be bigger? Well, Richard Nixon resigned the presidency a couple of days later. The buildup to that really dwarfed everything else.

But enough photos and films were made that, when combined with interviews and re–enacted scenes, they formed a solid foundation for a documentary on the event, "Man On Wire," that premiered at the Sundance Film Festival 10 years ago today.

Unless you're talking about Michael Moore's films, which are in a category of their own, most documentaries — no matter how well done or informative — don't tend to be financially successful. "Man On Wire" was no exception, earning less than $3 million at the box office in a year when the 10 highest–grossing movies raked in at least $419 million apiece.

In terms of revenue, "Man On Wire" was way down the list.

"Man On Wire" wasn't financially successful, but it did succeed at telling a compelling story by which film critic Roger Ebert admitted to being "helplessly engrossed."

Ebert also acknowledged having a fear of heights.

Not being a wirewalker, I appreciated the fact that the movie went over the extensive preparation that Petit and his team undertook. They constructed a rehearsal wire in a country field that Petit used frequently, then he practiced in real places — the bell towers of Notre Dame and the towers of Australia's Sydney Harbour Bridge.

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Those walks were harrowing enough to watch, but then Petit was ready to move on to the World Trade Center, which was still being built when he first decided to take his walk.

But, as Ebert observed, Petit "never just 'walked' on a wire. He lay down, knelt, juggled, ran." Things you wouldn't think a human could do on a wire at any height, much less dangling some 1,300 feet above the ground — especially someone with no formal training for that. He taught himself how to walk on a wire.

Petit was meticulous in his preparation, though. The practice wire in that field, while only a few feet above the ground, had been approximately the same distance he would later walk between the twin towers. To simulate the precarious winds that could pop up without warning and cause all kinds of movement, he had his colleagues tug at the wire during his rehearsals.

All the details of that walk were laid out for the viewers in the movie — including how the wire was strung between the buildings.

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Petit was taken into police custody after his walk was completed, and the title of the movie was taken from the police report.

"It may have been illegal," one of Petit's colleagues said, "but it wasn't wicked or mean."

As I watched the movie, especially the parts that showed the World Trade Center, I couldn't help thinking of the post–9/11 attack scenes I saw of the towers' facade, all twisted amid the smoldering wreckage.

But director James Marsh wisely chose not to so much as mention what would happen to the towers nearly three decades after Petit's walk. It was a separate story. A native New Yorker, Marsh said his movie was a gift to the city and that he believed it would be wrong to mix the wirewalker's triumphant tale with the one about the terrorists.

I couldn't control the direction my thoughts took when I watched the movie, and I was powerless to block memories of that awful day, but I have to agree that Marsh's decision was the right one.

"Man On Wire" won an Oscar for Best Documentary.

Telling Harvey Milk's Story

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"I know that you cannot live on hope alone, but without it, life is not worth living. And you ... and you ... and you ... gotta give 'em hope."

Harvey Milk

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Harvey Milk was a social pioneer.

In these days of general acceptance of same–sex marriage, it is probably difficult for some people to imagine a time when homosexuals not only did not enjoy the same rights and privileges as heterosexual citizens, but most also felt they could not be open about themselves with their families and friends — and, with no legal rights to speak of, there was no reason for them to tell their employers the truth, either.

That is why the title of an Oscar–winning documentary on Milk mentioned his times, not his life. A documentary examining a public life that is lived separately from a person's private life can afford the luxury of focusing on that person's life achievements as well as the times in which he/she lived. When one is a pioneer, the times are much more important — because he/she changed them or was changed by them, more likely the former.

Milk became the first openly gay supervisor in San Francisco. Folks who knew him early in his life probably would have been surprised by how he turned out. He was not a gay activist as a young man, nor was he interested in politics. He grew up in New York, served in the Navy and opened a camera store in San Francisco.

So his political identity was not separate from his personal identity. He was perceived as a gay politician, and he was referred to in the media as the "first openly gay supervisor." But he soon made it clear he was motivated to be an advocate for all his constituents, not just his gay ones.

One of the interesting observations in the movie described Milk's first campaign — and, I suspect, his later ones were much the same — as a microcosm of the city's population, with gays working next to straights, men working with women, young working with old, all with a common purpose and, I suspect, a common expectation.

His metamorphosis into a social activist can be seen in "The Times of Harvey Milk," which premiered 30 years ago today — nearly six years after Milk's death. It was directed by Rob Epstein and narrated by Harvey Fierstein.

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Anyone under 40 would have no memory of Milk — but that is precisely the demographic group that really needs to see this documentary. Most of those people have grown up believing in equal treatment for all, which is good, but they need to understand that America has not always lived up to its creed. An historical context is necessary in any kind of empowerment movement — racial, religious, sexual — so the mistakes of the past will not be repeated in the future.

That same group has grown up or is growing up with a mental image of San Francisco as bursting at the seams with gay residents. Its gay population may always have been a little larger than the gay population in most American cities, but in the early 1970s, gays merely represented a fraction of the city's population. That demographic group was definitely growing, but it was simply one more group in the San Francisco melting pot. Milk's election was historic, and it forever changed the perception of San Francisco in the nation at large.

I think Milk was successful — and seemed to have outgrown "the movement" in the months before his death — because his emphasis was on people — of all kinds. Gay, straight, male, female, black, white, young, old. Perhaps he got into politics because of his sexual orientation. But, after his election as city supervisor, and maybe even before, he realized that his constituency extended beyond the homosexual community and that, if one group is denied something that is permitted to others, truly equal treatment does not exist, and everyone is demeaned.

I'm inclined to think Milk's transformation happened before he was elected — when he earned the honorary title "Mayor of Castro Street." On Election Night 1977, when Milk won in his fourth try, he was asked if he would be a supervisor for all the people. "I have to be," he replied. "The problems that affect this city affect all of us."

A year later, it was the sad duty of Dianne Feinstein, then the president of San Francisco's Board of Supervisors, to announce the killings of Milk and San Francisco Mayor George Moscone in November 1978. If you're planning to watch this documentary and you don't know what happened to Milk, you'll see footage of Feinstein making the announcement during the opening credits.

So I guess I'm not letting the cat out of the bag by telling you that. The rest of the movie, after all, is built upon the presumption that the audience knows what happened.

I felt that two of the most powerful parts of the movie were news footage — of the mournful but peaceful candlelight vigil that filled San Francisco's streets the night of the murders and the angry mob that filled those streets several months later when former Supervisor Dan White was convicted not of premeditated murder but of voluntary manslaughter, thanks in large part to what became known as the "Twinkie defense."

The former did the city proud; the latter did not. In the movie, it was alleged that, if Moscone had been the only victim, White would have been sent to prison for life. "But he killed a gay," one person said in the movie, "and so they let him off easy."

I understand the raw emotions that surrounded these events, and that allegation may very well reflect the majority opinion in San Francisco at that time, but I thought the makers of the movie did no one a favor by giving voice to unsupported slander of the jury.

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"The Times of Harvey Milk" received an Oscar for Best Documentary.

Telling the Tale of a Terrorist Attack

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"Michael Moore's 'Fahrenheit 9/11' is less an expose of George W. Bush than a dramatization of what Moore sees as a failed and dangerous presidency."

Roger Ebert

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To use a political term, filmmaker Michael Moore has known his base for awhile so it is no surprise when he plays to it — as he clearly did in "Fahrenheit 9/11," which premiered 10 years ago today.

That, I suppose, is the advantage of making a documentary. You aren't necessarily trying to win an election although you would like to persuade some folks who are sitting on the fence or are sympathetic to the other side that you are correct. In the end, though, I guess documentaries primarily succeed at reinforcing conclusions the viewers have already reached.

Most documentaries don't make a lot of money — few outside their niche audience will pay to see them. And many documentary makers' agendas are so slanted in one direction or the other that they aren't as meticulous about the facts as they should be — except for the ones that support their position.

Sometimes you have to wonder just how dedicated to the facts they really are. Indeed, there have been times when it was clear to me that the documentary maker was more interested in scoring points than being right — and, at times, that is certainly true of "Fahrenheit 9/11," just as it is true of most of Moore's documentaries.

Actually, in 2004 — as in all even–numbered years — there were the usual congressional elections, and a presidential election was scheduled, too, so the timing of the movie's release — slightly more than four months before Election Day — clearly was intended to influence voter behavior.

And part of that mission was to remind voters of what happened the last time — when George W. Bush and Al Gore were locked in a stalemate, and the Supreme Court voted to let vote counts in Florida stand, giving Bush the election.

While he didn't endorse Democratic presidential nominee John Kerry, Moore told USA Today, at the time of the film's release, that "I would like to see Mr. Bush removed from the White House."

Moore's narration was, alternately, indignant and sardonic, occasionally both. Actually, as verbose as he was, I was surprised when I read that Ebert wrote: "If the film is not quite as electrifying as Moore's 'Bowling for Columbine,' that may be because Moore has toned down his usual exuberance and was sobered by attacks on the factual accuracy of elements of 'Columbine'; playing with larger stakes, he is more cautious here, and we get an op–ed piece, not a stand–up routine."

I never got the impression that he was "more cautious." He was more toned down, not quite as in–your–face as he had been in other projects, but I thought that was a good thing. Maybe he was a little more meticulous about the facts, but that is something I never discourage.

There was a considerable controversy surrounding the documentary's release, and Moore countered complaints rather nimbly, but if his objective was to remove Bush, he failed. Some voters may have seriously reconsidered whether to vote for him, but in the end Bush, of course, was re–elected.

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There probably wasn't much Moore could tell viewers about the central event in the movie, either — the Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist attacks.

(Ebert, however, did observe that "Moore brings a fresh impact to familiar material by the way he marshals his images," and there certainly is truth in that. It is a big part of why "Fahrenheit 9/11" is the highest–grossing documentary of all time — and won the Palme d'Or, the most prestigious award given at the Cannes Film Festival.)

Most Americans saw part or all of the attacks on TV. There were many details that Americans did not know, details that trickled out over time although many were revealed only through the release of the findings of the 9/11 Commission later that summer.

But, because they had seen the horrific things that happened on the morning of September 11, many Americans formed opinions that had hardened 2¾ years later — and had become more difficult, if not impossible, to dislodge.

In my experience, few minds were changed by "Fahrenheit 9/11" — and that really is the movie's story. Given his history in his documentaries about General Motors and the gun culture, Moore's influence via "Fahrenheit 9/11" was minimal. While it was entertaining, as Moore's movies usually are, my guess at the time was that it would reaffirm the viewer's opinion, whatever it happened to be.

Taken out of the context of its time, "Fahrenheit 9/11" is robbed of much of its impact. When it was released, though, it was fresh and — in spite of Ebert's comments to the contrary — electrifying in its own way.

Happy Birthday, Ken Burns

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In September 1990, I was in graduate school. My classes met at night, and I was taking two classes that semester so I was away from home a lot during the week.

But for five consecutive nights — from Sunday, Sept. 23 to Thursday, Sept. 27 — I tried to be home as much as possible to see Ken Burns' documentary, "The Civil War," on PBS.

Burns, who is 56 today, caused quite a sensation in 1990 with his documentary. It was really a national obsession. The series drew 40 million nightly viewers that week, making it PBS' most–watched program ever. It is regarded by many as Burns' magnum opus, even though he has done similar documentaries on jazz, baseball and World War II since then.

"The Civil War" used photographs, paintings and newspaper graphics from the time, combining them with actors reading actual quotes from letters and speeches. Historian David McCullough was the narrator and many other famous people — among them Sam Waterston, Julie Harris, Jason Robards, Morgan Freeman, Arthur Miller, George Plimpton, Kurt Vonnegut, Hoyt Axton, Colleen Dewhurst and Garrison Keillor — read the quotes.

The documentary also made something of a celebrity of an historian named Shelby Foote. A native of Greenville, Miss., Foote wrote a three–volume history of the war, but he was largely unknown until the documentary aired with Foote providing extensive commentary. His soothing Mississippi accent attracted quite a public following.

The documentary also featured renditions of a number of songs that were from the Civil War period. The only piece that was not from that period, the theme song, was written especially for the documentary — but many people believed then and continue to believe that it was a Civil War era composition.

The 11–hour documentary is well worth seeing, and it has been available for several years in a five–DVD set. So, if you didn't see it 19 years ago, you can rent it or buy it. If you do, you may understand its enormous appeal.

Thanks for sharing that with us, Ken. And happy birthday.

'Triumph of the Will' Served Propaganda Purposes

During World War II and in the years after the war ended, the Nazis' reputation for comprehending the value of effective propaganda became almost legendary.

But their appreciation for the power of propaganda preceded the war by several years.

On Sept. 5, 2009, it will be 75 years since the Nazis gathered for the Nazi Party Congress in Nuremberg. It was an important event for rallying the faithful in person — but it also served as the basis for filmmaker Leni Riefenstahl's influential propaganda documentary, "Triumph of the Will."

Because of the role it played in the development of filmmaking techniques — such as the advanced use of telephoto lenses, aerial photography and moving cameras — "Triumph of the Will" earned a spot in film history.

It also played an important role in the rise of the Nazi Party. Hitler and the Nazis had come to power the year before and were still largely unknown to many Germans — and much of the world.

The film opened with a brief commentary written in German. Translated, it said: "20 years after the outbreak of the world war, 16 years after the beginning of our suffering, 19 months after the beginning of the German renaissance, Adolf Hitler flew again to Nuremberg to review the columns of his faithful followers."

From that point, the only written commentaries were merely the surnames of the speakers. That may have been helpful to many viewers, since most of Hitler's subordinates were hardly household names at the time.

Anyway, following the opening commentary, Riefenstahl's camera took the viewer into the clouds, aboard a 1934-era airplane, preparing to descend into Nuremberg.

In the film, Hitler emerged from the clouds, like Thor in his chariot. Once Hitler's airplane was on the ground, Riefenstahl's film crew captured his enthusiastic reception and his ride into the city from every possible angle.

Nuremberg in 1934 had all the zeal and piety of a religious revival.

Indeed, at the closing ceremony, Hitler compared the Nazi Party to a "religious order" while Riefenstahl's camera filmed from below, making Hitler look larger than life, almost godlike.

In the years that followed, Riefenstahl's film attracted full houses to movie theaters across Germany. The mood was altogether different a little more than 10 years later — when Germany had lost the war and the surviving leaders of the Third Reich were brought to Nuremberg to stand trial for "crimes against humanity."

But, in 1934, those days were still in the future.

That four-day gathering in September 1934 was filled with speeches from Hitler, Rudolf Hess, Joseph Goebbels, Julius Streicher and others, special rallies for the Labor Service and for the Hitler Youth, torchlight marches and music. It was all filmed in black and white, but it must have been quite a spectacle in color.

Riefenstahl was provided with everything she asked for and given access to anything and anyone she desired — pretty heady stuff for a 31-year-old actress directing her first documentary.

However, the film was lacking in some ways — by modern standards.

As advanced as it was in some of its techniques, the film used no transitional devices to indicate a shift from one day to the next.

For a film that sought to document a four-day event, that's a significant shortcoming. Unless the viewer was familiar with the itinerary, there was no way to tell if you were watching the Hitler Youth rally on the third day or the rally for the Labor Service on the second day — except through excerpts from speeches.

The only way to tell much chronologically was through natural light — or the absence of it. Day faded into night. And then a new day dawned in the film with little, if any, fanfare.

But the pomp and circumstance of the final day was hard to mistake.

The imagery was the most memorable, the music consisted of themes from Wagner's "Götterdämmerung," and Hitler, who shortly before laid a wreath at a World War I memorial, delivered a stirring concluding speech, in which he told the crowd, "All loyal Germans will become National Socialists. Only the best National Socialists are party comrades."

One of the primary propaganda purposes of the film, from Hitler's point of view, was to absolve himself and his associates from any guilt for the "Night of the Long Knives," a series of political executions carried out by the Nazis a couple of months earlier. Ernst Röhm, co-founder of the Nazi stormtroopers, was among those executed because he was perceived to be a rival to Hitler — something the Nazis wanted to obscure from public view.

"Only a lunatic or deliberate liar could think that I, or anybody, would ever intend to dissolve what we ourselves have built up over many long years," Hitler told his listeners.

Hitler must have sensed that the rally had achieved the party's objectives. In his closing speech, he told the crowd that the party "will be unchangeable in its doctrine, hard as steel in its organization, supple and adaptable in its tactics" — stating his intentions as clearly as he did in his book, "Mein Kampf."

After nearly three-quarters of a century, "Triumph of the Will" continues to cast a long shadow, influencing movies, commercials and modern documentaries.

But the questions it raised about the blurring of the line between artistic interpretation and integrity remain unanswered.

Remembering the Kennedy Assassination

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White House photographer Cecil Stoughton took this
picture of Lyndon Johnson taking the oath of office
aboard Air Force One on Nov. 22, 1963. Stoughton
died earlier this month.

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In days gone by, it seems, there was more of a fuss made on November 22 — the anniversary of the Kennedy assassination here in Dallas.

In the past, a dedicated group of researchers has gathered at the site of the assassination on this date every year, and I assume they assembled downtown again this year, although I've heard nothing about it. Perhaps there will be something about it on the evening news — although the attention in Texas recently seems to be riveted to the north and tonight's Texas Tech-Oklahoma football game.

There may be some media outlets in some places where they are reflecting on the assassination today. But the only acknowledgement of the 45th anniversary that I’ve found locally is an article in the Dallas Morning News that talks about how the passage of time has claimed many of the witnesses.

Archivist Richard Trask told the Morning News, "It was an event that became a whodunit, and now it’s in the realm of history."

Occasionally, the emergence of new technology (for example, DNA technology or computer graphics) permits us to ask and sometimes answer questions about the mysteries of history.

Very rarely, however, do those questions yield answers that allow us to authoritatively rewrite the story.

Today it seems there are no new questions to ask — and no new answers to consider — in the Kennedy assassination.

If there were, I suppose they would be airing on The History Channel tonight.

But the only assassination-oriented programming on The History Channel this weekend will be aired on Sunday night at 8 p.m. (Central) — and that program, "The Kennedy Assassination: Beyond Conspiracy," is five years old and the moderator, Peter Jennings, died in 2005.

Clearly, there will be nothing new in that program.

I remember watching it when it was aired for the first time — around the 40th anniversary of the Kennedy assassination.

I recall that the big promotional point about the program was a computer animation based on the Zapruder film.

But, while the animation was interesting, I had to wonder what value it provided. To me, it seemed open to many interpretations, and Jennings and ABC seemed overly eager to use the one that supported the conclusions of researcher Gerald Posner.

Posner, whose 1993 book "Case Closed" took the position that both Lee Harvey Oswald and Jack Ruby acted alone and that the Kennedy assassination was not the result of a conspiracy, was given extensive airtime as an expert in the case.

It also seems to me that the program devoted much of its time to discussions of Oswald’s life and the opinions of his brother — who, like other members of his family, seemed to enjoy the attention even if the price of admission was his brother’s life.

From a documentary standpoint, I would recommend "Four Days in November" as the best way to remember Kennedy today — but you may have to rent it someplace.

That film was shown on Turner Classic Movies a couple of months ago, but I’m not aware of any TV station that is planning to show it today — or in the near future.

However, if you’d like to ponder all the questions about the assassination that still haven’t been answered after all these years, I recommend the Director’s Cut of Oliver Stone’s "JFK," a film that was originally released 17 years ago but has yet to produce definitive answers to nearly all of the questions it raised.

American Movie Classics will be presenting "JFK" tonight — at 7 p.m. and 11 p.m. Central. I don’t know if it is the Director’s Cut, but I do know that AMC edits its presentations and interrupts them with commercials — so my guess is that it’s the original theatrical version with some audio and possibly some video edited.