By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on March 23, 2013)

“We’ve established the most enormous medical entity ever conceived…and people are sicker than ever. We ‘cure’ nothing! We ‘heal’ nothing!”

– George C. Scott as ‘Dr. Bock’, from The Hospital (screenplay by Paddy Chayefsky)

There are two questions that get asked again and again throughout Peter Nicks’ film, The Waiting Room: “Do you have a regular doctor?” and “Do you carry health insurance?” And the answer that you hear over and over to both questions is a simple “no.”

After watching this extraordinary documentary (which somehow manages to be at once disheartening and life-affirming) I had to ask myself a question: “Does this country have a completely fucked-up health care system?” To which I answer with a simple “yes.” Not that Nicks has set out to make a self-consciously polemical statement on the health care crisis. Quite simply, he allows the  filmed record to speak for itself.

The premise is straightforward: document a “typical” 24 hour period in the life of a bustling public ER (in this case, at Oakland’s Highland Hospital) and compress it into a 90-minute film. And as you would expect, all forms of human misery are on display, in a microcosm of Everything That Can Go Wrong with these ridiculously fragile shells we inhabit for “…eighty years, with luck-or even less” (if I may quote my favorite Pink Floyd song).

A sweet little girl with a severe case of strep struggles to communicate as her loving parents take turns at her bedside. An uninsured 20-something couple (a man who has just learned he has a tumor, and his concerned wife) desperately confab with hapless and over-taxed attending physicians about how he’s supposed to arrange the “emergency” surgery recommended by a private hospital that has palmed him off on Highland’s ER.

Every time a trauma case arrives, there’s a ripple effect on the pecking order for the huddled (and understandably frustrated) masses in the waiting room proper; for obvious reasons nearly all available ER staff have to pitch in and focus on stabilizing the patient. When these efforts prove to be for naught, it’s heartbreaking to watch (in the film’s most emotionally wrenching scene, a 15-year old gunshot victim is pronounced DOA after attempts to resuscitate fail).

Not all scenarios are life and death. Some  patients are “regulars” who use the ER for primary care. One of the “regulars” is a homeless man (initially brought in for breathing problems) who has ongoing issues with drug and alcohol abuse. He has become a handful for the shelter he has been staying at; his attending physician is told over the phone that they don’t want to take him back anymore.

Now the doctor has to decide whether to let the pleading patient stay the night (and take up space that may be needed for more medically needy patients) or in essence toss him out into the streets. “Sometimes,” the frazzled doctor confides with a resigned sigh, “I have to admit people…for societal reasons.” Then, he delivers the film’s money quote: “This (the ER) is the institution of last resort.”

The filmmaker can’t be faulted for not asking the million dollar question that arises from that statement, because any viewer with a heart and a functional brain will begin to ponder why emergency rooms have become “the institution of last resort” for America’s uninsured.

Why are already overextended medical personnel who staff these facilities getting saddled with responsibilities more appropriate to PCPs, social workers and mental health professionals? And why is this even up for debate? How and when did the fundamental right to receive decent health care transmogrify into a political football?

Of course, we can wring our hands and debate health care issues until the cows come home, but in the meantime there are sick people who need help yesterday and who certainly don’t have time to hang around waiting for an act of Congress in order to get it. For their sake (and for yours and mine when the time comes, and that time will come) all I can say is thank the gods for the tireless and dedicated men and women who staff these facilities. That’s the takeaway I got from this film (and it accounts for that “life-affirming” part I mentioned earlier in the review).

Nicks, whose utilization of the observational mode recalls the work of documentary film maker Frederick Wiseman, has fashioned a narrative that is wholly intimate, yet completely unobtrusive. I never once got the impression that anyone was playing to the camera; consequently there is a great deal of humanity shining through, from doctors and patients.

And the next time a family member or co-worker starts ranting about the “tyranny” of universal health coverage, don’t argue. Calmly take their pulse, ask if they’ve been eating right, exercising and getting regular check-ups. Then, invite ‘em out for dinner and a flick-preferably this one.

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on February 16, 2013)

Siberia has acquired a bit of a bad rap over the years, especially in literature and film. Granted, up until the dissolution of the Soviet Union, the phrase “We’re going to send you to Siberia!” usually indicated that “you are in some deep shit, my droogie” (it’s now a tongue-in-cheek colloquial for “a fate worse than death”). Yet, even during the gulag era, you couldn’t fault ‘Siberia’ (the geographical entity) itself for any state-sponsored maliciousness that occurred within its boundaries. And despite the bad press, it is actually quite a beautiful part of the world (nature has a funny way of remaining blissfully oblivious to the little dramas of the silly biped creatures who teeter about the terra firma for a spell before eventually falling over to provide some lovely mulch for the trees). This is the Siberia profiled in a documentary called Happy People: a Year in the Taiga.

Co-directed by Dmitry Vasyukov and Werner Herzog, the film observes four seasons in the lives of several northern Siberian fur trappers,  all hailing from the remote village of Bakhta. Vasyukov’s intimately shot footage mesmerizes, as Herzog narrates in his inimitable fashion, bringing wry and keenly insightful observations to the table. While Herzog came on board during post-production, anyone familiar with his work will glean what attracted him to Vasyukov’s project, particularly in the person of Gennady Soloviev-rugged individualist, stoic survivalist, and a Zen master with a fur hat.

On the cusp of winter’s first freeze, Soloviev and his two fellow fur trappers (each accompanied by their trusty workmate dogs) head out together on the Yenisei River in their hand-crafted dugout canoes, splitting up to head out to their respective “territories”, where they will spend the winter gathering sable and ermine pelts. Herzog is palpably enamored with the men’s river travails, prompting him to wax poetic about the struggle against the elements; not surprising since similarly challenging river journeys figure prominently in two of his most well-known narrative films, Aguirre the Wrath of God and Fitzcarraldo (Soloviev is much like a typical Herzog protagonist).

There are a few nods to modern amenities (snowmobiles and firearms) but the men essentially survive by their wits and stamina during these protracted solo expeditions, living off the land in accordance with time-honored local traditions, and it’s fascinating to watch. This dedication to self-reliance also extends to life in the village (which is accessible only by boat or helicopter). It’s a rough life, but the residents seem to be “happy”, taking it all in stride. Well, for the most part. While it’s easy to romanticize the idea of living off the grid…“with no rules, no taxes, no laws, no bureaucracy, no phones, no radio, equipped only with their individual values and standard of conduct,” (as Herzog reverently muses) the village is not entirely free of social ills (the problem of alcoholism among the indigenous native people of the region is briefly acknowledged).

As I was watching the film, a certain sense of familiarity began to gnaw at me. It was something about the stark wintry beauty of naturally flocked spruce forests, the crisp contrast of white birch against blue skies, and the odd moose galumphing into the frame. Or maybe it was the relentless vampirism of swarming mosquitos during the short but intense sub-arctic summer. Then it dawned on me. I had lived there! Was this a past life memory? Then I remembered that I don’t believe in that sort of thing…so I Googled a map of Siberia, which solved the mystery: the village of Bakhta lies roughly on the same longitude as Fairbanks, Alaska, where I lived for 23 years. I couldn’t see Russia from my house, but I now feel a spiritual kinship with these hardy Siberians. Okay, I’m not a survivalist (if I were to venture out on Gennady’s trap line; I’d end up like the protagonists in Kalatozov’s Letter Never Sent). But I think you catch my drift…

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally published on Digby’s Hullabaloo on February 2, 2013)

Have you ever stumbled across one of your own childhood photos and mused, “How could this grinning idiot have not seen a future in computer science?” Or, “Pardon me, but…have we met?” (“If I’d only known then what I know now…”).

The tendency many of us have to brood about a life tragically misspent with each successive birthday is bad enough…but imagine doing it on national TV, whilst thousands of voyeuristic strangers look on, parsing your every thought and action. If that reminds you of The Truman Show, you’re not far off the mark.

In 1964, a UK television film series-cum-social experiment kicked off with Paul Almond’s 7 Up, a documentary profiling fourteen 7 year-old kids from varied socioeconomic backgrounds, sharing their dreams and aspirations. 7 years later the same subjects appeared in 7 Plus Seven, with  Michael Apted taking over directing. Seven year updates continued with 21 Up, 28 Up, 35 Up, 42 Up and 49 Up.

Which brings us to Apted’s latest chapter, 56 Up; like its predecessors, it has been released to theaters. First, it’s nice to see that everyone is still above ground (currently being 56 and ¾ myself, I find that somehow…reassuring). This is not to say that the participants haven’t been put through life’s wringer in one way or another. Health issues, multiple marriages and financial problems abound. Some are doing better than 7 years ago, some worse; most maintain the status quo. Some are happy, some not so much.

The most fascinating character continues to be Liverpool native Neil Hughes, who is like a real life version of Jean Valjean from Les Miserables. A charming and funny little kid in 7 Up, he was a homeless, mentally troubled university dropout by 21 Up. Over the next two installments, he remained directionless and homeless, moving first to Scotland, then to the Shetlands. By 42 Up, however, he had discovered a knack for politics, in which he remains ensconced.

In this age of dime-a-dozen reality TV shows and smart phone attention spans, the idea of a filmed series where the audience waits seven years between “episodes” may seem trite; perhaps downright anachronistic. But if you think about it for 10 seconds, I suspect that sitting down to watch any number of episodes of, let’s say, Here Comes Honey Boo Boo, over any number of years, would not likely provide you with much keen insight into the human condition (it’s more likely a roomful of monkeys with typewriters could eventually produce the complete works of Shakespeare…and in less time).

At least here, there were/are noble intentions; and you certainly cannot say that Apted, having devoted 40 years of his life  to the project doesn’t have “the vision thing”. Not all participants share in the altruism; in 56 Up some  interviewees continue to badger the director to hang it up and be done with it. Granted, 10 to 15 minutes of screen time, every 7 years cannot give you the whole picture of someone’s life, and that’s one of the primary issues in question.

As far as the “social experiment” aspect of the project is concerned, that has been off the table for some time now, especially when you consider that the participants have become celebrities in the U.K. So it appears that over the years, the “experiment” has become less Margaret Mead and more Andy Warhol.

Indeed, one gentleman, who has declined to participate since his strident anti-Thatcher rants in 28 Up made him a pariah in the British press and led to his resignation as a teacher, makes no effort to sugarcoat his cynicism. “I’ve only agreed to come back” he tells Apted, “…because I want to promote my band.”

Still, for the most part, everyone is game. There’s a palpable sense of poignancy this time , since Apted has amassed a sizable archive of clips for each interviewee, from all periods of their lives (he makes good use of the flashbacks and flash-forwarding).

The lives depicted here may not be glamorous or exciting, but most people’s lives aren’t, are they? And as cliché as this sounds, it all seems to boil down to that most basic of human needs: to love or be loved. You know what? I’ll bet that’s what was making me smile in my childhood photo.