Voyeur

"Voyeur," a documentary purportedly about an infamous voyeur, should really be titled "Pseudo-Journalist," since what it really demonstrates is what a terrible writer Gay Talese is. It's not "true crime," since so many of the claims in it are debatable or demonstrably false.

Talese correctly notes that it's dangerous to rely on just once source, but never bothers to check on important alleged facts of this story himself. He seems unfamiliar with Google, only learning from his daughter and others about details readily available online. He never checks property records central to the story and does a sloppy job checking on a crime mentioned by the voyeur, Gerald Foos. He unconvincingly brushes aside key discrepancies on dates.

At one point, when Foos claims that his Mickey Mantle baseball card is worth a huge sum, Talese laments, "How am I supposed to know if he is lying?" How about looking it up online? Or asking someone knowledgable? His methods are so shoddy, one has to wonder about the rest of his books.

At another point, explaining why he participated in group sex as part of his research for a book on sex in America, Talese explains that, as a reporter you can't just observe, you have to experience. Really? Did he have to kill anyone as part of his reporting on the mob? Can no one write about war, space exploration, professional sports, medical research, or anything else without being an active participant?

The documentary begins with him talking about his townhouse in Manhattan and his impeccably tailored suits. He should have spent some of his apparent wealth hiring a research assistant to ensure that what he wrote wasn't garbage. "Voyeur" reveals him wearing the emperor's clothes.

Greetings again from the darkness. We are watching the final product of filmmakers watching a reporter watching a man whose hobby is watching those who don't know they are being watched. Lacking a single redeeming individual, the film's creep factor slithers towards 11 on the (SPINAL TAP) scale.

It's understandable if you assume this is the story of a pathetic and disgusting Aurora, Colorado motel owner who, for many years, quietly leered at his guests from a self-constructed perch in the attic. Gerald Foos methodically documented the sexual actions of the Manor House Motel guests, which numbered 2000-3000 per year. If his actions aren't remarkable (not in a good way) enough, Mr. Foos actually married not one, but two women who were complicit in his hobby.

In 1980, renowned reporter and author ("from age 15 to 80") Gay Talese received a letter from Gerald Foos, kicking off a three decade relationship culminating in a controversial feature article in "The New Yorker" and a book entitled "The Voyeur's Motel". Once Mr. Foos agrees to have his name published, co-directors Myles Kane and Josh Koury jump on board to document the final steps in Mr. Talese's writing and research process. It's here that we enter the oddest man cave you'll likely see. In the basement of Talese's immaculate Manhattan brownstone is not just his writing office, but also a lifetime of research and writing … boxes and shelves of material that will surely one day be part of a museum or university collection.

The unexpected parallels between writer and subject are made clear. Both are voyeurs and both are collectors. As a journalist, Talese observes the actions of people, while Foos is quite obviously the definition of a Peeping Tom. Talese collects the years of research for his writings, while Foos shows off his extraordinary sports memorabilia collection (also in his basement). Beyond these similarities, what stands out most are the unbridled egos of these two men. Both seemed most focused on getting or keeping their names and stories in the headlines. Of course, Talese has built a career on his name and reputation, while the aging Foos simply sees this as his legacy that somehow deserves historical prominence.

The filmmakers remain more focused on Talese than Foos, and that takes us inside "The New Yorker" where the editors are justifiably concerned about a single-source story – one that without Talese's name attached would likely have never made it past an initial perusal. The aftermath of publication reminds us that we've seen con men before, and there is little joy in being taken on a long ride of deceit. Perhaps the best description of what we see on screen is that it's a sideshow of ego and the need to be seen (watched).

A story about a man (Gerald Foos) and his apparently dead-inside wife letting in the world on his program of spying on motel guests.

Such a claim in this day is hardly surprising, and so the content and character on display here merely comes off as slightly 'odd' but not especially insightful or fascinating for me.

The main focus here is a man that is clearly a bit of braggart, a bit delusional and ridiculous, a bit cash-obsessed yet also enjoys a bit of voyeurism. He exclaims the values of souvenirs he's collected like it's impressive, yet is surprised his story is met by the media with a sense of wrong-doing.

The journalist here makes some odd choices indeed, why only one source for a one-note story is a huge point -- although one he does mention at least, there just isn't enough here to claim anything of special interest.

What makes this documentary interesting is that both the main characters are obsessive/eccentric. They are proud of their lives work and struggle to make one last stunt together. The psychological tension builds up which is very interesting to watch because both characters are unashamed and show themselves as they are: eccentric and obsessive but at the same time they can function like completely normal persons. The other people in this documentary seem very small minded and judgemental in comparison to the two main characters. But as I watched, as a viewer I wondered if I was being tricked? I do recommend this one.

This is the sad story of two old men who were unable to learn the lessons that a long life should have taught them. Their narcissism is as deep and broad as any adolescent male at the height of their testosterone laced years. Their temperament, in full display, is even worse. If the film has any value, other than exposing the egos of these misanthropes, it's to teach a lesson to the rest of maledom: The true value and reward of maturity and aging is to be found in the seeking of greater wisdom, understanding and kindness -- not in the unending, ever expanding pursuit of materialistic selfishness.