De l'autre côté

this movie was an ordeal. well, the first 40 minutes anyway.

in these 40 minutes, there was a total of about 15 shots. apparently that is this director's trademark: shots where nothing at all happens, that last several minutes. after awhile came interviews with relatives of people who died while trying to cross the mexican-usa border, but any interest these might have aroused was killed off immediately afterwards, with a 4-minute shot of said border.

after awhile, i decided that if i want to see nothing happen, i may as well do it outside.

why would anyone want to make a movie as deliberately slow as this? if a documentary filmmaker wants to raise awareness of a certain cause, why does she try so hard to alienate her audience?

i wouldn't go near this film without the availability of a fast-forward button.

The film has long static takes that add absolutely nothing to the comprehension of a particular situation. As a matter of fact, I've read newspaper articles on the subject that were much more comprehensive and gave me a better feeling for the sufferings of the migrants than this rather pointless exploration of the walled-up border between the richest country and the Third world. One observer has it wrong: the five minute take along a seemingly endless line of automobiles is not on the American side, but on the Mexican side. The cars are queuing up to cross the border. Never does the camera cross the border during this tracking shot, which is evidently reminiscent of the initial shot of TOUCH OF EVIL (where it does cross the border). The first shot actually taken on the American side is probably the interview of the Mexican consul in Douglas.

The issue of Mexicans trying to cross illegally into the US in search of work and hope is examined with a mix of styles by Akerman, something like her approach in 'Sud'.

Long, wordless images, give us a poetic sense of time and place -- sometimes still, sometimes tracking endlessly (one shot is nearly six minutes).

Intercut with these are affecting interviews with people on both 'sides' (literally and figuratively) of the issue. From those in Mexico who have lost loved ones forever as they wandered in the desert, to the US sheriff who provides a strikingly cogent sum up of the situation, and a powerful blast at current INS policies that have led to many deaths without stopping the problem, even as he also explains the emotional threat these 'intruders' represent to the rural Americans who live near the border.

This doesn't have quite the power of 'Sud', perhaps because the issue is more complex and diffuse, but it's still a powerful call for human caring trumping political concerns, told in a unique,slow, meditative way. It will drive some people crazy with it's pace and refusal to act like a 'normal' documentary, instead of a tone poem. But, for me, Akerman's work rewards patience by leaving you with not just ideas or impotent anger of agreement or disagreement, but complex, haunted feelings that stay with you for days.

This is an exquisitely filmed and well-directed investigative look at the devastating consequences of the seemingly unstoppable, illegal entries into some sparsely populated Mexican/Arizona border crossings. Alternating between interviews and landscapes, Akerman uses a minimalist technique, documenting small, cinematic portraits in time that speak for themselves, opening with stories of stark faces of family members who have lost loved ones attempting to "cross over" to the other side, returning frequently to examine the jarringly raw desolation of the dusty landscapes on the dirt-poor Mexican side of the border wall. Later, we hear the opinions of people on the American side, landowners, restaurant entrepreneurs, who are worried about how the "invasion" of illegal immigrants might bring diseases, how they are considered trespassers and are viewed as a constant threat to their freedom, sequences which are ever-so-slightly underscored with the lush music of Chopin, a contrast to the utter emptiness "from the other side."

This is a film that continuously gets better, and continues to provoke, even days afterwards, largely due to such a haunting, avant-garde style that gets under your skin. I felt an emotional surge as the film progressed, as the sum of all information from both sides sunk in. Particularly stunning is one seemingly endless, tracking shot of cars stacked up on the American side of the border that follows one car after another, while on the Mexican side, cars whiz by, as there is no line at all, but the shot continues on into a barely-lit street of nearly empty Mexican establishments, continuing on into the darkness. Both sides view the wall from differing perspectives, Americans view the wall as staunch defenders of their own freedom, while the Mexicans see it as a path to freedom. Akerman maintains her objective distance, interviewing Mexicans in Spanish, Americans in English, returning to her native French language only when the film builds to it's highly poetic conclusion, where the filmmaker herself describes the fate of a Mexican woman who disappeared after a seemingly successful border crossing, who briefly led a quiet life but then hadn't been heard from since, who may be alive, who may be dead; she is someone who may no longer claim either "side" as her own, but who has become, instead, a non-being, a persona non grata, a ghost of one of "los desaparecidos."