“Daniel Ellsberg and the Pentagon Papers” pales next to a prior Vietnam insider’s exposé

This political documentary, The Most Dangerous Man in America: Daniel Ellsberg and the Pentagon Papers, tells how an Ivy-league trained policy analyst for the departments of State and Defense, Daniel Ellsberg, became disillusioned enough with Vietnam war politics and lies that he leaked a 7,000 page classified report to Congress, and finally the press. It had made his moral center shiver.  He could no longer suborn or support the war, the politics or political actors.

Daniel Ellsberg outside a federal court house

The first two-thirds of the documentary serve as a maudlin confessional and broad biography for Mr. Ellsberg, until the final act.  The first part is the problem: I wanted to hear objective points of view about the varied ways in which Mr. Ellsberg’s work, his attitude, and he himself had imperiled the United States, not his bleeding heart regrets.  The first part is self-indulgent and self-pitying.  Neither his biography, nor he deftly addressed the perils that his leaking the report posed to U.S. citizens.

If you want to watch a 70-something year-old impromptu activist spill his guts, and “share” in that maudlin experience, then this film might satisfy you.  His gradual misgivings, and then disgust with the politics and various the political and defense department actors are woven through the fabric of his biography.  That weaving is well executed, but only as piece of catharsis.  We must wait until that last act for the danger and intrigue.

His story and that of the leak are interesting, but when PBS hypes the peril that is acts posed as the core of the narrative, why put that off until the last act?

The film could have been more potent if it had concentrated less on Mr. Ellsberg, the activist outrage and indignation, and more on the details of the copying and the leak process – his actions were what made him a danger, not his convictions.  It would have been satisfying and fascinating to hear and see the effort and stress that went into to reaching out to sympthetic members of Congress, and “The New York Times,” and the 16 other newspapers that became a part of that “conspiracy.”  Oh well.  Too bad.  The film rushed through that portion as though they had to finish it before the film or money ran out.

Frankly after 40-minutes or so of wanting this film to engage me, it flopped…until that final act.  I just checked out, waiting for the objective facts and the dangers to be made clear.  The latter portion was Mr. Ellsberg’s very own taste of the world of Woodward and Bernstein – that worked.

This documentary is Mr. Ellsberg’s own The Fog of War, in reference to a superior documentary from 2003.  Too bad it also pales next The Fog of War about the Vietnam-era defense secretary, Robert S. McNamara.  That addressed similarly colossal issues in a forthright way.

A splendid, vital “Wo Ai Ni, Mommy” (Chinese for “I love you, mommy”) from PBS

On August 31, PBS’ POV series presents Wo Ai Ni, Mommy (Chinese for “I love you, Mommy”).  It’s a compelling, candid, and very satisfying story of transracial adoption, made by Stephanie Wang-Breal.  A Jewish family, Donna and Jeff Sadowsky, in Long Island, New York, have already adopted a Chinese girl, Darah, from Guangzhou, China.  They want to do it again, so their littlest will have a playmate.  This time, an 8 year-old, Fang Sui Yong.

Donna and Faith Sui Yong Sadowsky embracing

The way Ms. Sadowsky describes her children, it sounds like they are all adopted, but since their non-Chinese children don’t stand out in a family photo, it makes you scratch your head.

According to the film, China opened itself to foreign adoptions in 1992; It’s been 18 years.  And Wo Ai Ni, Mommy looks at the first 18 months of one adoption.  Those months span from Sui Yong’s departure from China through her culture shock and conformity to America.  We count down the 10 days in China to meet Fang Sui Yong and bring her to her new home, and then the days in America, which become weeks, and months.  18 months.  This story is complex and intimate.  It comes down to questions of “what is identity?,” “what makes a family?,” and many other often taboo ones about assimilation and “race.”

From the start, Faith slams into her first emotional cement wall: she’s really leaving, saying goodbye to her known world, to everything, and everyone she has know.  She has a new name.  She shows raw fear, discomfort, and bewilderment.  There’s coaxing and gentle coercion that makes this ordeal, which everyone else is trying to celebrate, seem like a gentle kind of kidnapping.  It’s an intense, lengthy, and wrought-up scene.

Faith Sui Yong Sadowsky holds the stars and stripes

Donna says that Faith’s full name will be Faith Sui Yong Sadowsky.  She thinks it’s right, respecting her Chineseness – but that’s soon forgotten or just doesn’t come up.  Maybe we don’t hear her full name because most scenes take place at home, and there isn’t a dramatic enough scene for either Donna or Jeff to blurt, “Faith Sui Yong Sadowsky!”

In the final act of her story, on video, Faith tells her dad that she feels more American than Chinese.  After having striven to learn English and conform to America, her Chinese has faded.  She no longer feels comfortable with it, especially among people who still use it.  We sense that she has turned a page; she’s wary of her next American chapter.  It’s implicit, but clear.

In-turn, her sense of twoness, her dual Chineseness and Americanness, has also changed.  To some people, this often connotes a destructive portion of American culture.  It often also helps someone who is, and still isn’t yet, accepted to feel connected to a mental and cultural anchor.  William Edward Burghardt Du Bois’ “The Souls of Black Folks,” addressed this, a century ago:

“One ever feels his twoness, — an American, a Negro; two warring souls, two thoughts, two unreconciled strivings; two warring ideals in one dark body, whose dogged strength alone keeps it from being torn asunder.”

When you replace Negro with Chinese, within the concept of social duality, the experiences are companions.  In Wo Ai Ni, Mommy Faith Sui Yong Sadowsky’s “dogged strength” has changed in important ways.

Controversies, rhetorical and emotional, about transracial adoption abound.  Faith will live, be loved, nurtured, and probably succeed in life.  That’s twice as much as many children get.

Wo Ai Ni, Mommy is one excellent telling of a transracial adoptee’s special experience.

If we were to rate this, 4 1/2 out of 5.

PBS’ “Presumed Guilty” exposes one innocent Mexican’s reckoning with justice

Presumed Guilty is the story of a Mexican, Jose Antonio “Toño” Zuniga, a 26-year-old street vendor, who is caught in his country’s legal system.  He was arrested for murder in 2005 with none of the traditional rights that Americans find typical and that they take for granted.  On July 27th the Public Broadcasting Service’s POV series continues with this documentary by Roberto Hernández and Layda Negrete, and directed by Mr. Hernández and Geoffrey Smith.  Their exertion, as they strive to expose the discord between Mexico’s justice system and the United State’s, is resolute.

Presumed Guilty isn’t amazing, fantastic, or perfect.  There are similar films that treat this dire topic with more detail, complexity, and nuance.  This is excellent and eye-opening – compelling.  To some degree, it’s greatness lies in how deftly it provides a reminder of the rampant injustice that is easily and imminently found outside of the United States.

Jose Antonio Zuniga is "Presumed Guilty"

To prevent surprise or frustration, this documentary is in Spanish with English subtitles, in white.  (It is often frustrating to read those; How costly are the yellow ones, which are read more easily?)

If a fellow inmate hadn’t asked whether Mr. Zuniga was the guy who did the murder, who knows when Mr. Zuniga would’ve learned of charges against him.  When he would ask repeatedly what did I do, he would hear “you know what you did.”  Many North Americans, who are used to the age-old, even banal ideals of presumed innocence and due process, will find this hard to take.  Americans take these rights for granted.

Let’s remove our blinders:  Mexico’s legal system presumes no one’s innocence; Instead of the prosecutors holding the onus of proof, the accused must exonerate himself or herself, sometimes with a lawyer’s help.

Mr. Zuniga's committed, volunteer lawyer, Rafael Heredia

You can either compare Mr. Zuniga’s story to North American expectations or remove those cultural goggles and consider how criminal justice is delivered outside of that vantage point.  It’s easy for us to become indignant about this, but while that would be justified, it would also be naive; American-style justice is far from ideal, but there seem to be few nations that practice a version of it that is so enlightened.

This story is dramatic, but that’s not because Mr. Zuniga, his family, or his passionate, volunteer lawyer are maudlin or animated.  Except for Mrs. Zuniga, who gives birth while her lover is confined, everyone’s chief emotion is disbelief.

The judge’s, the detectives’, and the prosecutor’s interest in serving the kind of justice that we recognize seems sporadic.  Their villainy, if you want to call it that – let’s call them knaves or rascals instead – is benign.  None of them do it as though their work is about service.  It is merely a living.

Simply and bluntly put: Few of the traditions of an enthusiastically liberated and democratic society are recognized or even desired for the citizens by those who are in power.  For those who are new to this perverse reality, this will distress them.  After having heard the evidence, and its quality, which is meager at best on both counts, the second verdict is the slap in our faces.

Hector Palomares, the trial judge, goes through the motions with Mr. Zuniga behind him

The scenes from Mr. Zuniga’s ordeal play like those ideals, which are central to North America’s mystique of dispassionate justice, have been clobbered with brass knuckles.  Presumed Guilty surprises us by mentioning that you don’t have to be a judge in order to preside over a case; anyone staff member will do.  His ordeal seems semi-Kafkaesque, as long as your grasp of Franz Kafka’s works is shallow.  You can summarize his plight as that of an ordinary, wholesome husband and eventual father who is caught amid circumstances that are beyond his comprehension, and that of many reasonable, rational individuals’.

This film is equal to fiction films about delayed, denied, or perverted justice.  For those who watch fiction films most often, the drama and catharsis of Mr. Zuniga’s story harkens back to The Shawshank Redemption, to Hurricane, in some ways, and even to Brubaker from the 1970s.

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William Kunstler “Disturbs our Universe”

On June 22nd William M. Kunstler’s story, Disturbing the Universe, will be the slam-bang audacious start of the independent film series POV’s 23rd season.  Sixteen years after his death his daughters, Sarah and Emily, made this documentary to show us his legacy, a snap shot of his life story, and the lessons born from them.

Mr. Kunstler’s friends and family say that you either love him as a radical lawyer or desired him dead as a national heretic and traitor to the “original intent” of America’s founding fathers.  That binary “range of opinion” comes from the troubling positions and clients that he took on during his increasingly public career and life.

During the 1960s and 70s he attacked housing discrimination, defended the Chicago 8, strove to help to negotiate the hostage situation in New York’s Attica Correctional Facility, and he claimed the Natives’ cause when they occupied their own land at Wounded Knee, S.D.  He became an icon, a litigious icon for the era’s liberal righteousness.

If these historical marks are hazy, maybe you “know” Mr. Kunstler just from the movies.  He played a judge for a moment in Spike Lee’s film, Malcolm X, from 1992.  After attaining a certain degree of public exposure Mr. Kunstler turned a corner; He defended alleged and brazen terrorists and murderers.  Neither moderation, nor subtlety seems to fit beside his name in any phrase.

As a documentary, Disturbing the Universe is like a love letter both to the daughters’ father and to those whom he still inspires. That specialness comes from the film’s intimate, poetic, and memoir-like tone.  Sarah and Emily employ excerpts from home movies, playful Q&As with their dad, and other recordings that children will make when they’re bored and curious enough; these elements are as incisive as they are innocent.  Those elements distinguish the film from typical documentaries that rely on archival footage and standard source interviews.

Dad and daughters

The film opens by introducing Kunstler’s daughters from what was his second marriage.  But they in-turn introduce the disturber of the universe himself in his high profile hey day.  After that they slow the pace by telling us that his life and career began meekly, as with most extraordinary and unreasonable individuals.

Here is a film about a flamboyant and brilliant bombast who strove to bend the laws to his and a generation’s will. Disturbing the Universe poses questions.  Then we feel like we have to respond, asking other questions.  This film demands that you think.

The daughters Kunstler use the story of David and Goliath as a consistent narrative motif, and as a personal analogue for their dad.  Disturbing the Universe lifts that motif into being a subplot of a sort.  It asks many questions in doing so; those questions are slippery and rarely comfortable: What is justice?  How reasonable or wholesome should the pursuit of it be?  To what extent may you question the government, more specifically its wisdom or agenda without being a threat?  That’s intense, off-putting stuff.  So were Mr. Kunstler, and his work, and the zeal that he invested in it.

Mr. Kunstler during the Chicago 8 trial

The man had contradictions that glared at us.  The pleasure he took in having a high profile seemed to trump, or even usurp, his rowdy insurgent zeal.  That’s ironic, but it’s also all too common.  What happens when “the fix” you get from public love and media exposure beguiles you more intensely and far more often than the satisfaction that righteous clients and causes give you?  I’ll borrow the title of George Stephanopoulos’ political memoir as I call Mr. Kunstler “All Too Human.”  Those contradictions and that lack of congruence are some of the major reasons why he polarized some individuals.  Those also confused the heck out of his daughters and other people who held him dearly.  Mr. Kunstler had a few versions of himself, disparate parts of his persona.  We all do.  But since he was public, extremely public, so were these.

The colossal questions that he and his legacy raise are fascinating,  They also belong in a lecture or a seminar.  The more interesting and probably illusive answers come in response to this question: what was it like for his no-longer-little girls to ask “Why is daddy fighting for a terrorist?”  How confusing is it to start off seeing your dad as a defender of a child’s known universe and then see apparently villainous clients?  The kind of client whom no amount of Herculian rhetoric jousting could convince you they deserved his counsel.

There is a reason why some people saw William M. Kunstler as having disturbed the universe.  I don’t know whose story should interest us more, the dad’s or either of his daughter’s?

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