Contrast this with the reality of encountering another human being. First you notice small, quiet things about him--like the color of his watchband, the size of his hands, the way he leans back and looks up when he's talking. Then you notice the fast things, too--an anxious laugh, the light in his eyes when he discusses a novel he just finished reading, the rhythm of his sentence structure.
Great documentaries anticipate this interplay of pacing and harness that energy into a hypnotic unfolding of the film encountering the subject. Great documentaries do not come out all at once, guns blazing. Great documentaries are like the tuning fork for the emotional symphonies of the people they're about.
Great narrative films are also about the business of capturing human experience, like pieces of broken bottles, and turning those little bits of diffuse color into a kaleidoscope, or a stained glass window, or the beads of a bracelet. Great narratives are like red velvet stage curtains, thick folds of creamy fabric pulled back to reveal something naked and essential about humanity; we're left clutching our premium ticket stub and glass of champagne, senses glazed over, stunned in the wake of stark emotional portraiture.
On the other hand, documentaries are like walking through the bad part of town, broken glass crunching beneath shoes that you suddenly think might project too much wealth. Wind whipping down an alley into your face, eyes wide as you see things absent from the corridors of your life. Documentaries tutor us in the unfamiliar that is close at hand. In the questions we always wanted to ask. They allow us to meet others and come away knowing more about ourselves.
What more can be said?
I love documentaries.
