Full Frame: Documentary Shorts, Vol. 2: Crowfilm / Miss Alabama Nursing Home / Nutria / Wood Island / ... (DVD)

Connect to Facebook/Twitter, recommend via email and much more.

---

If commentaries have made DVDs film schools in a box, then "Full Frame Documentary Shorts," and now "Full Frame Documentary Shorts: Volume 2" are film FESTIVALS in a box. Volume 2 features more audience favorites from the Full Frame documentary short film festival, which, in its seventh year, showcases over 100 independent films in the largest documentary festival in North America. They´re quirky and varied, and collectively they celebrate the limitless possibilities of independent filmmaking.

The lead film, "Crowfilm," by Edward P. Davee, is a 20-minute black-and-white short which incorporates artsy techniques—stop-action, slow-motion, dramatic cuts and dissolves—coupled with an interesting musical score that´s punctuated by tense silences. Filmed in Oregon, it´s not quite as lyrical or fluid as "Winged Migration." Nevertheless, Davee´s film manages to capture the Poe-like mystique of the crow. It´s as mesmerizing as a long music video, and artsy enough to accompany a gallery installation.

Anne Paas´ documentary, "Miss Alabama Nursing Home," follows Helen, an 82-year-old contestant, from the time she finds out she´s made the ten finalists until the crowning moment. The 40-minute film begins with a close-up of Helen with an oxygen tube in her nose talking about needing to shave her upper lip hair before the pageant, then follows her into the bathroom to watch her take crank up her Norelco. It´s funny, it´s poignant, and with Paas´ mostly hand-held camera and no additional microphone booms, it´s as close to home video as this batch of independent films gets. Whatever Helen places (and whatever her reaction is to the judge´s decision) doesn´t matter. This film´s a winner.

"Nutria" is an offbeat visual collage starring the Argentine swamp rat that was introduced to Louisiana in the 1930s and is now overrunning the state´s wetlands. Ted Gesing´s 14-minute documentary pokes fun of the critter that looks like half beaver and half muskrat, and blends together a wildlife ranger´s account, a cooking demonstration, nutria-on-a-stick fed to captive alligators, and just about anything connected to the furry pests. Speaking of film schools, this film was part of Gesing´s MFA project. And as one who had to come up with a Master´s project of his own (in literature), let me just say that Gesing seems to have had way too much fun with "Nutria."

Barbara Bird´s 30-minute film, "Album," relies exclusively on old 8mm home movie footage of a Chicago family, even to the extent of keeping the sprocket-sounds of the old projectors. As family movies from the Fifties roll, family members watch and comment. At first, it´s pretty tame and standard stuff. But then one family member remarks, "I was trying to think when it all started going bad." From that point, the declarations and associations with the old footage turn highly personal and revelatory. "It started in Dallas, Texas, when Jeff flipped out," we learn, and continued with the father, a doctor, admitting he was addicted to Demerol (and the wife and others remarking, "We all have addictive personalities; all the kids turned out to be heavy drinkers." Then there´s a recollection of an affair, and suddenly the home movies of a typical American family turn out to be not so typical. Or are they? This film is one of the best of the bunch. As with "Miss Alabama Nursing Home," there´s a strong narrative thread and complicated emotions to make this compelling. Forget "reality TV," with all those wannabe actors performing in everyday life. This is the real thing, and Bird pulls no punches.

"Wood Island," by contrast, relies on images to tell the story of a community in East Boston that lives, works, plays, and prays in the shadow of Logan Airport. It tells a story, but that story doesn´t have nearly the impact of the stronger films in this collection, simply because the material itself isn´t as profound. But for 20 minutes, we see football players, sunbathers, worshippers, and work-a-day citizens act as if the non-stop jet traffic is nothing more than clouds passing overhead.