Adventures in Chasing Old Documentaries

Documentary production in the United States often appears bicoastal. On the east coast, the documentary corridor seems to run from Boston to Washington, D.C. On the west coast, it seems to run from San Francisco to San Diego.

This loose classification has its problems, of course. Documentary powerhouse Kartemquin Films is firmly rooted in Chicago and its vibrant media scene. AppalShop in Kentucky gives voice to rural cultures and their challenges. Other documentary organizations and festivals accomplish similar purposes in other pockets of the country.

Documentary production more specifically and media production more generally have never been that geographically centralized. In the early years of film experimentation and pre-Hollywood, around 1895-1915, media production happened across the country. Unfortunately, these regional histories remain underexplored.

Which brought me to a question: What about North Dakota?

Several contemporary documentaries offer different pictures of the state. Welcome to Leith examines what happens when a hate group moves to town. The Overnighters is set against the backdrop of the shale oil boom and its affects on labor. Jesus Camp explores an evangelical youth Christian camp that used to be located in the state.

But I sought older titles, and an internet search uncovered the 1913 documentary With the Students of the North Dakota Agricultural College. The IMDb page included a trade publication’s description:

One of Selig’s informing educational pictures, showing a notable trip of the students of the North Dakota Agricultural College on a trip through the great Northwest. The students show their practicability in caring for every detail on this trip.

Selig refers to The Selig Polyscope Company, which began in Chicago before moving to Los Angeles, and at the time was one of the largest makers of films. The page also mentions the distibutor, the generically named General Film Company.

The time period offers some other hints about the film. It is certainly in black and white. It has a short run time, perhaps ten minutes or less. Most likely, it is a travel film or a scenic, with a series of scenes instead of a developed, character-driven narrative.

Sadly, the original film is probably gone. I did try the Internet Archive, Prelinger’s Archives, and The Library of Congress, but, so far, no luck.

And with that, the chase is on.

‘Hard Earned’ Shows the Challenges of Making a Living and a Life

Economic stories that focus on numbers — employment rates, job creation rates, wages, and inflation — fail to show the real price, the human costs, of financial realities. Hard Earned, an upcoming documentary series from Kartemquin Films, tells stories about people working to make a living and working to make a life following the economic recession.

Hard Earned is a six-part series that aired on Al Jazeera America. The series paints intimate portraits of people from across the country:

  • Emilia Stancati, 50, a tell-it-like-it-is waitress in Chicago and its suburbs who seeks higher wages, weekends off, and Harley riding time
  • Takita Akins, 24, and De’Jaun “DJ” Jackson, 23, who work at Walgreen’s in Chicago and juggle health, kids, and long commutes on public transportation
  • Jose Merino, 32, and Elizabeth Bonta, 27, who live with family members while they save for their own home in Montgomery County, Maryland
  • Hilton Kennedy III, 20, and his girlfriend, Diana Gonzalez, 18, who live in a garage in the Silicon Valley while preparing for their twins’ arrival
  • Percy, 66, and Beverly, 65, Evans who face working through their retirement years in order to keep their Milwaukee home

They want not extravagant but basic things that bring quality to life — to feel like they are contributing to their jobs, to have opportunities to move up, to get an education, to have their own safe home, to pursue their own passions, not to choose between health and work, and not to worry about money. They work hard to keep up, even try to get ahead, but it seems like something always gets in the way.

Their stories blow away any illusions about the challenges of trying to make a living in this country. The episodes show them balancing everyday decisions about home, health, work, transportation, and paychecks with decisions about finding stability and growing in professions, faith, and hobbies. These decisions and their outcomes give this series its depth and its strength.

DJ, for example, works as a wine and spirits specialist at a Chicago Walgreen’s for $10.50 an hour. That $10.50 an hour comes to $21,000 per year.

But like most everyone, DJ seeks more from work than just a wage — he seeks meaning and wants to make a difference. Beyond that, he wants to be a good role model for his family. He later lands an opportunity to work as a union organizer with a decent salary, but the opportunity comes with a heavier workload and the obligation to buy a car.

Like life, though, every story has uncertainties, upswings, and downswings, such as a car failing to start, a mortgage opportunity falling through, an unexpected expense throwing off the budget. One bit of news proves almost devastating for Hilton and Diana. But there are high points as well, with weddings, new homes, and unexpected opportunities.

Multiple other themes weave throughout the series, such as immigration, generational differences, and cultural expectations. Emilia struggled with arriving in the United States as a child who spoke no English and still struggles with getting along with her father and building a relationship with her daughter and grandson. Hilton, an American citizen by birth who grew up in Mexico, struggles with finding work and learning English. Elizabeth Bonta works hard to support and care for her ailing parents.

The series structure allows everything to unfold organically. Instead of one episode focusing on people in one location, each one weaves sequences from the different narratives throughout. The pacing allows time to get to know them and their circumstances, their hardships and their joys.

The stories drive the series, but relevant stats supplements them. Simple graphics show the difference gaining or losing a couple dollars per hour makes, or what taking on a second job means in terms of money and time. For example, one stat mentions how the number of midwage jobs before the recession was 3.8 million, but the number of midwage jobs after recession was 700,000. The graphics show the obstacles to getting ahead, with salaries dropping and costs rising. Getting ahead is expensive, but so is just getting by.

Different directors filmed the stories for this series. Ruth Leitman captured Emilia’s story, while Brad Lichtenstein captured Percy and Beverly’s story. Joanna Rudnick filmed Hilton and Diana, while Maria Finitzo filmed DJ and Takita’s story. Katy Chevigny captured Jose and Elizabeth’s segments. Even with this multi-director approach, they unite seamlessly.

For the most part, the directors remain in the background, letting their participants take center stage. Occasionally, their presence becomes known but not obtrusively. Off camera, someone asks the Percys, “How much do you still owe?” in reference to their mortgage. They reveal that after 13 years, they still owe the same amount they purchased the house for. At another point Emilia mentions her warnings to the filmmakers about her smoking, motorcycle riding, and truck driver language.

Elizabeth Laidlaw’s light narration provides facts, updates, and insights into their situations without offering judgment or evaluation. Her narration stitches these segments together across the episodes, providing cohesion.

The one word that kept coming back to me throughout this series — and throughout all the Kartemquin films I have seen so far — is dignity. An unfortunate shame can accompany talking about difficult economic situations, leaving people feeling vulnerable about circumstances that often lie beyond their control. The people in this series make themselves vulnerable in talking openly and honestly about their situations, and the series deeply respects that trust and their dignity throughout in letting them tell their own stories in their own ways.

‘Hoop Dreams’ News Coverage Suggests a Different Kind of Impact

Popular film titles sometimes work their way into everyday language: Bucket List, Gaslight, Groundhog Day. “Hoop Dreams” is one of those film titles.

As part of my background research into Hoop Dreams, I pulled 996 articles mentioning the phrase from all the years available in the Lexis Nexis news database. About half of those stories referred to the film, but just as many did not. Among the latter, some patterns — both expected and unexpected — emerged.

Perhaps not surprisingly, the most dominant recurring pattern involves individuals and their aspirations. Most individuals — almost equally boys and girls — are athletes who seek success in sports, such as landing a scholarship, attending college, starting a new sport, or joining a team. Some individuals even abandon their sports dreams, such as one who gave up basketball to become a doctor.

These dreams know no geographical boundaries. While Chicago is the setting for the Hoop Dreams film, other dreamers live in Iowa, Nebraska, and Oklahoma. People chase their dreams across the globe to Germany, Canada, Croatia, Luxemborg, Israel, and India.

“Hoop Dreams” is a popular name for teams, camps, academies, and programs. Teams with the name play in West Virginia, Hawaii, Idaho, Mississippi, and Pennsylvania. Camps and academies appear in Connecticut, West Virginia, North Carolina, and Australia. Programs include Hoop Dreams in Lexington, KY; ABCD Hoop Dreams in Boston; and YMCA Hoop Dreams in Hamilton, Ontario. Programs also appear in England and Australia. Do an Internet search and you’ll probably find even more than the ones listed here.

Tournaments run in Georgia and California. The Pescadero High School Hoop Dreams Tournament schedules both boys’ and girls’ teams. One tournament involved wheelchairs.

A cool program was founded by Susie Kay in Washington, D.C., to help area students attend college. Kay claimed that Arthur Agee, one of the two boys appearing in the film, reminded her of her own students. Named for the film, the Hoop Dreams Scholarship Fund started as a single-day basketball fundraiser in 1996. That first round raised $3,000. Within a few years, that tournament and other fundraising efforts expanded to $125,000. The program ended in 2009 following the economic downturn.

Very few stories mentioned the NBA at all. A couple stories connected “hoop dreams” with buying NBA teams or stadiums, and one referred to Mesho Marrow’s dream of founding a women’s basketball team in St. Louis. That dream became reality with the Missouri Arch Angels, named for the city’s iconic structure on the Mississippi River. The team plays in the Women’s Blue Chip Basketball League.

The phrase applies mostly to youth, but one 90-year-old also harbored her own hoop dream. Josephine Brager sought induction into the Texas Sports Hall of Fame. She played basketball pre-World War II for the All-American Redheads and later the Dallas Hornets. The Redheads toured the country playing against men’s teams using the men’s rules — and often won. Sadly, Brager wasn’t chosen for induction.

“Hoop dreams” also means sports other than basketball. It refers to netball, which is an international cousin to U.S. basketball. Rhythm gymnasts and hoop dancers also are hoop dreamers.

One sports reference took me a little bit to puzzle out. According to one story, the Shamrock Rovers Football Club had “hoop dreams.” But why would an Irish football club have “hoop dreams?” Because one of the team’s nicknames is “Hoops.”

In Morgantown, West Virginia, a home offered a “hoop dream” of its own. In addition to the five bedrooms, five bathrooms, and home theater, the house had an indoor basketball court. The asking price was more than $1 million.

Some of the more creative mentions of “hoop dreams” have nothing to do with basketball or even sports. One gig announcement cited “Hoop Dreams,” a band, playing in Hobart, Tasmania. After a little digging, I found the band was based in Virginia and had a Cure-like sound, particularly on the track “Knife Fights.” Before signing the band, a record company contacted Kartemquin Films about the band using the name, which filmmakers Steve James and Peter Gilbert were fine with.

“Hoop dreams” also occur in fashion, in one case for earrings. The story read, “Orbs in all styles and sizes are earmarks of high style.” Hopefully, the look is better than the pun.

My favorite reference connected the film, identity, sport, and art all in one installation. Inspired by the film, Esmaa Mohamoud created an art installation called “Heavy, Heavy (Hoop Dreams).” The installation consists of 60 concrete basketballs, each weighing about 31 pounds. The “heavy” refers to the relationship between basketball and black male culture, according to Mohamoud.

Before the news started covering the film in 1994, the only mention of “hoop dreams” appeared in a 1987 story about “hoops and dreams.” Every other non-film-related story I pulled from the database appeared after the film’s release, from about 1997 forward.

A search for the phrase through an Ngram viewer offers similar findings, particularly in the phrase’s first appearances. In a search for the phrase from 1950 to 2017, the phrase first appears in 1993, grows in 1994, and peaks in 1999.

All of these findings suggest a documentary impact of a different kind: that of a name on sports, music, fashion, art, and culture.

Special thanks to Tim Horsburgh, distribution and communications director at Kartemquin Films, for suggesting the Ngram search and the other film names mentioned in this post.

Merchandise Extends the ‘Hoop Dreams’ Experience

With every new blockbuster arrives a bevy of branded media, merchandise, and cross-promotions. Soundtracks, television specials, DVDs, and novelizations expand your media collections. Elsa dolls, Batman key chains, and Shrek Twinkies extend your movie experience while they shrink your wallet.

Sometimes, you have to wonder if Hollywood will ever let it go.

Documentaries for the most part fail to fit neatly into these branding machines, but a few exceptions exist. Warner Bros. released a March of the Penguins bonus set with postcards and plush penguin toy. Morgan Spurlock perhaps demonstrates this disconnect most clearly in POM Wonderful Presents: The Greatest Movie Ever Sold, wherein he attempts to solicit funding for the documentary through paid sponsorships. In addition to POM Wonderful, other products and brands include Mane ‘n Tail, Old Navy, Seventh Generation, and Sheetz, a gas station chain familiar to those living in Pennsylvania and nearby states.

While these two titles lean on the lighter side, most documentaries address more serious issues that make further branding ridiculous. A Born into Brothels T-shirt or The Thin Blue Line backpack are inappropriate. (An Errol Morris bobblehead, however, might be a hot commodity.)

Some documentaries offer movie promotion items such as posters, cards, and autographed stills, but rarely more than that.

Hoop Dreams is a tasteful exception. In exploring the film’s history in the Kartemquin archives, I discovered documents that mentioned Hoop Dreams-branded merchandise. T-shirts with the Hoop Dreams brand sold in J.C. Penney’s stores in the mid-1990s, for example. Turner Publishing released a tie-in book by Ben Joravsky, for another example.

Where does one look for these now-vintage items? Why, eBay, of course. Much to my surprise, I found both official merchandise and memorabilia related to the film, its distribution, and its stars, William Gates and Arthur Agee.

Turner Publishing’s book proved the easiest find:

The front of the hardcover edition of Hoop Dreams, by Ben Joravsky.

This branded pencil connects with the distribution through Fine Line and Turner, but it makes no mention of Kartemquin:

Hoop Dreams pencil
A Hoop Dreams pencil with the New Line Home Video and Turner Publishing logos.

Two of the branded T-shirts showed up in the search results. This green one features a player with a basketball head holding an old-school cell phone. The writing reads,

Hoop Dreams official T-shirt
An official Hoop Dreams T-shirt. Check out that original flip phone!

You can’t do it
Shut me
I toy with your
Fake left
Fake right
Take you (any which way)
You need
Time to dial

A small patch reading, “Hoop Dream 911,” appears on the sleeve.

The black T-shirt is more understated with just the Hoop Dreams logo on the front and back.

Hoop Dreams official T-shirt
Another official Hoop Dreams T-shirt, this one with more understated logos.

Both T-shirts bear tiny writing that claims copyright for “Kartemquin Educational Films, Inc.” I wonder if any other documentary production houses can make the same kind of claim.

Memorabilia also appear on eBay. Memorabilia differ from the branded merchandise in that they may not be official, but they still connect with the film in some way. Trading cards for Gates and Agee are the most popular find. But then I came across this T-shirt:

Hoop Dreams commemorative T-shirt
A Hoop Dreams T-shirt commemorating the television broadcast in November 1995. The shirt is signed by both Gates and Agee.

The T-shirt commemorates the Hoop Dreams PBS broadcast on November 15, 1995. On the front a screenprint shows Gates holding a basketball, with below the logos for Chrysler, Kartemquin, PBS, and KTCA, the Twin Cities PBS-affiliate and producing partner. On the back appears a screenprint of Agee, ball in hand, in mid layup.

Two additions make this T-shirt special: signatures from Gates and Agee. Gates wrote, “Hoop Dreams,” while Agree wrote, “#4,” “Hoop Dreams,” and “’95.” I asked the eBay seller if they knew more about the shirt, and the seller said the person who originally had the shirt worked in sports promotions and probably did an event with the film’s broadcast and the two stars.

While Kartemquin and Fine Line no longer offer Hoop Dreams merchandise, Arthur Agee still uses the film’s name for his own company, Classic HD Basketball Clothing Co. The company features autographed Hoop Dreams posters, DVDs, and books, as well as T-shirts and basketball shorts. Part of the proceeds go toward renovating and equipping a basketball court in Chicago so that others can shoot for their own hoop dreams.

The Stories Documentary Archives Tell

While watching old documentaries provides an interesting look into nonfiction film history, sometimes the coolest discoveries lurk in dusty cardboard filing boxes.

This summer I enjoyed the opportunity to delve into Kartemquin Films‘ archives. Kartemquin has been busy making documentaries for more than 50 years, and with three new titles so far in 2016 alone, they show no signs of slowing down. I came away from my explorations thinking documentary work should be measured in reams of paper, not in shooting-to-editing ratios.

Digging through archives offers the adventure of exploring familiar trees rooted in unfamiliar woods. Some documents are to be expected in the course of operations: fundraising strategies, grant applications, acceptance and rejection letters, budgets, contracts, meeting agendas, consent forms, licensing agreements, legal correspondence, strategy memos, press releases, and marketing materials. At a University of Chicago speaking engagement in June, Kartemquin co-founder and current artistic director Gordon Quinn joked about keeping everything — but I’m not entirely sure he was kidding.

Materials from my initial inquiries ranged about 1985-2002, covering films such as Golub (1988), Hoop Dreams (1994), Vietnam Long Time Coming (1998), Stevie (2002), and Refrigerator Mothers (2002), along with a smattering of other films’ materials and external marketing materials. After 200 pages of notes so far, I feel I am only beginning to scratch the surface, but I have learned some interesting things about archival research, documentary history, and Kartemquin Films.

Archives represent living history. They hold mysteries about the past just as they reveal something about the present. A document appearing within an archive is never neutral. It is as much about the text on the page as it is about the contexts surrounding it. A document may have an official purpose, or it might be something much more personal. Either way, each document tells a story or two of its own while contributing to the larger narrative.

But these documents often tell incomplete stories, much like reality. For example, I found page 1 of what looked like an incredible manifesto, complete with — and perhaps not surprisingly — an opening quote from John Dewey, but there was no page 2. Another letter reached out to Frank Zappa possibly to participate in a documentary series about art, but did Zappa reply? The archives remained mum.

Some of the more interesting documents reveal the complex relationships that develop during a film’s production and continue after a film’s release. Editing questions, for example, can become intense during the production process. They cover so many possibilities: whom to include, whom to exclude, what details to include, what details to exclude, how often to appear, and how to frame all of them. And, of course, disagreements abound on every one of those questions.

Another complex relationship emerges with participants and consent agreements. Consent is nowhere near as simple as a signed piece of paper. It is a fluctuating relationship that continues and evolves even after a documentary’s release. Some participants write to express support for the films and the issues they address, while others write to express how upset they are about their representations. For example, the uplifting sports and veterans story Vietnam, Long Time Coming drew much praise, while the highly complex Stevie drew more mixed responses.

The most complex relationships I found among all that paperwork involved distribution deals. Distribution contracts represent a long-term relationship with terms dictated by all parties involved. Of course, some parties hold more power than others, and it was interesting to see each party advocating for its own interests and values, particularly with Hoop Dreams.

With paperwork comes handwriting: elaborate doodles, scribbled questions, penciled budgets, and scrawled memos. Some comments revealed some deep thinking about the issues at hand, while others showed touching connections developed during productions. One list appearing on yellow notepad paper, for example, features several books that might be good for the Vietnamese girls they met while filming Vietnam, Long Time Coming. Titles included The Secret Garden, The Hobbit, A Wrinkle in Time, and The Education of Little Tree. One memo even featured a sketch of a station wagon. Many comments showed a deep sense of humor — something necessary in the face of struggles related to raising funds, completing projects, and finding distributors.

Old school physical media storage lurked in multiple folders. In the Vietnam, Long Time Coming box I discovered projection slides and 3 1/2-inch hard disks. In the Hoop Dreams folders I found another 3 1/2-inch disk with a script on it. Other boxes held 5 1/4-inch floppy disks and even cassette tapes. While I had no devices to access the content on these media, I still feel something is being lost as everything now is transitioning to digital.

Not all the history buried in those archives is related specifically to Kartemquin, but it did connect with the documentary community at the time. One series of folders contained flyers from other documentary production and distribution companies. Some still operate today, such as New Day Films, California Newsreel, AppalShop, and Zipporah films, but others I had not heard of, such as Greenwich Film Associates, Documentary Associates Inc., Film Images, Cine Manifest, Public Interest Video Network, and Red Ball Films. Many of these companies were based in California or the New York City metro area, but interestingly enough others had addresses in Colorado, Washington state, and Ohio. I do wonder what became of them and their archives. What were their stories? How and why did they end?

Going through these boxes made me feel like I was standing on a two-foot slab of ice jutting out of the Arctic Ocean. I was only seeing the surface when so much, much more remains to be discovered underneath the water.

Exhibit Highlights 50 years of Kartemquin Films History

“Kartemquin Films: Democracy through Documentary, 1966-2016” is a retrospective highlighting 50 years of Kartemquin history. The exhibit is available at Expo 72, 72 E. Randolph St., Chicago. I had the chance to check it out when I visited the windy city a couple weeks ago.

Centered around themes of craft, community, and change, the curated items represent the organization’s history and ideologies, not to mention documentary history more generally.

Kartemquin Films is committed to social documentary filmmaking in the cinéma vérité traditions. People and their stories drive their films. Emotions, particularly empathy, engage audiences to understand the complexities of the lived realities represented before them.

The following John Dewey quote, which appears on the exhibit’s wall, says it better than I do:

“Artists have always been the real purveyors of the news, for it is not the outward happening in itself which is new, but the kindling by it of emotion, perception and appreciation.”

Dewey’s ideas inform and inspire throughout the exhibit and the organization’s history. In his University of Chicago thesis paper titled “Cinéma Verité in a Democracy,” co-founder Gordon Quinn cites another of Dewey’s books. One exhibit visitor picked up on the importance, writing a note that stated, “My favorite piece in the exhibit is Gordon’s copy of Dewey’s book with underlined statements that defined his life.”

Two key questions engage exhibit visitors, asking for their written responses on notecards. The first question asks, “Is the personal political?” — a question emerging from sociologist C. Wright Mills’s ideas in the 1950s and amplifying during the social movements in the 1960s. This question pushes a huge turn in documentary production during the 1960s and 1970s. It continues within Kartemquin’s films, and others’ films, even today. On the board, one person wrote, “Is water wet?”, to emphasize what they saw as an “obvious” question.

The other question asks, “Are you happy?” in reference to Kartemquin’s second film Inquiring Nuns (1968). Taking cue from Jean Rouch and Edgar Morin’s Chronicle of a Summer, Inquiring Nuns follows Sisters Marie Arné and Mary Campion as they ask people in Chicago this very same question. On the board my favorite written response was, “Like Chicago weather, the ‘yes’ or ‘no’ will change, just stick around.”

The 55-film catalog serves as the exhibit’s centerpiece. By picking up a postcard bearing a QR code, viewers can check out clips from every film across the decades, including 2016 releases Raising Bertie and the upcoming Unbroken Glass.

Not surprisingly, the iconic Hoop Dreams receives particularly detailed attention, with marketing materials, educational materials, archival photos, press coverage, film reels, and the original project proposal. One panel shows the discarded design mock-ups for the film’s theatrical release poster, which reveal part of the struggle the organization undertook to ensure their social messages came through even though mainstream marketing focused more on the overcoming-the-odds story. I had the chance to peruse those Hoop Dreams boxes, and the documents therein further detail the extent of this struggle.

The exhibit also shows connections to documentary film history, particularly through changes in equipment and technology. The famed Camera #1 is on display right in front. The camera shows the ingenuity and flexibility needed when it came to using and adapting equipment toward storytelling goals. One picture reminds us what editing used to be like before AVID and Final Cut.

Quirky gems appear throughout the exhibit, such as a 1980 “thank you” letter from Nicaragua for the gift of an Auricon 16mm camera Kartemquin donated to the Sandista government to “document the revolution.” A taped-up office chair was the seat from which Kartemquin co-founder Jerry Temaner wrote the organization’s founding “Cinematic Social Inquiry” manifesto. Buttons promote films and related social justice movements. There is even information about the mid-1970s distribution efforts via Haymarket Films, a short-lived offshoot company named for the 1886 labor demonstration that was bombed, elicited gunfire, and resulted in multiple deaths. The Haymarket events represent a significant event in Chicago’s labor history as demonstrators sought an eight-hour workday. One photo that I did wonder about showed a man holding a large snake. No text accompanied the photo to explain.

While many cool and interesting things appear in the exhibit, my favorite image appears in the Hoop Dreams section. It is a sketch of a basketball player shooting the ball over an Oscar statue into the bucket. A single T-pin holds it to the wall, and no caption or quote appears to explain it. The image refers to the controversy over Hoop Dreams not earning an Oscar nomination despite its immensely popular reception.

The framed version of this image hangs in the second-floor bathroom in the house on Wellington Street. It accompanies a framed quote from Britney Spears — “Sundance is weird. The movies are weird — you actually have to think about them when you watch them” — and the usual bathroom etiquette signs. To me, the image and its placement say so much about Kartemquin, their perseverance, and the sense of humor needed to persevere as long as they have.

The exhibit runs through August 20. Admission is free. For more information about the exhibit and the schedule of gallery talks, see

Constructing Conversations about Race in ‘Trick Bag’

Kartemquin Films’ Trick Bag: A Black and White Film tackles a tough subject: race issues in 1970s Chicago.

Their 1974 short film shows a series of interviews among people across Chicago during the early 1970s. These people, mostly youth, gather at parks, on street corners, and in people’s homes. Race issues dominate these interviews, though intersectionalities with class -— a theme across Kartemquin’s catalogue -— also appear. Brief sequences of well-chosen music and some voiceover comments set up each scene and its key idea.

Unlike the usual lone talking head, this short approaches these interviews as conversations. In a kitchen, for example, several men sit and talk about their experiences while serving in Vietnam. Each of the men, who remain unidentified, share comments and anecdotes about what they went through there. An African-American man talks about how he had time served and rank and yet white men still got promoted over him. A white man shares his story about being harassed by a higher-up. While the camera cuts from speaker to speaker, we also see and hear some reactions from the others in the room, such as a reaction shot of a man nodding or a two-shot with another man laughing.

Other scenes offer more insights into the interactions among the people talking. One girl early in the film talks about bringing an African-American woman to her apartment before attending a show, and the landlord calls and tells her to have the woman leave immediately. The girl refuses to remove her friend, and the landlord gives them a 30-day eviction notice. As she talks, several people laugh almost nervously, making her smile as she talks though the man framed in the shot with her listens intently without much facial expression.

A conversation outside a Schwinn bicycle factory shows the most exchange among the speakers. Some start the comments, and others chime in to agree. Still others raise different points to the conversation. Shots show some people talking and other people listening, such as an African-American man talking and a white man listening.

While the sequences are set up as conversations with multiple people present, the editing still focuses on one speaker at a time for the most part. The conversation approach complements the discussions about race and class within the film in that it sets up a flow of honest, direct exchange. No sugarcoating happens here; the problems are clearly stated. One man says, “They say there’s a race problem between blacks and whites. It’s not really as much a race problem so much as it is a class problem.” After talking about the differing treatment of African-American and white factory workers, another man says, “You know who really gets [deleted]? Mexicans and Puerto Ricans.”

The comment that most stuck with me was this one: “We’re losing like 5-6 dudes a year.” That’s a sobering comparison to the number lost each day in Chicago. It would be interesting to hear what these conversations sound like today.