An American Nightmare

I have now made it through the five parts of ESPN’s O.J.: Made in America, all seven hours and 44 minutes of it. I suppose watching and playing in poker tournaments -- or maybe it’s all those transatlantic flights I’ve taken -- has made sitting through nearly eight hours of anything seem a lot less remarkable than it was before.

The reviews of the film, directed and produced by Ezra Edelman, have been consistently glowing, and I, too, thought it very good and compelling throughout. Errol Morris (The Thin Blue Line, The Fog of War) is an obvious influence (narrative pace, music, editing, interview format), and as I greatly enjoy Morris’s films and storytelling style that ensured I was hooked from early in the first hour.

I knew a lot about Simpson’s background, though the film presents numerous details that were new to me (and to most viewers, I’d imagine). Much of what was presented concerning the murders and trial was very familiar, while some of the participants’ reflections were interesting to hear articulated for the first time.

The civil case (in which Simpson was found responsible for the murders) was mostly familiar ground as well for those who followed it when it happened. Meanwhile the entire post-trials sequence detailing Simpson’s downward spiral into decadence and his eventual arrest, conviction, and imprisonment in Nevada for a different crime was mostly new to me.

The film clarifies in a comprehensive way how studying the complicated legacy of race relations both in southern California and Los Angeles in particular and in the nation as a whole adds considerably to our understanding of why the trial played out as it did. It also sheds light on Simpson’s own strange, frighteningly-destructive psychological makeup, which helps explain -- as much as is possible, anyway -- how exactly he had become a person able to perpetrate such horrors.

“There was nothing ever, ever in the past that would indicate would be capable of doing what he’s doing right now” says Al Michaels on air during the Bronco chase, articulating the position of the great majority of the public at the time who thought they knew Simpson but really did not. The film helps make it clear that not only was Simpson capable, but predisposed to commit such acts.

Probably the most affecting part of the entire documentary (for me) was the creeping, mounting, chest-tightening dread that builds toward the end of the second part when all of the many, many instances of abuse and other loud forewarnings build upon each other -- both saddening and maddening. I also was affected during the discussion of the Rodney King beating, trial, and the L.A. riots, as they triggered some anxiety-filled memories of that time. (As well as some trepidation about how such a situation might play out today, nearly a quarter-century later.)

In the end, I appreciated the lengthy exposition (i.e., the first two parts) a bit more than the narrative of the trial and its aftermath, probably because the latter was on the whole both more familiar to me and tended to be overwhelmed at several points by the incredibly sensational aspects of the murders and trial.

As I say, the argument that race relations was a key component to America’s “making” a figure like O.J. was persuasive and thorough. But when it was over I was thinking also about other influences upon attitudes and values -- namely, sports, celebrity, and money/class -- all suggested as well by the film, but not explored as fully. Of course, that might’ve carried the film another couple of hours further, as it didn’t appear there was much included that didn’t seem to belong.

I’ll finish with one last observation about the documentary. Early on it is established how Simpson not only avoided drawing attention to race and the many injustices marking race relations as his personal fame and cultural stature grew, but overtly defended his right to pursue self-interest. The position is uniformly opposed by others in the film, and indeed Simpson’s lack of interest in any larger community is made to appear monstrous -- another piece of evidence presented to explain Simpson’s narcissism and lack of regard for anyone but himself.

As that case was being made, though, I found myself thinking -- how unusual is that position, really? Especially today. We’re surrounded by others adopting the exact same approach to society at large and their place within it, not feeling any responsibility at all to the “community” and appearing exclusively and unembarrassedly motivated by self-improvement.

It’s a not uncommon type, and also -- to an extent -- “made in America.”

Image: ESPN.

20 Feet From Stardom and BET RAISE FOLD

Over the weekend Vera and I had the chance to have a nice evening out grabbing some Thai food and then taking in a movie, the documentary 20 Feet From Stardom that debuted at Sundance early this year. It was an entertaining and edifying movie, full of great music and some thoughtful commentary about a variety of topics, including the way we choose our roles in this life and/or our roles choose us.

The film focuses on the lives of background singers, compiling both performances and many interviews with musicians and industry types in order to highlight various challenges faced by those who make a career on stage performing in front of audiences yet not being the center of attention. Many different singers appear or are mentioned along the way, but ultimately the film concentrates on presenting the stories of five women in particular, all of whom have had lengthy careers backing major pop, rock, and R&B acts for many decades.

Like I say, the music was terrific and especially well utilized in the film, and we left the theater talking about certain sequences in particular such as the story of Darlene Love’s many contributions to various girl groups 45s of the 1960s and Merry Clayton’s stirring turn on the Stones’ “Gimme Shelter.”

One theme of the film is how the backup singers often fail to get credit or notice for their work, with one obvious purpose of director Morgan Neville being to right a wrong in this regard. But the movie also shows how some who choose the path of the background singer do so deliberately, finding more pleasure and satisfaction in that role than in stepping out in front to be leader.

That latter point is one that probably connects more readily with a wider audience, I think, namely, the idea that not only is it not possible for us all to be stars, but the fact is a lot of us are content not to be in the spotlight. Such an idea transcends the subject matter, really, connecting with a wider audience most of whom may like (or love) music but who aren’t artists or musicians. The movie also ably makes the point that some -- perhaps many -- prefer to harmonize with others, rather than sing alone (both literally and figuratively).

I won’t go too much further into the film, as I don’t really intend to write a full-fledged review here. You can find plenty of those on the web, anyway. Here is the trailer, though, to give you more of a taste:

After watching 20 Feet From Stardom I additionally found myself thinking again about BET RAISE FOLD: The Story of Online Poker, which happens to be the most recent documentary I’d seen prior to this one. I’ve mentioned that movie here a couple of times, and I did write a full review of that film for Flushdraw last month.

Both films seek to present a subculture to their audiences, although 20 Feet From Stardom enjoys an advantage in this regard as the world of rock and pop music is much more familiar to most than is that of online poker. Both kind of follow a similar trajectory, too, in the way they touch on broader historical contexts (i.e., online poker and the music industry) but ultimately spend more energy profiling individuals and their experiences within those contexts, in both cases highlighting the hardships of their career paths.

Even though I’m an online poker player -- or was, at least -- and therefore very familiar with the world being presented in BET RAISE FOLD, I strangely found it a lot easier to identify with the background singers in 20 Feet than had been the case with BET RAISE FOLD, although Danielle Andersen’s story involving her family does give viewers plenty with which to connect.

I suppose both films could be considered as “defending” the career paths taken by their subjects, and as I suggest above in both cases the films suggest that in many ways those paths “chose” them and not vice-versa. Both also pursue a tried-and-true tactic of documentary film by introducing audiences to direct their attention into places where they might not have looked otherwise, not only portraying a subculture but also perhaps introducing the whole idea (to some viewers) of such a subculture existing.

As I’ve already pointed out, the makers of 20 Feet From Stardom dealt in much more familiar territory in this latter regard, one of many advantages they had over those who pulled together BET RAISE FOLD. In any case, I recommend both. You might be able to catch 20 Feet From Stardom in a theater near you, while BET RAISE FOLD is now available for purchase online at the film’s website.