One of the magic tricks of documentary is being able to film a person changing over a period of time. Over the years, the audience can get a unique psychological picture. But these long-term projects come with special challenges and obstacles for the filmmakers who pull them off.
Filming and completing these documentaries can take anywhere from a few years to a decade or more, for a variety of reasons. In some cases, the goal may be to completely track important parts of an individual’s life. Alternatively, the filmmaker’s approach could instead be unlimited, taking cues from one’s emotional experience as to how far to cover and when to say ‘the end’. I have. Regardless of the situation, all works require the filmmaker to carefully manage their relationship with their subjects.
Three recent films have followed the subject for over a year, Tribeca Festivaltakes place Wednesday through June 18 in New York City. “Apollonia, Apollonia,” “During the rain” and “Q”
Apollonia, Apollonia, directed by Lee Grob, takes Apollonia Sokol, a young Parisian painter, for the longest period of 13 years. Sokol grew up in a building that housed a theater run by her parents, which became a bustling haven for actors and other artists. Over the course of her films, she forges a career in the harsh and often sexist arena of the art world and academies.
Grob made his first short film about Sokol in 2009 while studying at the Danish National Film School after being turned down by other candidates. At the time, her director did not know that she would be making a feature film about Ms. Sokol, but in the process of making the film, she realized there was something special about the young painter. It is said that
“She really wants to give something in front of the cameras, and after that I couldn’t let her go,” Grob said in a telephone interview from Denmark, where she lives.
It wasn’t decided from the beginning that it would take 13 years to shoot. Grob and Sokol agreed on a basically free-hand arrangement, in which Sokol did not see the footage while Grob was filming and provided input during editing, resulting in a production that spanned more than a decade. As Sokol pursued his career, Grob began to think that a conclusion would be reached when Sokol reached a milestone of success, but the (friendly) ending was one in which Sokol used his time. It had something to do with wanting.
Grob benefited from the liberal arts environment of the community around the theater owned by Sokol’s parents. The young artist called Grob when something funny happened, like when he was about to be kicked out of the theater.
This method can be hit or miss.
“We would drop everything and go out and she would just be there boiling pasta and reading,” Grob said.
Instead of following events, Grob rearranged it to track Sokol’s growth as an artist. Under the auspices of art dealer Stefan Simchowicz, we see Sokol attend art school, put on his first gallery show, and travel to Los Angeles, and this was made into a movie.
“I developed a relationship with her camera and with her,” said Sokol, who now paints and teaches.
“It’s not family or friendship. It’s something else. I think there’s something stronger,” she added.
Grob said he tried to contact Sokol about once a month, but he did not live in Paris. There were other logistical challenges as well. Mr. Grob was working on other projects and the funding for this project fluctuated. Initially, Grob edited the footage halfway through, but it proved counterproductive, so he started editing later.
Grob had to stop working for at least a year when she nearly died after giving birth, a trauma she recalls in the film. And Sokol overcame a tumultuous relationship with Ukrainian activist Oksana Shachko, who took her own life in 2018. But in 2022, Grob completed a portrait of her fellow artist, calling the process “liberation.” After its world premiere, the film won the highest award at the Amsterdam International Documentary Film Festival.
for “during the rainIn , filmmakers Andrew H. Brown and Moses Turanila follow a pivotal four-year period in the life of Cole James, a young member of the Turkana community in Kenya’s Ngaremala village.
James works as a shepherd, prepares for rites of passage and deals with conflicts with neighboring communities due to drought.
The production of this film required at least one year of permission and securing of trust prior to filming.
“It’s not a community that you can just go and shoot. He was from a town about 40 minutes away by car and used his home as a kind of production base. (The production team also has family ties. Producer Samuel Ekomol is James’ cousin and a teacher in Ngaremala village.)
Teams maintained ties with the community, participating in soup kitchens and bringing in groceries (sometimes goats, sometimes rice bags). But just as important was the bond of trust he forged over the course of the film with Mr. James, who rebelled against some of the community’s more difficult traditions, such as the gruesome tooth extraction ritual.
In a phone call through an interpreter, James said he stuck to the documentary because it gave him the opportunity to connect with the outside world and share the challenges facing the community. He especially liked the dramatic scene when he traps and kills a hyena. This scene gives the filmmakers a fitting climax to a coming-of-age story.
“Q” director Jude Chehab chose a more familiar subject: his mother Hiva Hodor. Chehab describes the development of Khodr’s relationship with a secret religious sect that has been a part of their lives. After watching her mother focus intensely on the group and its leader (known as Anitha) for decades, Chehab interviewed her mother to find out more about the group and its family. planned to explore her feelings about Ms. Coddle knew her daughter would feel free to ask questions about things she didn’t talk about much, so she agreed.
Chehab filmed her first interview with her mother in February 2018, but found herself locked up in Lebanon with her parents when the pandemic hit.
“I think that’s how they achieved that level of intimacy, because they couldn’t escape the cameras,” Chehab said with a laugh on the video call.
Filming lasted about four and a half years, but it was done in a targeted fashion (not a whole day at a time). The film goes even further back to the 1990s through a home movie made by Chehab’s discreet father (who also interrogates him in the film).
Chehab continued to show the footage to his mother, despite advice that it might make Khodru more aware of the camera. She said that her early exposure to the film made it easier for her mother to participate in the process.
“She knows me. She knows when I’m sad and when I’m under pressure,” Hoddle wrote in an email. “I can tell her more than any stranger to her and I have no deal with her because we are her mother and daughter.”
Camera work was also a daily decision. Knowing his mother’s routine, Chehab was naturally able to photograph her on the spot, such as when Khodr went to a poetry reading or received a dramatic visit. , could also be adjusted for unexpected moments.
Intimacy within the home required special consideration. When Kodor was not wearing a hijab, Chehab framed her hair out of view. She also incorporated feedback from her friends to show her mother working as a professor outside her home.
Coddle said she initially joined in helping her daughter. But her film changed her, as she expresses in her completed documentary.
“For me, it was a way of uncovering some hidden layers within me,” she said in an email. “It really helped me get real.”
