Two documentaries. One highly stylized, the other strictly traditional; and not necessarily in the order you’d expect.
Tower
Directed by Keith Maitland
Soundtrack: Osei Essed
August 1, 1966.
A former Marine sharpshooter named Charles Whitman ascends to the observation deck of the Main Building of the University of Texas at Austin and embarks on an hour-and-a-half shooting spree that ultimately results in 18 dead (including Whitman himself) and 31 more wounded.
It’s a deeply tragic event that would seem to be standard fare for a documentary, but Tower manages to be exceptionally bold in two ways.
For one, the film never focuses on Charles Whitman outside of the simple fact that he was the gunman (no biographical information, no psychological profile, etc.), but rather focuses entirely on the victims, witnesses, and heroes of the day.
Secondly, and more obviously, Tower uses digital rotoscope animation for most of its runtime for both to-camera interviews and retelling events from source materials and more personal perspectives (aka semi-docudrama territory); which, I’ll be honest, the visual style is jarring at first, but eventually you grow accustomed to it, and it’s not without its payoff (which I won’t spoil).
Ultimately, Tower is a story that ranges from fear and terror, to loss, to courage, and even to healing. There’s a slight bit of agenda-pushing at the very end that I take issue with, but it doesn’t override the fact that this is an ambitious and striking documentary about a day that should not so easily be forgotten, and the lives it changed indelibly.
Rating: ★★★½
Gimme Danger
Written and Directed by Jim Jarmusch
You’d think a documentary about one of the wildest and most influential bands in history directed by an extremely eclectic filmmaker would result in something, you know, out of the box? Yet, strangely, ironically, Gimme Danger plays like something from the golden age of the History Channel (when there was actual history on it), or classic PBS.
I mean, if you want the complete scoop on Iggy Pop and The Stooges, you certainly get what you pay for, and given the unfortunate fact that one member passed away years before filming, and two more died during production, the breadth of Gimme Danger is impressive, but I can’t help thinking maybe it over-delivers. Compared to Electric Boogaloo, which had a similar purpose but left me feeling like I could watch another four hours, Gimme Danger left me feeling Thanksgiving Day-level full, not really wanting another bite.
Quite frankly, unless you’re either already into The Stooges, or legitimately curious to learn more about them, this doc won’t do much for you. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing; I wouldn’t say it’s wrong in this context to cater to a specific audience (i.e. fans of the band), but I just want to give people fair warning.
Gimme Danger is a fine documentary, but its straightforwardness makes it tough to recommend outside of its base.
Rating: ★★★☆☆