Billy & Molly: An Otter Love Story (dir. Charlie Hamilton-James)
Otters are insanely cute. Fuzzy little fish-dog-beavers that glide through the water with the greatest of ease, only to emerge on land looking even cuter. I want to give them all skritches, even if I strongly suspect that they smell horrible (raw fish diet, no showers). When a malnourished otter appears on the dock behind the home of Billy and Susan Mail, the former, a quiet man who silently laments that he and his never had kids of their own, takes the otter into his care. He names her Molly and he soon spends every waking moment trying to give her the best life he possibly can.
Dual narration from both Susan and Billy reveals the details of their relationship while also Illuminating a loving and often comical bond between them. Theirs is a quiet life, spent in the gorgeous Shetland region of Scotland, and the appearance of Molly is exactly the type of therapy that Billy needs, even if Susan must laugh frustratedly as he puts home projects by the wayside in order to take care of his new baby.
The footage captured is always gorgeous, frequently to a degree that induces tears of awe. Shetland is a dream for those who can appreciate the beauty of Mother Nature, complete with brutal winters, verdant springs, and rich wildlife. Populated with a sweet-natured couple, their enthusiastic pup, and now, the cutest otter in the universe, and it almost makes the narration redundant. One could likely deduce the whole story from the visuals alone.
There comes a point in every documentary where the viewer begins to question the veracity of the footage. Folks with a keen eye and a working knowledge of the filmmaking process will wonder at what moment a film crew attached themselves to the proceedings. And once this savvy viewer pins that down, they will then wonder just how much of a document the picture even is. Was the subject milking it for the camera? Was the whole thing fabricated as an excuse to showcase exciting footage? There are many moments in Billy & Molly that had me pondering such things. It seems less like the filmmakers found a story, and more like they facilitated one.
But that doesn’t take away from the effectiveness of the picture, and frankly, I’m probably overthinking things. What matters it what we walk away with, and you’d be hard pressed to find anyone walking away from this without a renewed sense of awe and respect toward our lush, green world. As a National Geographic film, one can safely assume that this is the goal, in which case, mission accomplished. And being a tale about a man connecting with nature, while also wondering where said connection becomes an overreach, the universal goal of most nature documentaries becomes apparent: to encourage us to engage with our environment; to love it and respect it, but to also be cognizant as to when that love becomes damaging.
Ghostlight (dir. Kelly O’Sullivan & Alex Thompson)
Buried in the middle of my coverage is this, the best movie of this year’s SpringFest. Ghostlight tells the touching and often funny tale of Dan (Keith Kupferer), a father and husband doing his best to keep himself together in the wake of a family tragedy. He’s been put on professional leave as a result of his temper, his daughter (Katherine Mallen Kupferer) is acting out in school, and his wife (Tara Mallen) is doing her best to be the family’s rock. A chance encounter with a surly member of a community theater group (Dolly De Leon) places Dan into a production of Romeo & Juliet. He’s not the theater type — heck, he’s not the “show any emotion at all” type, but what starts as a small distraction soon becomes precisely the outlet that a pent-up man in crisis needs.
The script, by co-director Kelly O’Sullivan, is flawless, masterfully doling out the details of the family’s grief, keeping the audience on the hook for information while finding thematic connections across the entirety of the film, seemingly effortlessly — through character, plot beats, and even Romeo & Juliet itself. Ghostlight doesn’t cop out and seek easy answers either. O’Sullivan understands the persistent and sneaky nature of grief, as well as the ways emotional repression can make good people act out in scary ways unrepresentative of their character. She also understands the healing power of artistic expression, as evidenced by the silly antics of Dan’s new friends. Anyone who has ever engaged in the warmup exercises of actors knows that while they may seem goofy on the surface, they create a looseness and a bond that’s hard to find elsewhere.
The main trio is played by a real life family, which explains the genuineness of their onscreen chemistry, but I don’t mean to take away from their impressive work as performers. It’s a bold claim for me to make, but I cannot imagine seeing a better performance in 2024 than what Keith Kupferer does here. I saw many of my elder male family members in him, as well as shades of myself (and not just because we have the same name). The way he’s able to portray Dan with such depth, warts and all, is nothing short of remarkable. It’s very early for Oscar talk, but this is the kind of work that awards were invented for. This whole dang movie is the type of thing awards were invented for.
At the end of the SpringFest screening there was a long pause before the standard round of applause broke out, and it was because everyone in the room was emotionally drained in the best of ways. I, for one, have never cried so much at a single movie, but this isn’t to say that the film is punishing — far from it, really. Not only is the story filled with character-based, real-world humor (every member of the theater troupe is a hoot in their own way), but the tears come from as many moments of warm, humane joy as they do from the film’s sadder scenes. Ghostlight is a gorgeous reminder that in times of crisis, it’s not a sign of weakness to seek connection. It’s okay to ask for help, and it is essential to feel your feelings with your whole heart. If I may be cheesy for a second, this masterpiece of dramedy puts the “community” in “community theater.”
Sing Sing (dir. Greg Kwedar)
The prison system is one of the most brutal, unforgiving, and often cruel manifestations of American culture. Vengeful and punitive, it’s a system designed to keep the collective boot on the neck of the people contained within. Sure, the people on the inside are often guilty of truly terrible things, but they are people nonetheless, and many would seek to improve themselves if the opportunity arose. This isn’t always easy in a system that dismisses incarcerated people as so much refuse to be cast aside entirely.
Enter RTA (Rehabilitation Through the Arts), a program that puts prisoners into stage productions within the very prison in which they reside. Sing Sing tells the story of some of the founding members of the program, including John ‘Divine G’ Whitfield, a Renaissance man of sorts who is serving 25 years for a crime he didn’t commit.
Played here by Colman Domingo, Divine G acts as a ray of hope for his fellow incarcerants, working as hard as he can to emerge from prison with something to show for it (a checklist on his wall notes “write two novels” among other lofty goals). His battle is primarily to transcend the defeatist mentality that our prison system puts on those within it. He wishes to assert personhood and agency on his “beloved,” as he calls them, and uses this theater program as a way to facilitate expression and cooperation.
It’s a powerful film, made doubly so by the fact that many of the actors are playing themselves. This is an essential aspect to the experience. Not only does it show what can be accomplished when a forgotten population is afforded basic dignity, but it speaks highly to the skills they obtained from working within the RTA — their performances are incredible. Sure, Colman Domingo and Paul Raci are the names on the poster, but Clarence Maclin and Sean Dino Johnson steal the film. Watching as the former learns to shed his necessarily gruff demeanor and open up his heart is downright magical.
After the film, a handful of the performers did an illuminating Q&A in which a stunning piece of data was revealed: the RTA program has a recidivism rate of just 3%. The current average for the American prison system at large is 47%
These men are proof that broken things can be fixed.
