In an attempt to archive some academic papers I've written over the past few years (relying on the hard drives of sometimes faulty PCs has left me tired and frustrated), I will be uploading some of my old work to this blog over the next few weeks. Here is one on Venezuelan president Hugo Chávez and the way three somewhat recent documentaries depicted his controversial reign and character.
Oliver Stone's South of the Border is a film either biased or naïve, and the most surprising thing about it is that it plays well regardless. There are many documentaries about the outsider (usually white) coming to a foreign land to learn about the natives, and while this one features a famous Hollywood director looking for answers about South American politics, it isn't demeaning to its subjects. On the contrary, there are times when the wool seems to be being pulled over Stone's eyes rather than the officials. If you're looking for dynamic, hard-hitting questions that will cause awkwardly exciting confrontations and interviewee walk outs, this is the wrong film for you. South of the Border is informative but slight. Stone meets with many important figures (Chávez and Evo Morales, president of Bolivia, to name a few), and engages in interesting but calm, respectful back-and-forths. He is not out to make them look bad or have them admit to something they'd rather not discuss. This seemed to irk some critics when the film was released, but there is a bigger concern here. To meet with these men privately is almost impossible. Stone was granted access because of his celebrity status and his well known left wing politics, while also having been a former soldier in Vietnam (to Chávez, this makes them equal). There was a level of respect that had to be maintained in order for a film like this to be made in the first place. More a politely abbreviated biography than a riveting critique, South of the Border is a sincere film about controversial figures. As the movie goes on, you can almost hear objections being yelled at the screen. “People who are often demonized, like Nixon and Bush and Chávez and Castro, fascinate me,” Stone explained to The New York Times, “[and] we are dealing with a big picture, and we don't stop to get into a lot of the criticism and details of each country. Its a 101 Introduction to a situation in South America that most Americans and Europeans don't know about because of years and years of blighted journalism.” (Rohter) When the filmmakers visit Chávez's childhood home, Chávez reflects on his grandmother and almost starts to tear up. Trying to recapture his youth, he borrows one of the local children's bicycle's, goes for a ride, and stumbles over and breaks it. He has a good laugh, and the moment appears sincere on the surface. Sure, Stone is technically putting Chávez into these situations (looking over Chávez's book collection, Stone remarks that the reading material looks awfully boring, implying that Chávez is smarter and more disciplined than the average man) that make him appear relatable, but within it truth does come out.
Because it takes a casual approach to its subject — for some reason, Stone enjoys playing sporting games with his interviewees — the film can be summed up as rather insignificant. In theory, there is nothing wrong with the approach. The problems arise once a viewer without knowledge of South American politics (the kind of viewer Stone implied in The New York Times that there are a plethora of) watches the film and forms their opinion from there. As an individual piece of filmmaking, the documentary isn't significant or substantial enough to serve as a be-all, end-all look at Hugo Chávez. One reason why: athough Stone never lies to his viewers, he does present half-truths. For instance, the issue of Venezuela's involvement in the IMF (International Monetary Fund) is brought up. Stone presents Chávez of wanting to get his country out of the IMF so that they will not be reliant on the American government. While this is true, as depicted in the Frontline documentary, Chávez could never actually afford to do this. The country, hundreds of millions of dollars in debt, would have had to immediately clear that amount before leaving the IMF, which is not something Venezuela could feasibly do. Another instance involves Stone's handling of the coup situation. While he strongly implies that America and the Bush administration were pushing to get Chávez out (backed up by documents Stone displays on screen, complete with close-ups and highlighted sentences), the Venezuela private media issue is less discussed. Pedro Carmona is depicted as evil and unjust (and in regards to the latter, perhaps he was) without offering differentiating sides to the issue. While South of the Border should be seen, it should be experienced in the context of the media's depiction of Chávez and not as the definitive summation of the man.
The three documentaries previously discussed help to form a portrait of Chávez that is sound and yet contrasting. This may be the ideal way to present a media figure of this magnitude. The docs that were made with Chávez's participation, of course, tend to be less judgmental of the man, while the Frontline piece has many interviews with people observing, but never participating in, Chávez's staff; given their brief running times, an interested viewer could get through all three films over the course of four hours. For the documentary which gives the best over all view of the man, Frontline: The Hugo Chavez show may prove to be the most enlightening. Aló Presidente serves as a poignant narrative device for the framing of Chávez's presidential reign. It also draws parallels between Chávez's past and present, giving the man's life a cinematic quality that enriches the experience. For example, when Chávez was arrested years ago for trying to overthrow the Venezuelan government, he said in a press conference afterward that although he had been defeated, it was only “por ahora” (for now). Years later, when his attempt at getting the public to agree to let him be president indefinitely backfired, Chávez, disrespected and weakened, had billboards put up all over the country displaying that familiar phrase, “por ahora”. By putting the the quote's two uses in its proper context, Frontline: The Hugo Chávez Show portrays the president's struggle as having come full circle. Once imprisoned by the government, he was now attempting to get at his critics by having them silenced.
Speaking of silencing, there is an interesting note to make about the three documentaries' availability to the American public. While the two American produced films are easy enough to find, the Irish-bred The Revolution Will Not Be Televised has never officially been granted a DVD release. In order to find it, one must actively seek it out on Youtube or Google Video; the picture and audio quality is usually sub par. This lack of distribution represents a form of media censorship itself. Here is a film that shows the inner workings of a a political administration in utter turmoil and at their most vulnerable state, and it has never had a proper home video release (it was, however, given a brief theatrical run in 2003 at New York City's Film Forum). Is Chávez's crew at work here? After watching these three docs, each successful in their own right, one will be at ease with questioning all possibilities.
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