Of crossfaces and (smooth) criminals: part two.
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| Photo credits: hbo.com |
The art of documentary filmmaking is something I've come to admire over the years. Perhaps my tastes have evolved, or I've acquired the attention span (and the stomach) necessary to absorb all the facts contained in these works, but it must truly be an artform in itself to present such compelling and thought-provoking information in a way that is accessible, tasteful and just generally appealing to the viewing public. For example, would you want to watch what happens when someone consumes only fastfood every day for a month? Or learn about how one filmmaker wanted to figure out how he can cheat like his hero, only to uncover how one country cheated the Olympics? Probably not at first glance. Then again, the talented minds behind Super Size Me and Icarus figured out that if they can make their case within the first few minutes of their doc, the audience will go along for the whole ride. The same principle from pro wrestling somewhat applies here: if the filmmakers can pull you in long enough that they get you to actually pay attention to what they're showing you, they're doing their job correctly.
Heck, Billy Corgan was right all along -- "everything IS pro wrestling." Anyway...
Providentially enough, I had a conversation about this exact topic not too long ago with my church friend who majored in film; she asked her Instagram followers recently for Netflix documentary/docu-series recommendations and I responded with the three titles off the top of my head: The Keepers, Fyre and Bikram. (I strongly recommend these for watching.) She would share afterwards that the reason she's into docs is because there's closure, unlike your average series where you have to deal with season breaks and you're left unsure if a story's actually over when it returns. Documentaries, by the very nature of their subject matter, are "one-and-done" and therefore the payoff from a story-telling perspective is indeed more satisfying. I was quick to point out, though, that other stories just naturally develop over time so this closure may not come as quickly as others, hence Making A Murderer got a second season while The Staircase, for instance, did not.
I also remarked offhandedly in our brief chat that some stories are just too gripping, with details too unfathomable that some may find difficulty believing they happened; in simpler terms, as she herself in agreement would put it, they are "too grabe to be true." I mean, I'm not saying heinous crimes don't occur every day -- they do -- or that psychopathic behaviors can't be triggered in certain individuals under the right set of circumstances -- they can -- but have you ever wondered how such crimes can take place or how such psychopaths can exist, like, today? In 2020? It's as if these came straight out of the movies or something, written up by some B-level screenwriter taking cues from Stephen King and Chuck Palahniuk, but no. You watch the news or chance upon the latest documentary release in your preferred streaming service and it hits you right away: yup, real people actually did those very real things.
. . .
Two examples immediately come to mind: [1] my co-worker screamed in shock when she found out The Trials of Gabriel Fernandez was based on an actual case, after discovering viral posts on her Facebook feed paying tribute to Gabriel and calling for justice; and [2] to this day, pro wrestlers and fans alike still grapple with what was discovered during the investigation into the double-murder and suicide of Chris Benoit and the intrigue surrounding this tragedy never really went away even after thirteen years, to the point that the pro wrestling docu-series from Vice devoted their resources into producing what will probably be the definitive visual narration of events (since WWE won't make one, for obvious reasons):
To be honest, I wasn't really planning on inserting this much of my pro wrestling fandom into my writing (it's probably bordering on TMI at this point) but I find it necessary to lay all of that groundwork first so you'll then understand this particular dilemma. Now that you know why I admired this gentleman and how he played a small but significant part in my teenage years, even though I've never known him personally, I ask you: Should I still look up to him after he killed his wife and kid? Should I delete from my memory all the highlight reels, championship runs and special moments in his decades-long career because these all pale in comparison to one tragically twisted weekend of his own making? And if I don't, am I glorifying a criminal?
Let me flip the script on you for a second. Think of an individual you look up to -- someone you consider an idol, a hero or a role model. Maybe you know each other well enough that both of you are friends, or maybe not at all, but this person has left an indelible mark in your life in some way. Then all of a sudden, you find out your idol did something objectively and inexcusably wrong. What do you do now? Does your admiration for your hero end without blinking an eye? Will you negate everything positive your role model contributed to your life because of a serious character defect, if not repeated lapses in judgment?
Which now brings me to this documentary, the one I really wanted to write about:
. . .
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| Photo credits: imdb.com |
For the record, I was not -- and had never been -- a fan of Michael Jackson.
Sure, I know of his songs, and I enjoy listening to them whenever they are played on the radio, on a P.A. system somewhere, or on somebody's Spotify or Pandora playlist while in an Uber. One time I even sang "Heal the World" as part of a choir at the San Francisco cathedral hall during a dinner gala, and I must admit it was a very uplifting experience. But as someone who was born a generation later, I did not follow his career as closely as I did, say, Linkin Park or Eminem. (Or SCANDAL, for that matter... Just had to throw it out there. Ha.)
I'm sure my folks are huge fans. My mom bought his 3-disc commemorative set of his greatest hits a few months after he passed away in 2009; she would pop them in the old boombox on a random Saturday morning and, every so often, she and my aunt would sing along to those classics as they were doing the household chores. He was -- for them, and many others -- the voice of their time, and so it was understandable that they would want to keep their memory of him alive through his music. I know I certainly did the same after Chester Bennington took his own life, but that's another story.
Back to MJ. My interest was piqued when This Is It
was shown in cinemas around the same time my mom bought that 3-disc set. It was essentially the dry run of his planned comeback
concert that never materialized due to his passing; the
filmmakers instead stitched together all the rehearsal and behind-the-scenes footage, releasing it as a documentary/tribute. I
wanted to understand what he and this phenomenon surrounding him was all
about, so out of sheer curiosity and/or naïveté I went to go see it and made my brother come with me. My immediate takeaway? He really was the consummate performer. His energy never dropped throughout his entire set list, save for one brief moment to catch his breath two-thirds of the way in. He's all-out, all the time; maybe the reason why his legions of fans idolized him throughout all those years was because he was so giving of himself and of his talents. I came out of that theater with a newfound respect for the man, sympathizing with the rest of the world that grieved the loss of this once-in-a-generation artist...
I did not feel the same way after watching Leaving Neverland a decade later. If anything, it just confirmed all the things I'd seen or heard about him. They weren't some deep, dark secrets anyway: he was a consistent punchline for stand-up comedians, South Park drew up an entire episode about him and Eminem (drugged up and all) basically wrote a song claiming "that's not a stab at Michael" when it clearly is. He had a very public trial in court, too, having fought -- and getting acquitted of -- a sexual abuse charge leveled against him, which partly explained why he remained out of the spotlight for so long. And so none of the revelations made in the documentary, graphic as they may be, were shocking. They were just... sad.
What's sadder is we may never really know the truth behind these allegations, and that's not to discredit in any way the motivations of the accusers, or their candor to appear in front of a camera and bravely share their horrific experiences with the person in question. Remember, this doc came out at the height of #MeToo, where victims are emboldened to speak truth to power and hold both the perpetrators and the institutions safeguarding them accountable, and rightly so (I would advocate for #CatholicMeToo, while we're at it); in the interest of justice, however, it is only fair -- and is still their legal right -- for the accused to seek counsel, plead their case in open court and let the evidence and arguments speak for themselves, as they are by law "innocent until proven guilty." But because MJ is no longer here to defend himself, or at least have his attorneys do it for him, it appears as though we will have to take the accusers at their word, which in my honest opinion sets a very dangerous precedent as it inverts the entire judicial process into individuals becoming "guilty until proven innocent." (See Fantastic Lies)
Let's say, though, that he actually did what they said he did (and I'm inclined to think this is the case, as well). What becomes of his legacy? Should the music industry strike out all his countless achievements? His awards, his platinum records, his streaks atop the charts, his sold-out concert tours, his star on the Walk of Fame and his handprints along Hollywood Boulevard? Should we now discourage aspiring artists on The Voice or American Idol from singing his songs for an audition piece because those are considered "triggering," then shame them when they do because they chose to glorify a pædophile? Should we whitewash his name from our collective history and pretend he didn't exist, in almost the same manner World Wrestling Entertainment (initially) whitewashed from their history the name of an accomplished and tenured employee, of whom it was discovered he actually killed his wife, his son and then himself?
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| Photo credits: youtube.com |
. . .
(To be continued)
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