I’m an unlikely suspect to go to a midnight screening of a film such as The People Vs. George Lucas. This was clear off the bat as I looked around at the crowd of 20- and 30-somethings sporting Star Wars hoodies and chatting about their expectations for this doc on the subject of their favorite thing in the world. I, on the other hand, have never seen a Star Wars movie.

I was probably the only person in the Hot Docs crowd who had not at least seen the first three films (four, five and six, that is). When the doc started it suddenly hit me that I might not understand a word the people on screen would say. I’ve experience Star Wars talk before - all Jedis and Nerf Herders - and just zoned it out in the past, but now I would have to try to translate this, or nudge my neighbor to help me out.

Thankfully that wasn’t necessary. While I may not have been one of the audience members laughing in recognition as the doc tackled the “Han shot first” debate, the doc by Alexandre O. Philippe touches a nerve with anyone who has seen their pop cultural love marred by its creator.

In no way a diatribe against Lucas, The People Vs. George Lucas uses interviews with fans to critique the director’s choices and debate who this work that is so much a part of the public realm ultimately belongs to, the fans or the director. Criticisms included questioning how Lucas could go from a young hippie who defended the preservation of Black and White cinema over colorization to a businessman who reedits his own classics. And one who has, so far, not released the originals that his audience demands. One fan likened the changes Lucas made to the original three movies to da Vinci trying to change the original Mona Lisa. It’s unlikely, even if he were alive, that anyone would let him do it.

The film, which debuted at SXSW and also screened at Brazil’s International Documentary Festival It’s All True before coming to Hot Docs, is the story of Star Wars fans’ love/hate relationship with Lucas for the changes he made to their childhood memories through both the reedits and the new saga. However, despite anything the doc faults the filmmaker for, it also documents the countless number of fan-films and Star Wars re-dos that fans have created over the years, all of which Lucas has left alone, despite any copyright concerns.

In the end, the doc is a chance for Jedi-lovers to get together and bitch a little. But it was clear during the Q&A after the film that this audience still loves Star Wars, and there’s nothing Lucas can do to change that.

My allergies to cats were threatening to flare up just watching Cat Ladies, a verite documentary by Christie Callan-Jones following four women who fall under the stereotype of being single women with cats. Although I’m not a fan of cats, I was intrigued by what makes someone a cat lady. The film goes into the reasoning, by pulling back the layers on these women to unveil deeper issues about loneliness, family issues and hoarding.

Things start simple enough, with the introduction of Margot, a woman with three cats. Owning three cats seems reasonable,  but Cat Ladies demonstrates that it doesn’t matter how many felines live in your home, you can still be a “cat lady.” For instance, Margot confesses to once having a dream where she was breastfeeding her cats.

Things begin to escalate with the introduction of Jenny, who lives alone with her 16 cats. Both Margot and Jenny share the same kind of relationship with their felines. They love their cats probably more than they love people, which is clearly a problem when the cats are masking the lack of social interactions and romances. The director explores the family experiences both women had growing up, creating a connection between unhappy childhoods and cats filling a companionship role. “The cats were always there,” Jenny reflects.  Similarly, Margot says that cats loved her and accepted her for who she was. If cats are there for a lonely kid, then a line is drawn to cats being the go-to support in adulthood.

On the other end of the spectrum are cat rescuers Diane and Sigi. Diane has a packed house of 123 cats. She sleeps only three hours a night because of a heavy schedule of cat maintenance, which includes an awful lot of cleaning out cat litter. No cat number is given for Sigi, but her feline tally must be in the hundreds. Despite the fact that Sigi’s house is overrun with cats, she sees no problem with the repercussions, which include the Humane Society making her remove her bed because it’s a source of contamination. She now sleeps on a lounge chair.

While Diane has come to accept that her cat tally has gotten out of control, Sigi is unapologetic about the good she believes she is doing, calling herself the Mother Teresa of cats.

Cat Ladies gave me insight into what is usually the subject of a bad joke, or a nightmare scenario to single women. Christie Callan-Jones gives a sympathetic look at women who wanted to become less lonely and unintentionally alienated themselves even more so with their multiple pets.

A Hard Name is rough, sparse and full of talking heads, but despite, or in many instances because, of all this it is an incredibly compelling watch.

Alan Zweig’s documentary (recently nominated for a Genie) tells the important story of a collection of ex-convicts who speak candidly about trying to stay out of jail and what brought them to a life of crime in the first place. Told completely through one on one interviews with five men and two women who spent the majority of their lives in and out of jail, the film is not the uplifting tale of people who have turned their lives around. Rather, it allows its subjects to tell the stark truth of how hard it is to survive in jail and how much harder it can be to survive once released.

Zweig is clearly sympathetic to his cast of characters. His style of filmmaking is more conversational than constructed, and while at times it seems his banter from behind the camera may become too intrusive, it actually proves to enrich the film as he honestly exposes the connection he builds between himself and his subjects.

While the subjects, who have committed crimes spanning from bank robberies to drug deals to assaults, are presented as sympathetic, no one here tries to justify what they’ve done. Rather, each explains the painful stories of how crime became a part of their lives. One man was abandoned by his family as a teenager when they literally moved away leaving him with nothing; another grew up with a father who constantly brought home men to have sex with him, while another was both abandoned by his mother and then repeatedly molested by his guardians at the Mount Cashel orphanage in St John’s, Newfoundland, (which gained notoriety when allegations of sexual abuse from as many as 300 residents came to light in the 1980s and 1990s. The orphanage itself was closed in 1990).

Aside from telling their deeply saddening back stories, Zweig asks each subject to explain what it was like in jail, talking about the dynamic between prisoners and survival techniques (which include never eyeballing anyone, ratting anyone out or borrowing anything off another inmate). While some of his subjects are determined to maintain their freedom - they recall how going to a mall and being around people for the first time in years was liberating or how being able to get a call from one’s children is more important than making tons of money as a criminal - others concede that life would be easier if they were back in jail because they don’t know how to keep going on the outside.

A Hard Name doesn’t carry any big message. It just gives us a glimpse into what could happen to anyone if their life took a different path.

Director and cinematographer Don Argott’s latest doc, The Art of the Steal, strangely made me feel the same way I felt last year when a news story came out about a woman in the Greater Toronto Area who was forced to get rid of her garden by the municipal government. Reportedly, the woman had a very unruly front garden that spanned her entire lawn, but she said it was made up of hundreds of rare plant life. Her neighbors, on the other hand, said it was an eyesore.

It’s frustrating when one person’s art is another person’s annoyance. And in The Art of the Steal, which tells the story of Dr. Albert Barnes’ multi billion dollar art collection and the strange voyage it takes after his death, it’s equally as frustrating when one person’s art becomes another’s commerce.

Argott’s doc shows a collection, ordered by Barnes in his will not to be removed from its space or opened for public viewing, which is torn between students of the Barnes Foundation and the City of Philadelphia which wants to exhibit the art in a public gallery. The story is shocking, compelling and at times ridiculous, as Lincoln University’s representative goes against the will at every turn in order to make money to renovate the space that housed the collection. When the collection opens to the public and the residential neighborhood in which the art is kept becomes bombarded with tourists, the fate of the collection and Barnes’ wishes, take a turn for what his supporters deem to be the worst.

However, another similarity between this doc and the articles about the woman’s garden is I felt manipulated by both. Following the story of the “stolen” garden, readers were lead to feel sympathy for this woman and anger toward the government and her neighbors. While perhaps her neighbors did care too much about the formality of a front lawn, it later came out that maybe that garden wasn’t so rare, and there was a chance it was really just a bunch of weeds. While Barnes’ collection is by no means a bunch of weeds - it contains 181 Renoir’s, 69 Cézanne’s, 59 Matisse’s and 46 Picasso’s - what happened to his collection may not be quite the travesty it is made out to be.

As an art lover, and someone who usually roots for the underdog and the misunderstood as opposed to the powers that be, it’s likely that I would have taken up the cause of Barnes’ supporters even if the doc had been more balanced, but the doc clearly villainizes the bureaucrats and city officials responsible for moving (and cashing in on) the collection and rallies behind Barnes’ supporters. So, while the story of Barnes and his collection is fascinating, I can’t help but feel that the doc could have benefited from a little more balance.

The Art of the Steal will have its world premiere at this year’s Toronto International Film Festival.

When my friends told me about a documentary akin to American Movie about a man trying to relive his past glory as a demolition derby champion I was warned of two things: one, it’s a great watch, but two, I was going to feel guilty watching it.

I think the guilt they felt came from laughing while grown, lower-middle class men tore apart cheap cars in preparation to ram their vehicles into each other. Sure the subjects of HotRod: The Movie say funny things, and they get drunk on camera a fair bit, but I think the shame would only come if it seemed the directors were mocking the subjects in the making of this film. Watching the doc, I didn’t get that feeling.

The director and writer of HotRod, Michael Morrow, is from Lansdowne, Ontario, the home of Joe “HotRod” Kemp. Growing up in the home of a demolition derby, Morrow knew of Kemp, who had won the derby in 1998, and decided to follow him as he prepared for the 2003 match.

While the background of the derby is interesting - it’s hard to believe anyone wants to take part in these things when you see footage of people catching on fire when their gas cells ignite and other such horror stories - the most compelling part of the doc is watching these men, Kemp included, break down and rebuild their cars in preparation for game day.

The object of a demolition derby is to smash up your opponents’ cars while keeping yours in the best condition possible. If your car stops running or gets completely destroyed, you’re out. So, competitors strip the cars to the bare bones, removing the windows, bumpers and a lot of the guts to essentially create ramming machines.

While the guys say that they love smashing up their cars during the derby, the smashing they have to do to get the cars ready also looks like a lot of fun. One competitor who called his car The British Bulldog let a little boy stand on the hood to throw a rock through the windshield, while other men used power tools to cleanly remove the windows. However, protective clothing does not appear to be popular with the subjects of this doc. Only one man mentions protective glasses as he’s breaking the windows of his car, yet we see he’s only referring to the sunglasses on his face. At one point HotRod cuts himself with a grinder when it jacks backward, slicing his bare hand. His reaction: he makes the cut sing “Who Let the Dogs Out.” Naturally.

HotRod really proves the old adage: it’s not whether you win or lose, it’s how you smash up cars without getting arrested that matters.

Joe Berlinger’s exploration of Chevron/Texaco oils’ affect on Ecuadorian communities in Crude doesn’t immediately draw comparisons to gang culture in South Central L.A. But Stacy Peralta’s Crips and Bloods: Made in America does share the same crucial theme of minority cultures suffering due to social, political and economical factors.
In Crude, it is a big corporation dumping toxic waste in waters that serve to hydrate and clean 30,000 Ecuadorians. Berlinger documents the legal battle between the oil company and its team of lawyers and health experts versus the grass roots and human rights lawyers trying to make it right - “it” being the polluted water causing livestock and livelihood to die, teenagers to get cancer and two week old babies to be covered in rashes head to tie. The quest for justice and awareness is hopeful, thanks to coverage in Vanity Fair, support from Ecuador’s President Rafael Correa and from Trudie Styler (co-founder of the Rainforest Foundation).
In Crips and Bloods, Peralta explains the genesis of gang culture by going back in time to slavery, the Watts riots, the banning of “undesirables” from certain neighborhoods and the Rodney King riots which all helped form the largest gangs in North America. Other factors like fatherless families, poor education and a gun culture has created a new family unit - the gang.
It’s the same story for both documentaries, that no resources and an unequal battle has led to dire circumstances, although in Crips and Bloods, it’s a little harder to define who is the enemy in the battle.
But Crips and Bloods does end on a hopeful note too, with some former gang members opening up groups and centers to give black youth opportunities that don’t involve guns or red or blue colors. Peralta’s doc also claims the support of celebrities, NBA star Baron Davis (who served as producer of the film), Snoop Dogg and Lil Wayne.
Both films document fights that for all sorts of reasons should be major issues, but have somehow never found sustained interest from the media, politicians and everyday people - unless you count 1-minute news clips about a gun fight or dead body in Compton. Crude and Crips and Bloods deserve to be seen.

Valentino: The Last Emperor is the portrait of a fashion designer as he reluctantly winds down his long storied career. Directed by first time director and Vanity Fair contributor Matt Tyrnauer, the film has incredible access on the man himself, and his longtime business partner and companion Giancarlo Giammetti.

This warts and all documentary gives a sense of what Valentino Garavani has contributed to haute couture for almost 50 years, with a lavish anniversary party and retrospective in Rome, which brought together gowns from collections dating back to 1962 and the hundreds of celebrities, editors and style mavens that have contributed to Valentino’s success.

In the run up to the show, audiences get a behind-the-scenes glimpse of seamstresses painstakingly trying to bring Valentino’s sketches to life, the rush of getting a collection out, models lurking about, and muses doing whatever it is that muses do. And of course, there are also Valentino’s five beloved pugs, Molly, Milton, Monty, Margot and Maude running about.

The stress and importance of the show weighs heavily on Valentino, who at the time refused to admit that retirement was in his future, although the party hinted loudly that this was his last fashion hurrah, as well as on Giancarlo, which often led to heated exchanges between the volatile pair. One notable heated argument concluded with the low blow from Giancarlo that Valentino was looking fat, presumably the worst thing one can say to someone in fashion.

While the main event of the documentary is gearing up for the glitzy party celebrating Valentino and his work, it is the interaction and love between Giancarlo and Valentino that becomes the focus. Tyrnauer continues the aim of hisVanity Fair article that led to the film’s creation by bringing Giancarlo up to level footing with Valentino and showing that he had as much to do with Valentino’s success as the designer himself. Their business relationship is long and successful, and is entangled with their romantic relationship.

Getting insight to both the relationships amidst all of the glitz and glamour makes the film one to watch, and is a great farewell to Valentino’s fashion career.

Once Upon a Time in Norway is the story of Norway’s biggest export: black metal.

The doc is basically an oral history of the beginnings of this extreme genre of metal, as told through interviews with those who were integral in its creation; at least those who are still around to talk about it.

The band Mayhem is one of the originators of black metal, a style of metal that was faster and heavier than most other genres of metal, and that was called “black” because it was also darker than typical metal. Before watching this doc the one thing I knew about Mayhem was that their lead singer shot himself in the head and the picture of the aftermath was used as the band’s next album cover. That event is explained in this doc, along with others that equally fit the “dark” imagery they depicted in their music.

Because the doc is put together through back to back interviews with members of Mayhem, Emperor and Cadaver, among other Norwegian metal bands from the mid-to-late ’80s and early ’90s, it shares interesting stories, but not much more than you could just read about with the same amount of intrigue. Also, for a music doc, there’s only roughly two minutes of black metal played throughout the film. If you have some spare time today I suggest you look up ‘Norwegian black metal,’ ‘Mayhem’ and/or ‘Øystein Aarseth’ online.

The mysterious, seemingly non-descript title of the doc 65_Redroses refers to what a child calls Cystic Fibrosis when she’s too young to pronounce it. It’s also Eva Markvoort’s screen name on a cystic fibrosis social networking site.

Markvoort is a young woman suffering from CF who, like other patients with the same affliction, cannot spend time with other people with the disease for fear of spreading super bugs between them. While she waits for a double lung transplant which will give her roughly five more years to live, she finds comfort and understanding in her friends with CF online. One of her friends, screen-name Spirit of Kina, knows what she’s going through as she’s had a lung transplant before, one which her body seems to be rejecting.

Like many medical docs, 65_Redroses is at times hard to watch, particularly when Eva is coughing uncontrollably and gasping for a breath, but watching her discomfort and then seeing evidence of her unbreakable spirit makes the viewer root for her. It’s remarkable how she remains so positive when she can barely breathe, nevermind the fact that she’s being followed by filmmakers Philip Lyall and Nimisha Mukerji the whole time.

Through the deep access Markvoort gives the filmmakers, 65_Redroses gives viewers a deeper look into a disease that kills young people while sending a clear message about the importance of both organ donation and social networking for people who are too ill to leave their hospital room.

Old Partner highlights two things that most of us have forgotten or try very hard to forget. The first is that we will age and eventually die. The second is that machines and technology have separated us from the relationship we once had with animals.

In director Chung-ryoul Lee’s film, the three main characters are nearing the end of their lives. Choi Won-kyun is 79 and his wife Lee Sam-sun is 76. At a time when advertisement and entertainment industries are pushing for youth, it is a little jarring, and yet relieving, to see close ups of the married couple’s wrinkled sunken faces and hunched backs from daily labor in their farm in a remote village in South Korea. The third character is Choi’s beloved ox, the forty-year-old animal whose shaggy bony old body shares similarities to Choi’s face and body, much like the pet dogs and cats that start to look like their owners.

The deteriorating health of both Choi and the ox are painfully obvious. Choi’s neurologist tells him to rest and stop working so hard, and another doctor tells him he has a broken bone in his toe that can’t be reset because he never let it heal. In preparation, Choi and his wife get funeral portraits taken. The ox is predicted to have just one more year in him. It is inevitable that by the documentary’s end, one of them will die.

It is the film’s focus on the relationship of Choi and his ox that makes this a moving, captivating film. While neighboring farmers are seen using their machines with ease, Choi stubbornly refuses to move from his decades of tradition and keeps to the backbreaking methods of manual labor. While his wife weeds by hand, ankle deep in mud, Choi finds dandelions to feed the ox.  Clearly, this man loves his ox. At one point, the half deaf farmer proclaims, “To me, this ox is better than a human being.” This is much to the chagrin of his poor wife, who constantly nags her husband that he takes better care of the ox than her. It oddly has a ring of truth, as she complains that she’s overworked, has lost her teeth and won’t be getting false teeth because Choi won’t take care of her. He crouches silently on the porch as she talks, then gets up to scratch the ox’s face, who was trying to get to it himself.

As the film nears its conclusion and the ox and Choi near closer and closer to their deathbeds, the intense connection between human and animal is poignant, and is reminiscent of an almost forgotten time when man and beast had a tender working relationship with one another.