I have long considered AJ Schnack to be one of the most insightful writers about the current state of documentary out there. So I was very happy to read his incisive take on the rather, ahem, disappointing shortlist for the Academy Award’s documentary category this year. And not just because BILLY THE KID was so egregiously and wrongfully rejected. I’m kidding (no, I’m not) of course. But AJ did make some excellent points. Below is my comment that I posted in response to the article.

I remember when the Academy finally recognized Errol Morris (the reason I became interested in documentary filmmaking) in 2004. He said “I’d like to thank the Academy for finally recognizing my films. Thank you so very, very, very much! I thought it would never happen.” At the time, I thought he was being cocky and arrogant. (And having seen him speak several times, I can’t say he is not both of these.) However, his frustration at not having been recognized previously is completely fair. The fact that last year a filmed Power Point presentation (featuring a bold-faced name and huge box office numbers) won the award, proves AJ’s point that the Academy only sometimes (seemingly begrudgingly) recognizes that documentary filmmaking is not limited to reconstructions – dry, sentimental, whatever – of historic events – but is truly an artform that illuminates and questions the truths and experiences of everyday life. I respect the hard work of each one of the filmmakers short-listed here, some more than others; but it seems the Academy chooses to downplay the very first definition of documentary, put forth by one John Grierson: “documentary is the artistic representation of actuality”, rather than just a high school film strip waiting to happen.

Last night was the opening event for the Mahindra Indo-American Arts Council Film Festival here in New York. The opening film was the much awaited (in India) new Bollywood film Saawariya by Sanjay Leehla Bhansali, distributed by Sony around the world. The film opens tonight in Mumbai, where I am told tickets for the premier are being sold on the black market for US$500.

The movie launches the careers of two eagerly awaited new stars, Ranbir Kapoor (the leading male and rock star) and Sonam Kapoor (the leading woman and beauty). In terms of who might have “won” in his or her debut performance, I would choose Sonam, but obviously these things are personal!

The sound track is also highly anticipated, but it seemed flat to me, not nearly as lyrical as perhaps Bollywood musicals are imagined to be.

Sony/Columbia is opening this film around the world more or less simultaneously, and those in my group thought the film had been crafted especially for the global expatriate Indian community. The film takes place in a thoroughly imaginary location that is some composite of Venetian and Parisian images, and it is based on a Russian short story (”White Nights” by Dostoyevsky). But in its intensely escapist imagery and sensibility, it’s all Bollywood.

There’s barely the faintest hint of an outside reality. Les Miserables (the Broadway play) has great songs, but it’s no stranger to real world struggles. Saawariya holds all that at arms length and more, and protects its audience from any unpleasantness that would divert your attention from the love story. Here’s a link to the film’s web site.

I’ve been grappling over the last couple days with how to accurately express my feelings about the Writer’s Guild strike. As a ‘hyphenate’ who has worn too many hats to count over the past years, I find myself facing a muddled sense of detachment from the issues these folks are battling. Guild matters rarely touch me, here in the dusty outskirts of independent film. The issues they’re grappling with are Hollywood Issues, right? Late Night Talk Show issues. Desperate Housewives issues. And since I catch only a bare minimum of television, the vast majority of which involves some guy tossing some sort of ball across some sort of field of play to another guy wearing the same shirt, the idea of network television grinding to a halt fills me with a rebellious glee.

But I can’t pretend the larger conversation holds no interest or importance for me. I’ve considered myself a writer since I was twelve, when I was convinced that the only requirements of a good book were a kick-ass cover and a handful of truly horrific scares. Now I know better — the scares have to be placed at strategic moments within a three-act structure. But my passion, awe, and respect for writing has only deepened over the years. I know from experience how incredible and freeing the process can be when it’s working. I also know that there are moments when giving birth to a Chevrolet appears more feasible than squeezing out another sentence. Writing is work, and writers need to be compensated for that work, regardless of a corporation’s desires to suck a maximum of profits out of the opportunities for content dispersal that new media platforms are making possible.

Check out this fantastic blog entry by the extremely talented fellow-hyphenate Joss Whedon, of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Serenity fame for further discussion, and his reactions to the first week of the WGA strike.