It’s always risky to opt for documentaries that rely on well-known figures. Too often, the film rests on its subject’s laurels, giving you crowd-pleasing reminders of the figure’s importance without much to think about. But these three films at TIFF surpass those low expectations, placing the identity of a well-known person at their center and becoming indelible surveys that inspire you to learn more and admire more.
There’s no way you can watch Barry Avrich’s empathetic documentary “Darlene Love: I Know Where I’ve Been” and leave without infinite respect for its legendary subject.
The detailed chronicling of the talented singer whose voice powered several generations worth of hits recalls the best of these types of music profile documentaries: “The Bee Gees: How Can You Mend a Broken Heart,” the Tina Turner documentary “Tina,” “Standing in the Shadows of Motown,” and “20 Feet From Stardom.” Darlene Love was an integral part of the latter survey of backup singers whose tantalizingly close proximity to center stage defined their careers. Love, who by that point had already experienced a career resurgence through her role in the “Lethal Weapons” series and her recurring holiday appearances on the “Late Show with David Letterman” performing “Christmas (Baby Please Come Home),” was an exception to her backing peers. But her road to attaining greater prominence was long.
“I Know Where I’ve Been” is a loving, endearing tribute to the best voice of her generation. It tells her story through two methods. One occurs via sit-down interviews, which allow her to recount her partnership and falling out with Phil Spector (this film’s charting of his varied absurd appearances is a hilarious punchline), her difficult marriages and romantic relationships, and her continual ups and downs in an industry that took far too long to uplift her. The film’s second storytelling method comes from her live studio performances of some of her biggest hits, like “I Know Where I’ve Been” from “Hairspray” and “He’s a Rebel,” which was released under the Crystals moniker despite featuring none of its members. Listening to these songs reminds you not only how many pop hits Love shouldered, but also how few times she was directly credited for her efforts.
Love is an intoxicating presence with a hearty laugh. Both are tools she needs to wield when sharing her most painful memories. She freely recounts her two youngest sons’ incarcerations (she has three sons in total), her failed relationship with Righteous Brothers singer Bill Medley, and other personal tribulations. That doesn’t mean Love bears it all; she knows how to use humor to deflect Arvich from going deeper. But boundaries don’t mean she wants a hagiographic portrait of you. Love is actually quite brave in what she does share, a kind of courage that makes it easy to see why she possessed the stamina to return to the music industry after hearing “Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)” on the radio as she scrubbed floors as a cleaning woman.
If you’ve been living under a rock and don’t know who Darlene Love is, Avrich’s heartwarming film about her will make you appreciate that we’ve all lived under her tenacity and talent and heard her voice fill our days.
Maiken Baird’s “Edward Said: Between Worlds” reminds one that the oppression of the Palestinian people hasn’t been a recent phenomenon. It traces back to 1947 and has only grown more dire since. And while it’s become far more common today to openly support Palestine’s liberation, it wasn’t always that way. For nearly all of Edward Said’s adult life, he batted away Zionist slings to become a necessary conduit between America’s anti-Arab fears and the plight of his homeland through his appearances on broadcast television, his work as a speaker, writer, and thinker. Baird’s film is an essential primer for those who want to know about Said.
On its face, Baird might seem like an odd directorial match for this subject matter. She’s previously helmed “Ghislaine Maxwell: Filthy Rich” and “Venus and Serena.” But her career as a producer tells a different story with credits like “All That’s Left of You,” “Orwell 2+2=5,” “The White House Effect,” and the Academy Award-winning documentary “Icarus.” Her sweep through Said’s life and work is as effective as the heights of those films. She weaves in archival interviews, excerpts from his writings, and his appearances in documentaries, on the nightly news, and in talk-show spots to intertwine his remarkable story with Palestine’s dire history.
Though it’s been decades since his 2003 death from Leukemia, Said remains an engaging speaker. He eloquently explains his perpetual otherness. He’s a man whose parents hailed from Jerusalem and Nazareth, and whose lived experiences span the upper echelons of American society and the middle-class spaces of the Arab world. Both experiences shaped him. Baird traces Said’s leap into public thought, beginning with the publication of “Orientalism,” approachable without being obvious.
And while you’d probably get even more context by simply reading Said, “Between Worlds” wisely doesn’t sell itself as a comprehensive one-stop-shop documentary about him. This film is meant to inspire viewers to revisit or discover his work, and it’s quite effective at that.
As I alluded to earlier, I always hope a documentary’s style matches its subject’s personality. Èlia Gasull Balada and Matteo Norzi’s “The Hummingbird Paints Fragrant Songs,” which follows Indigenous painter Sara Flores as she advocates for her Shipibo-Konibo community’s rights, is as spirited as the artist’s advocacy. The Peruvian Indigenous artist, known for her Kené textiles, has risen from modest beginnings to exhibit her work in galleries worldwide and even design items for fashion brands.
Balada and Norzi know they have an irresistible subject. Despite her diminutive height, Flores stands tall through her infectious sense of humor, the warmth she shares with her daughter, and the fire she shows when fighting outside industrialists cravenly angling to deforest the Peruvian Amazon. Because the filmmakers are so enamored with her, they perplexingly don’t explain why she’s pursuing certain partnerships. Near the beginning, for instance, she agrees to design handbags for Dior. If you didn’t know that Dior has actually set baselines to achieve sustainability in the near future, you wouldn’t understand why she’d be interested in putting her name in tandem with a fashion conglomerate.
Still, the film moves with enough narrative fluidity, accomplished through a sleek edit and Flores’ immeasurable presence, for one not to be too agitated by what isn’t fully articulated. The work also carries a late-fame bittersweetness. In the winter of her life, Flores has finally gotten the global and nationwide recognition she’s richly deserved. Seeing Flores try to maximize her newfound celebrity for widespread change is galvanizing; seeing her fight wrist pain to produce enough work to not only maintain her artistic spirit but also keep the commerce of supporting herself and her family is sobering.
The documentary takes quite a few intriguing turns with the latter hurdle. Many suspect that a jealous neighbor might’ve cursed Flores. The filmmakers don’t necessarily pursue this thread. They instead present the idea, follow her pursuit of spiritual cleansing, and then leave the subject alone. Did they ever attempt to talk to those living next door to Flores? We don’t know. But once again, Flores and the film are so committed to their aims that it’s easy to ignore what might be perceived as glaring gaps.
As Balada and Norzi wind toward filming Flores’ Lima exhibition, her first in her home country, it thankfully does become more political, passionately supporting the Indigenous force working to protect the Amazon. “The Hummingbird Paints Fragrant Songs,” a rebellious cry on behalf of an artist whose reach, ability, and political voice can’t be contained, is a lovely introduction to one of the world’s great artists.