GUEST BLOGGER DAY
Those of us who moved full-time into the Hooker-Dunham for a steady diet of films — and I'm not the only one — are beginning to recognize each other. Last night we had a little discussion about the cookies — the coffee is really keeping us going, and the cookies are delicious, but cookies and candy bars are not all that sustaining. I said I'd like sandwiches, and someone spoke wistfully about a cheese platter.
On the other hand, last night was our last at the Hooker-Dunham. Tonight we'll be at the New England Youth Theater, and from then on to the close of the festival, we'll be alternating between there and the Latchis.
So we bid farewell to the hard seats, the difficult-to-read subtitles, the cozy atmosphere and the warm, welcoming and progressively more hilarious comments of Alex Gutterman. It's been an amazing week.
Also, it's time to talk about how really well this festival has been organized. The volunteers who keep it running are doing a remarkable job.
And when you think of the films — 30 of them! — and how well-chosen they have been, and how well-matched they are when they play together, well, this has really been a successful run.
But it's far from over.
On Tuesday I saw some of the films about women artists that were strung together — "Still Kicking" and "Olive Pierce: Maine Master," but I couldn't make it through the next one, "Family Motel" by Helen Klodawsky. It's a combination documentary and drama, and I'm not sure where one leaves off and the other begins.
It's the sad story of a stoic and hardworking Somali-Canadian woman, Ayan, and her two recalcitrant teenage daughters, and how they fall on hard times far from home. I left just after the family had lost its home and been placed by Canadian social workers, in a really run-down and scary motel.
"Is it safe," Ayan asks the desk clerk, who truly doesn't care if it is or not. The room is disgustingly dirty, and Ayan, who is holding down two cleaning jobs, begins the process of disinfecting it.
That's when I decided to leave.
Luckily, I was sitting next to the always cheerful and upbeat musician and conductor Phyllis Isaacson. The next day, by email, she had lots to say about the film. I asked if I could post her comments, and her response was, "Go right ahead... No problem." So here they are:
"There were more examples of the older daughter trying to assert herself by getting into situations that her mother did not approve of," Isaacson wrote. "They had additional conflicts that were more public in that motel environment. Child welfare authorities questioned the two girls about abuse (there hadn't been any, of course), and the film moved forward in a similar vein.
"The mother kept trying to find other accommodations through the agency, but the ones that were offered were 'too dangerous' for her daughters. She kept sending money back to her husband (in Africa) which left her with big debts locally...... obviously a vicious circle from which she couldn't escape. The daughters were enrolled in a local school in the fall, same motel, same problems. The last scene showed the three of them inside their room listening and dancing first to music from their own country (Mother's choice), then to music requested by her daughters — 'their music' — contemporary rock. No changes were on the horizon. And it ended, status quo.
"It showed how helpless the mother was to move forward with so much stacked against her. But she maintained, most of the time, a positive and upbeat attitude. It was a good film and I'm glad I made the effort to see it. Again, it re-enforces my feelings of gratitude to my grandparents for their courage and chutzpah, having the strength to pick up and leave Europe and travel through Ellis Island, etc. over 100 years ago!"
(Note: Yesterday I asked if anyone was reading this. Some people are telling me that they are, and I thank them. You can also reach me at joycemarcel@yahoo.com if you want to comment privately.)