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"We have TV down here," says one of the tunnel dwellers in Marc Singer's Dark Days. For five years, Singer documented the men and women who forged a precarious community deep in the Amtrak tunnels beneath Manhattan. Dark Days concludes in the late '90s, just after Amtrak evicted the squatters and the Coalition for the Homeless found them housing aboveground. Thus, we'll never know how Dee (the crack addict who wept for her two children, killed in a fire while she was in jail) or Tommy (the runaway who kept a family of dogs and had managed to equip his shack with a shower) or Lee (who showed off photos of his deceased cats, gerbils, and birds, and who committed suicide before the film was completed) would have responded to the concept of survival as game show. I suspect they'd prefer that other Nielsen winner, Who Wants to Be a Millionaire.
Dark Days is right on the millennial zeitgeist, where every experiencefrom cancer to a Prada saleis fed into an all-encompassing narrative of survival while the planet careens toward destruction. That, in part, accounts for the film's out-of-the-blue success (three big prizes at Sundance alone). The survivalist tale that we see on the screen has its counterpart in the film's actual production. Singer devoted six years to the project, racking up a huge debt and briefly becoming homeless in the process. Andalthough we only discover this in the end creditsthe film depended on the cooperation of the tunnel people, not only for its cast but also its crew. They had the know-how to tap into power lines for juice, they built and pushed dollies, they carried and hung the minimal lights. Singer doesn't inscribe these behind-the-scenes details in the film itself; the spirit of collaboration, however, informs every frame.
With no firsthand knowledge of filmmaking, Singer took the impractical advice of an acquaintance and shot in 16mm black-and-white rather than in user-friendly video, which for a decade has been the documentarian's basic tool. The high-contrast, grainy celluloid look is not only beautiful, it connects Dark Days to a history of film and photography that takes life on the margins of America as its subject and includes such epic image-makers as Lewis Hine and Robert Frank.
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A Shooting Gallery release
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A Winstar release
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The economics of film production (film stock is more costly than videotape) forced Singer to plan what he was going to shoot, rather than just running camera for hundreds of hours, as is now customary. Dark Days has an elliptical, stripped-down structure that doesn't squelch the spontaneous behavior on the screen. Organized around the rituals of daily life, the film shows the tunnel people cooking, cleaning, socializing, and tending to the shacks they've ingeniously constructed from scavenged materials, and which they must constantly secure from marauding humans and rodents. Singer achieves remarkable intimacy with his subjects, who share their experiences and joke around with the man behind the camera as freely as they do with their peers.
The film shows us the underground shantytown through the eyes of those who've taken refuge there, and who, despite the inconveniences, squalor, and bad air, find it a less threatening place than the streets, subways, and homeless shelters where they lived before. The film neither pumps up the drama of their situation nor cosmeticizes it (although a bucket of shit is easier to look at in black and white than it would be in living color). Acclimated to life underground, they manage to block out its nightmare aspects until they return to the surface and, thanks to the Coalition for the Homeless, real apartments. At this point, the film turns unexpectedly mushy, ignoring the fact that, for most of the tunnel people, addiction, poverty, and lack of education predated their sojourns underground. There are too many shots of the tunnel dwellers gleefully wrecking their shacks (Amtrak insisted that the "tenants" return the property to the condition in which they found it) and of their happy faces and glib pronouncements as they take possession of their new dwellings. On a human level, it's hard to fault Singer for being supportive, but Dark Days suffers from a lack of rigor at the very end.
How a nightmare existence can come to seem almost normal is also the most disturbing aspect of Roger Michell's Titanic Town. Adapted from Mary Costello's fictionalized memoir of the Troubles, it's one of the rare movies about war that focuses on the relatively nonpartisan civilians whose front yards are turned into battlegrounds.
It's 1972, and Bernie McPhelimy (Julie Walters), her sickly husband, Aidan (Ciaran Hinds), their teenage daughter, Annie (Nuala O'Neill), and their two young sons have no sooner moved to a supposedly peaceful neighborhood in West Belfast than the IRA and the British go into all-out combat mode. Bullets fly and bombs explode at all hours with no consideration, by either side, of the innocent people caught in the crossfire. When one of her friends is shot dead coming back from the butcher shop, Bernie becomes a peace advocate. All she wants, she explains to the IRA and the British, is for them to refrain from fighting during the daytime so that kids can go to school and men and women can get their work done. Bernie becomes a kind of folk hero, but she also incurs the wrath of brick-hurling neighbors who view her peacenik efforts as a betrayal of the IRA.
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