Cinema verite is
as unreal as it gets
There’s something odd about looking up at a theater screen and seeing your face, several feet tall, staring back at you. Or having people you’ve never met come up to you and want to take a selfie. Or hearing someone squeal that both you and Travis Kelce’s mother were spotted in the same store.
Aside from having to compete with the calmest live owls I’ve ever seen — one that’s been featured in a hundred movies and can sit on your arm for $25 — that’s the life of a celebrity. And it certainly isn’t for me. Nor should it be. But that’s what it was this past weekend at the Sundance Film Festival in the resort town of Park City, Utah.
While it’s nice to get a standing ovation, the ovation that needed to be given was the mes-sage behind the documentary that filmmaker Sharon Liese directed. It’s not just about an overzealous cop who raided a newsroom. It’s about how the traditions of journalism are at odds with desires that all news be positive and, by upshot, how this contributes to the lack of civil discourse in society today.
It’s why we report such things as teachers being investigated for impropriety or small cities and land banks failing to keep the public informed as required by law. It’s not that we’re in the gotcha business — or, as Mayor Mike Powers says in the film, are the real bullies, not the cops and others who wanted to intimidate us.
We just want people to have information — all information, good or bad — so they can participate fully in the democracy that for 250 years has made America a beacon to the world lest that beacon flutter and fade.
Time was community newspapers were regarded as little more than cheerleading rags for their communities. That never was all they provided, but that part of their mission is now more than fully accomplished by social media despite its simultaneous ability to serve up unhealthy doses of ranting and raving.
The problem with social media is that it reports mainly opinions, not facts. Newspapers try to deal with facts first.
Information is power. Our job is to give citizens that power. And it’s often a thankless task. But that doesn’t mean we should be canonized. We’re more like a public utility. We deliver the water, electricity, and gas — all of it, without scrimping. What you do with them is up to you.
At a panel discussion after Sharon’s premiere, I was asked multiple profound questions. According to some in the audience, I offered a few profound answers. But the best answer — the one that really tells my reaction to my appearance in Sharon’s film — was when I was asked what my mother would think of it.
I thought for a minute and at once knew exactly what she would say.
“Get a haircut, Eric, or at least comb your hair.”
Such is life for a reluctant pseudo-celebrity who’s never been bothered by name-calling but always wants to make sure people are as completely in the know as possible.
— Eric Meyer