In regards to art, greatness is not merely a difference of scale, but a difference of kind, in that the elements that constitute greatness force an almost alchemical change in the nature of the beast. The brushstroke, wordly coinage, motion of the camera, or whatever it is that constitutes the given art, becomes more than the brushstroke, wordly coinage, or motion of the camera. There seems to be an almost ineffable rise in the ability to invoke reaction from the art's percipients, and while certainly not supernatural, the great art and the great artist is a cut above, even if the mechanism of the ascendancy is not immediately evident, even to the most astute critic.
This ideal was brought home to me while watching filmmaker Ken Burns' most recent PBS documentary, The War, co-directed by Lynn Novick, for Burns, despite his ability to often stumble into a great moment, seems not to fundamentally understand the mechanics nor elements that constitute greatness. This 15 plus hour film follows in the wake of three other monumental documentaries he has crafted in the last decade and a half: the magnificent The Civil War- whose only dramatic flaw was the melodramatic schmaltz historian Shelby Foote displayed for the Confederacy, the too long Baseball, and the somnolent Jazz. In between he has crafted some interesting shorter documentaries on subjects as diverse as Mark Twain and Jack Johnson, but his bread and butter has been the marquee 'big doc.'
Burns has been plagued by years of controversies, both artistically and historically. His best film, The Civil War, which pioneered the Burnsian template of talking heads, melodramatic readings of personal letters, and slow scans of still photographs, accompanied by sometimes highly poetic words (and often purple prose), and swelling crescendos of music, was a triumph of art in a journalistic form. Yet, even that artistically great film was dogged by numerous historical flaws- documented in Robert Brent Toplin's book Ken Burn's The Civil War: Historians Respond. Baseball was far too long, and too obsessed with the cult of personality, rather than the thing that made the game America's pastime: its history, season by season, and its pennant races. Jazz was a snooze that hagiographized often obscure musicians, and the whole project was a bit too weighted down with Political Correctness. Burns does not often fall into The Greatest Generation claptrap that was so nauseating a decade ago- after all, yes, that generation defeated the Nazis and Japanese empires, but did nothing to end segregation and interned 120,000 Japanese-American citizens. By contrast, the Baby Boomers presided over the downfall of the Soviet Empire, sent man to the moon, ended the folly of Vietnam, supported Civil Rights and Women's Liberation, founded the modern Conservation movement, and survived the political hari-kiri of Watergate and Iran-Contra. By my scorecard, the Baby Boomers win by a substantial margin.
Yet, given all the potential that Burns demonstrated with his magisterial, if flawed, The Civil War, those many years ago, The War comes off as a passable, though ultimately forgettable, document- a solid 70 out of 100; but far short of the BBC's mid-1970s landmark (albeit Anglophilic) The World At War, still the touchstone documentary effort regarding World War Two. The reasons for these I have documented. So, I must return to my earlier posit, that this solid effort is not only different in scale from The Civil War, but different in kind. One may be able to pinpoint a scene here, or a dozen there, see the flaw stemming from Burns' own parting of ways with his brother Ric Burns, who was instrumental in many of Ken Burns' earlier, better works, or some other reason I have not spotted, or have forgotten in the morass of this film's heft- even though it seems far less weighty than the shorter great film. Yet, whatever that reason is, or those reasons are, to most they will remain as ineffable as the insights so many of Burns' subjects could not voice. And, after all, is not the voice the key to all good stories?
Lo!
This ideal was brought home to me while watching filmmaker Ken Burns' most recent PBS documentary, The War, co-directed by Lynn Novick, for Burns, despite his ability to often stumble into a great moment, seems not to fundamentally understand the mechanics nor elements that constitute greatness. This 15 plus hour film follows in the wake of three other monumental documentaries he has crafted in the last decade and a half: the magnificent The Civil War- whose only dramatic flaw was the melodramatic schmaltz historian Shelby Foote displayed for the Confederacy, the too long Baseball, and the somnolent Jazz. In between he has crafted some interesting shorter documentaries on subjects as diverse as Mark Twain and Jack Johnson, but his bread and butter has been the marquee 'big doc.'
Burns has been plagued by years of controversies, both artistically and historically. His best film, The Civil War, which pioneered the Burnsian template of talking heads, melodramatic readings of personal letters, and slow scans of still photographs, accompanied by sometimes highly poetic words (and often purple prose), and swelling crescendos of music, was a triumph of art in a journalistic form. Yet, even that artistically great film was dogged by numerous historical flaws- documented in Robert Brent Toplin's book Ken Burn's The Civil War: Historians Respond. Baseball was far too long, and too obsessed with the cult of personality, rather than the thing that made the game America's pastime: its history, season by season, and its pennant races. Jazz was a snooze that hagiographized often obscure musicians, and the whole project was a bit too weighted down with Political Correctness. Burns does not often fall into The Greatest Generation claptrap that was so nauseating a decade ago- after all, yes, that generation defeated the Nazis and Japanese empires, but did nothing to end segregation and interned 120,000 Japanese-American citizens. By contrast, the Baby Boomers presided over the downfall of the Soviet Empire, sent man to the moon, ended the folly of Vietnam, supported Civil Rights and Women's Liberation, founded the modern Conservation movement, and survived the political hari-kiri of Watergate and Iran-Contra. By my scorecard, the Baby Boomers win by a substantial margin.
Yet, given all the potential that Burns demonstrated with his magisterial, if flawed, The Civil War, those many years ago, The War comes off as a passable, though ultimately forgettable, document- a solid 70 out of 100; but far short of the BBC's mid-1970s landmark (albeit Anglophilic) The World At War, still the touchstone documentary effort regarding World War Two. The reasons for these I have documented. So, I must return to my earlier posit, that this solid effort is not only different in scale from The Civil War, but different in kind. One may be able to pinpoint a scene here, or a dozen there, see the flaw stemming from Burns' own parting of ways with his brother Ric Burns, who was instrumental in many of Ken Burns' earlier, better works, or some other reason I have not spotted, or have forgotten in the morass of this film's heft- even though it seems far less weighty than the shorter great film. Yet, whatever that reason is, or those reasons are, to most they will remain as ineffable as the insights so many of Burns' subjects could not voice. And, after all, is not the voice the key to all good stories?
Lo!