SEPT 12, 2024 | ARTS AND ENTERTAINMENT | By Anabel Shenk
It is no easy feat getting to Telluride, Colo. People endure multiple planes, hours in a car, windy shuttle rides and some even hike for a whole day (I heard someone from Durango recounting her day on foot). I arrived in the dark on Thursday night in the cool, dry, thin air and stumbled into bed drowsily. In the morning, I woke up and walked down Colorado Ave. The sun was rising through the mountains that hug the east side of the town, causing the street to radiate and the buildings, people and dogs to appear floating above the concrete. The large sign strung across the sky, backlit by the blistering sun read “SHOW.”
By day, movie stars, indie filmmakers and cinephiles alike wander the streets, caffeinating frequently at the local cafes while squeezing in three-to-four screenings per day. By night, the same people are drunker than they had hoped to be as a result of the altitude, and arguing about the timbre of the sound design from the last screening they had attended.
When Telluride was established as a town in 1878, it was rich in silver and gold and attracted people from all over seeking their fortunes. Once supplies dried up and prices crashed, the town suffered loss of value and subsequently, people. Almost a century later in the 1970s, Telluride reclaimed national recognition at first as a ski destination, and then as a hotbed for art, music and cultural events. 1974 marked the first year of both the Telluride Bluegrass Festival and the Telluride Film Festival, both of which are the largest events still occurring annually in the town.
The Telluride Film Festival, referred to as “Show” by the in-crowd audience, takes place every Labor Day weekend. I attended the 2024 Telluride Film Festival as a guest of my parents, who were premiering two new documentaries they directed; One is titled “The White House Effect,” telling the story of the climate crisis becoming politicized using only archival footage, and the other film is called “In Waves and War,” a film that follows three retired Navy SEALs using psychedelic drug therapy to treat PTSD.
At the end of a long first day of following my parents around town to events and gatherings, I conjured up the energy to see the 9:00 p.m. screening and world premier of RaMell Ross’s “Nickel Boys,” a narrative film adaption of Colson Whitehead’s book “The Nickel Boys.” Ross is best known for his Oscar-nominated documentary “Hail County This Morning This Evening,” yet tried his hand at narrative filmmaking to adapt this potent story. The story follows two boys who meet in a segregated reform school in Florida in the 1960s. To illustrate on screen the enmeshed nature of the two boys’ relationship, Ross utilizes point-of-view camera shooting. I even got to stick around for the Q&A with director Ross and the three main actors: Aunjanue Ellis-Taylor, Ethan Herisse and Brandon Wilson.
When asked about the choice to make a POV film, Ross answered that “POV was the first thing that came to mind. It gives authorship to the image. It is a breakthrough in realizing that there are alternative ways of experiencing the world.” From my perspective, this ambitious stylistic choice allowed for two things: for the audience to embody the character as the story unfolds, as well as to reveal the entangled sense of identity that later becomes critical to the story. I was left wondering if it distracted from the plot, however, I am a firm believer in form and content informing each other; I do not think this film is an exception.
Academy Award winning actress Aunjanue Ellis-Taylor, when asked about working with a first time narrative director, answered: “I like people who do dope shit. What matters to me is to work with writers, directors, actors who are forcing us to rethink how we experience cinema.”
The following day, I arrived at the premier of my parents’ film “In Waves and War.” It was a hot Saturday afternoon, and I arrived outside of the theater to a nervous conglomeration of the three SEALs and their partners. They anxiously awaited for the moment in which their most vulnerable moments were to be cast onto the big screen, available and open to the world. I took a photo with them, my head only as tall as the bottoms of their shoulders, and their limbs bigger than my head itself. These men who have been in the midst of the most brutal strife and violence that I can imagine were totally shaken at the thought of complete and utter vulnerability.
I took a moment here with my friend Nina (also the daughter of one of the producers of “In Waves and War”) before going into the screening, to appreciate the power of bringing all of these people together that are really just interested in telling stories. These Navy SEALs, three people who have lived in an entirely different version of this world than I, with fundamentally different social and political principles, were here, putting their trust in the art and power of storytelling in the name of bettering humanity. Nina, an aspiring filmmaker herself, expressed her excitement about being in this environment as well. She relayed to me a conversation she had with two people in line for a screening earlier and expressed what a relief it is to talk about political and social issues with filmmakers and people who are interested in film.
“When the interest is in telling stories, it allows for more nuance in conversation. The eagerness to polarize each other and not listen dissipates and makes room for both sides of a story.” When we forgo conversations solely based on personal opinion and prejudice and instead talk about how to tell a story (whether that is utilizing the archive to its fullest potential, or playing with point of view in camera work, or tackling issues of trauma through humans whose lives are unfamiliar) we are able to be creative in our discussion and think about the world in new, refreshing ways.