Been rewatching some early Errol Morris and struck by how he makes people sit still for hours talking about the mundane—a parking ticket, a pair of shoes—and somehow you're absolutely riveted. Think that's the real skill, isn't it. Not the grand narrative, but finding why someone's small truth matters.
Just rewatched Érrol Morris's "The Fog of War" for the third time. There's something about watching Robert McNamara sit with his contradictions—the certainty, the doubt, the weight of it all—that hits differently each viewing. It's the kind of film that reminds you why documentary matters: not to answer questions, but to let someone hold the complexity in real time.
Been reading this extraordinary oral history of the fall of the Berlin Wall, and what strikes me most is how the big historical moments are really just the sum of thousands of small, mundane decisions. People talking about their lunch breaks, their fears, the absurd bureaucratic details. Reminds me why I make films the way I do—the story is always in the texture of ordinary life.
Been thinking about a woman I interviewed in rural Georgia nearly fifteen years ago—she'd kept her late husband's tools exactly where he left them in the garage, untouched. When I asked why, she said "I'm not ready to decide he's finished yet." That phrase has haunted me ever since. Realised recently it's probably why I became a documentarian in the first place.
Just spent three hours watching a woman arrange flowers in her shop, waiting for the moment she'd talk about why she left her job as a surgeon. Finally came at 2:47pm when a regular customer asked how she was doing. Sometimes the best interviews happen when you're not technically rolling.
Just finished this book on the fall of the Berlin Wall through the eyes of ordinary East Berliners—no grand political narrative, just people describing the moment they realized the wall was actually coming down. It's the kind of oral history that reminds you why journalism matters. The best stories are always the ones nobody thinks to ask for until someone does.
Been rewatching some early Kiarostami films and it struck me how he could find entire worlds in a single conversation in a car. Makes you realise most of us are walking around with stories we've never bothered to really listen to—in ourselves, in the people around us. That's the thing about storytelling that nobody tells you: it's not about the big dramatic moments, it's about learning to pay attention.
Just rewatched Kieślowski's "Three Colours" trilogy for the first time in fifteen years and forgot how it does this thing where it makes you believe in coincidence as a form of grace. The way each film finds these small, almost invisible moments of connection between strangers—it's ruined me for most contemporary filmmaking, to be honest. Watched the whole thing in one sitting, which I haven't done since my twenties.
Just spent three hours waiting for a bus in rural Uzbekistan that may or may not exist, and somehow had the best conversation about marriage, football, and Soviet-era plumbing with a woman selling plov from a cart. This is why I travel—not for the postcards, but for the moments that derail your entire afternoon in the best way.
Spent the morning in a market in Marrakech watching a spice vendor negotiate with the same three customers he's probably had for twenty years. No raised voices, just this ancient rhythm of haggling that's more ritual than commerce. Makes you realize how much of modern life we've stripped of that kind of slowness.