Standing Army, directed by Enrico Parenti and Thomas Fazi

I was recently introduced to Standing Army, directed by Enrico Parenti and Thomas Fazi, by an Italian friend of mine who works at RAI, Italy’s national television network. He felt the film might interest me, given that I am an American, a veteran, and a filmmaker, and he was right. The documentary was produced by an Italian crew who were inspired to make the film following the announcement that the United States military planned to build a new base in Vicenza, Italy, a decision that moved forward despite widespread public opposition, protests from local residents, and outspoken political resistance from the region.

The film begins by documenting these protests before expanding outward, taking the viewer on a tour of Camp Bondsteel in Kosovo and then grounding its argument in unclassified statistics and extensive archival footage related to the US military. Over the course of three years, Parenti and Fazi assembled a detailed examination of the United States’ expanding global military presence, the effects this presence has on host countries, and the possible motivations and risks behind its continued growth. What they ultimately present is an unsettling diagnosis of a condition that many Americans may already sense but rarely confront directly.

The title Standing Army itself is compelling. Visually, it evokes the image of soldiers in uniform, waiting, prepared, and immobile. When that army is the United States military, the subject becomes even more difficult to ignore. Growing up in the US, hearing phrases like “our military is the best in the world” shouted by a drill instructor in boot camp, is something I admit I once carried with pride. This film challenges that pride by placing it under external examination. Viewed through the lens of foreign filmmakers who step inside the US to interview scholars and authors such as Noam Chomsky, Catherine Lutz, and Gore Vidal, the documentary offers a perspective that is difficult to gain while living within the country’s borders.

Using field research, archival footage, and expert testimony, Standing Army frames the United States as a modern empire and connects the immense growth of its military to long standing warnings issued by past presidents, including George Washington and Dwight D. Eisenhower. Eisenhower’s cautionary words about the military industrial complex, a term I first encountered in The Fog of War, become a recurring anchor point. The film argues that terrorism and foreign wars are not isolated outcomes but symptoms of an overextended system. It also draws a clear line between the expansion of US military bases and the interests of global oil contractors, a connection that has been repeated so often in recent history that it risks becoming background noise to voters more focused on local news or reality television.

Watching the film’s depiction of a military apparatus that appears able to go where it wants, when it wants, while leaving cultural and environmental damage in its wake, is deeply uncomfortable. Yet it is also unsurprising, particularly in light of events associated with Abu Ghraib and Guantanamo Bay. Perhaps the most painful realization the film offers is the suggestion that the US military is no longer defined solely by the idea of standing ready to defend the nation. Instead, it has evolved into a complex system that increasingly pursues economic and political stability through conflict, positioning its resources wherever it sees advantage.

The film is not without its weaknesses. Its most notable flaw is a lack of meaningful opposition to its central argument, which at times pushes the message toward the edge of propaganda. Relying heavily on expert interviews that reinforce the same viewpoint, the film labels the US military as the “800 pound gorilla in the room” without offering counter perspectives from policymakers or military officials. Selective use of a public speech by Hillary Clinton and visual manipulation of footage featuring Barack Obama, making him appear cold and distant, further reveal the filmmakers’ willingness to shape perception. Even the opening music carries a tone of paranoia. While these choices maintain tension and engagement, they also weaken the film’s credibility by leaning too heavily in one direction.

Still, it is difficult to ignore moments that cut through these shortcomings. Watching Edward Luttwak, a consultant to the Office of the Secretary of Defense, dismissively address those who challenge military interests is jarring and revealing. Listening to author William Blum calmly list recent wars alongside the military bases that followed gives weight to the film’s claims. By the end, it becomes easier to understand how it might feel to live with a foreign military embedded within one’s country, and harder to deny that the United States is most often the one occupying that role.

As a side note, Standing Army has received recognition across parts of Asia, Europe, and the Middle East, though it has yet to secure distribution in the United States. You can watch the trailer below and visit the Standing Army site to purchase a copy. It is a professionally made and valuable film for anyone seeking a deeper understanding of the United States’ military influence around the world.

Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. Comment and join for future reviews.

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BUY YOUR COPY AT:

http://www.standingarmy.it/
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With Jean-du-Sud Around the World A Film by Yves Gelinas

Alone Across the Atlantic, directed by and starring Yves Gélinas, was given to me as a gift by a friend of mine, Dan Wasserman, which felt especially appropriate considering the two of us spent nearly three months on a small boat together in 2006. From my first viewing, I immediately fell in love with the film, both for its accuracy in portraying life at sea and for its carefully paced editorial rhythm and poetically written narration. Since then, I have watched it numerous times, partly as a reflection on my own voyage and partly for the simple enjoyment of observing this quiet, determined man and his deeply personal perspective on undertaking such an immense task.

Jean du Sud is the name of the small sailboat that carries Gélinas around the world, and within the film she becomes more than a vessel. Written and framed as a central character, Jean emerges as the true hero of the journey, carrying a young Yves across oceans and through months of isolation. Over time, the two form a bond that may seem strange to anyone who has never experienced extended solo travel at sea, something akin to Tom Hanks and Wilson in Cast Away, yet it feels entirely accurate and earned.

The journey begins gently, drifting down the Atlantic in calm conditions where the pleasures of sailing feel almost effortless. Handmade bread, warm equatorial climates, and friendly conversations over shortwave radio with a contact in Nova Scotia make the idea of sailing the globe seem blissful and manageable. But the film never allows that illusion to last for long. Months into the voyage, contact with the outside world is lost. Depression, exhaustion, and a loss of focus set in. A broach leaves Jean dismasted and broken, forcing Gélinas to improvise a jerry rig and limp to shore, ending the trip prematurely.

Seemingly defeated, Yves returns home heartbroken. Yet the story does not conclude there. His connection to Jean proves stronger than the setback. Months later, he returns, rebuilds, repairs, and recommits to finishing what they started together. The film captures this return with quiet resolve, culminating in a successful completion of the voyage and a reaffirmation of purpose.

Watching this small, unassuming man in his sea-worn outfits, and at times no outfit at all, is both entertaining and unexpectedly enlightening. Moments like crafting and flying a homemade kite with a camera attached, offering a bird’s eye view of the boat and the vast ocean below, stand out as visual highlights. His loneliness during holidays spent away from his children feels deeply human. His descent into depression, breaking under the weight of the sea, and eventual recovery make the journey profoundly inspiring.

It is rare in life to experience a trip like this. But if you have, if you want to, or if you simply want to understand what it feels like to live inside such a commitment, Alone Across the Atlantic is a meaningful place to begin.

I hope you enjoy it. If you have seen it, or decide to watch it, write me. I would love to hear your thoughts.

TRAILER:

Waltz with Bashir, directed by Ari Folman

Waltz with Bashir, directed by Ari Folman, is an undeniably tragic and at times mildly morbid piece of history, spun in a way that entertains the mind, opens the eyes, and leaves you wondering how war can look so beautiful while being so painful. The film opens with an intensely striking scene of wild dogs running through the streets of a city in Lebanon, immediately pulling you into Folman’s journey to recover a memory that has been buried for more than thirty years. In doing so, the film guides you directly into a dream state shaped by fear, guilt, and trauma experienced by characters who feel fictional at first, yet carry very real suffering from the events they survived.

Throughout Waltz with Bashir, it becomes difficult to separate the cartoony figures on screen from the profound tragedy contained in the stories they tell. The hypnotic animation style and psychologically charged color palette draw you in, creating the sensation of overhearing distant horrors through a cracked door at the end of a long, cold, dimly lit hallway. The artistic depictions of Lebanon and life in the Middle East are intercut with scenes rooted in the harsh realities of war, forming a strange and unsettling connection between what we think we know about conflict and what we do not.

As Folman works to resolve his mental block, he reconnects with former comrades and consults therapists who gently guide him through the process of memory retrieval. These encounters are edited together with action sequences, conversations, and music in a way that feels seamless, allowing the film to function as both a retelling and an unraveling of the past in a single movement. The structure drifts past preconceived notions about the Middle East and quietly opens your eyes to lived realities that are often flattened or ignored.

By the end of Waltz with Bashir, the act of therapy extends beyond the filmmaker and those directly involved. It reaches outward, delivering a sudden and sobering sense of reality to the audience. The resolution does not arrive gently. Instead, it wakes you to the sound and weight of war, leaving you with an understanding of why, for those who served, these memories often remain tucked away down a long hallway, preserved in fragments and images that feel unreal even to them.

I encourage you to take the time to watch Waltz with Bashir and form your own conclusions. If you do, feel free to comment or email me your thoughts.

Trailer:

Links below:

http://waltzwithbashir.com/

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hLkwfsFzrJw&feature=related

Manufactured Landscapes, directed by Jennifer Baichwal and featuring the photography of Edward Burtynsky

Manufactured Landscapes, directed by Jennifer Baichwal and featuring the photography of Edward Burtynsky, is a surprisingly good piece about Burtynsky’s documentation of global production and its effects on the planet. Initially, I felt like I might be watching a mark off of Baraka directed by Ron Fricke in 1992, one of my personal favorites. However, as the film progresses through shots of massive earth mover trucks that look like toys driving against the massive strip mining operations, it begins to define itself in slightly different terms.

The film opens with a long, rolling dolly shot through a giant production plant in China, accompanied by cinematography from Peter Mettler. Moving through what Burtynsky describes as “the largest industrial incursions I could find,” the sequence does an excellent job of grabbing your visual attention and placing you in a mindset ready to observe and listen. Still photographs of altered landscapes, wide zooms revealing mass pollution, and sweeping pans showing human-driven change make you feel like a giant looking down on an anthill.

Discarded motherboards that resemble a strange blue green haze mark the transition into the middle of the film. Up to this point, the story moves slowly, building its visual argument, but with the introduction of technological debris the documentary becomes more pointed. Scenes of burning, stripping, and discarding electronic waste into unmanaged locations, where computer parts pollute waterways and clutter the landscape, stand in stark contrast to the likable term recyclable goods. The film reinforces this idea by moving through massive container ship yards and then bringing us full circle to muddy graves where these objects are torn apart for scraps. It is overwhelming to see both our great accomplishments and their demise presented side by side.

As the film closes, Manufactured Landscapes avoids assigning blame. Burtynsky does not point a finger, and Baichwal allows the imagery to speak for itself. With music by Evelyn Glennie underscoring the scale of what we are seeing, the film leaves you in awe of how much larger these systems are than any one individual and wondering what role we play within them. The mountain sized gashes in the landscape, the colossal carcasses of container ships, and the endless arms of cranes moving earth make the mind reel. The film ultimately reflects our chosen course on the planet and the consequences that follow, leaving the viewer to decide what to do next.

Trailer:

Further information:
http://www.filmforum.org/films/manufactured.html