Boxing Gym

Frederick Wiseman – 2010 – USA

Watching Frederick Wiseman’s Boxing Gym, I kept thinking of reality TV and how it is the pseudo-science of ‘direct cinema,’ as astrology is to astronomy.  Reality TV has so saturated our culture that many individuals seem to have developed a feel for how to behave in front of a camera and how to simulate a natural conversation without glancing into the lens.  I sense that Wiseman is aware of this phenomenon too, judging by the unusual number of moments when subjects in this film seem to be not only aware of the camera but a little disconcerted by it.  Normally Wiseman edits around such occurrences in order to preserve the immediacy of the situation, but here he seems to be commenting on everyday peoples’ capacity for performance; the little shows we put on for unknown observers, acquaintances and strangers alike.  The fact that, like most documentarians, he has - out of necessity - transitioned to digital video makes comparisons to reality TV all the more inevitable.  For decades one of the primary hallmarks of Wiseman’s films was the look of their 16mm footage; (in black-and-white too, well into the 80s).  Purists may even go so far as to say that ‘direct cinema’ can only exist in 16mm.  There is a special quality not only to the appearance of the film stock, the 1:33 frame and the novelty of film crews following average people around, but to the actual height and movements of the camera itself, due to the weight of the old Arriflex 16mm cameras on the shoulders of their operators.  All of this really only existed in the great era of ‘direct cinema;’ the 60s through the 80s.  Ironically, (perhaps intentionally), Wiseman uses 21st century techniques to depict a milieu based on doing things the traditional way with total disregard for modernism.  Boxing Gym spends some time in a neighborhood sole proprietorship in Austin, Texas; Lord’s Gym, where for many years a special aura has been cultivated that remains inviting to amateurs and professionals alike.  People from all walks of life patronize the gym.  The owner, Richard Lord, lets his old-fashioned computer stay buried in un-filed paperwork in the tiny back-office in order to give each of his customers his personal attention.  The gym could be anywhere in America, and the only way we ever get a sense of time and place is when a few people refer to Houston and other Texas cities and when some patrons discuss (what I assume is) the Virginia Tech school shootings.  While fellow practitioners of what was once called ‘direct cinema,’ (including D.A. Pennebaker), have been pressured into adopting more standard documentary techniques, the most common of which is explanatory subtitles, Wiseman has admirably resisted all of this.  The effect is still as striking as it was in his earliest work since the classic Titicut Follies (1967), after which he has released nearly a film a year.  Now in his 80s, Wiseman has yet to exhibit any signs of slowing down and remains a true inspiration for filmmakers everywhere.  Today we know his name and look forward to his films not because he catered to prevailing trends in film but because he pursued a style and feeling that intrigued him and insisted that it remain pure.  There are some very wealthy men in Hollywood, some with Oscars adorning their mantles, who cannot boast of anything remotely as impressive, from an artistic point-of-view, as Wiseman’s career.