Growing up, you may need been instructed to not stare on the man within the wheelchair. You have been most likely taught, kind of, that aggressively averting your eyes when passing a stranger with a bodily distinction is the “right” factor to do. Most of us—whether or not we notice it or not—sustain this habits nicely into maturity. Reid Davenport, a disabled filmmaker, leans into this social rigidity in I Didn’t See You There, an experimental film narrated by him and shot fully from his perspective.
The movie, which gained the Directing Award for U.S. Documentary on the 2022 Sundance Film Festival, has had a quiet theater run up to now. It will possible discover new audiences on PBS, the place it airs tomorrow night time and might be obtainable to stream; Davenport can also nab an Oscar nomination within the coming weeks. Part of the movie’s future success will hinge on viewers’ willingness to audit their very own relationship with incapacity. An uneasy query permeates the film: Are able-bodied viewers members connecting with Davenport’s day-to-day existence, or are they voyeuristically gawking at it?
I Didn’t See You There breaks many conventions of latest documentary. There are not any reenactments or knowledgeable speaking heads; there isn’t a narrative arc. By the time the credit roll, Davenport hasn’t even formally recognized his personal incapacity, which is cerebral palsy.
What the movie provides viewers is one thing much more kinetic and compelling. The digital camera is almost at all times in movement: Davenport grips it with one hand and drives his energy wheelchair round his neighborhood in Oakland, California (and some different areas), with the opposite. We get solely fleeting glimpses of him—his reflection in a retailer window, his hand as he pours himself a cocktail. Rather than seeing him, we’re viewing the world as he observes it, which is to say, from just some toes off the bottom. At occasions, the film can really feel like a online game, or the well-known one-shot restaurant scene in Goodfellas. Davenport factors his digital camera down on the sidewalk as he rolls over cracks and bumps, revealing refined patterns within the constructed setting that many individuals may miss. Sometimes his lens is aimed up on the sky or on the faces of passersby on the road. The result’s hypnotic, meditative, rhythmic, and infrequently dizzying.
We see him navigating the labyrinthine passageways of a BART station, looking for an elevator. On a bus trip, we witness the driving force’s frustration—and the combined reactions of his fellow passengers—throughout a squabble over which course Davenport ought to face whereas on board. We really feel the indifference of idling motorists and others blocking wheelchair ramps. Sometimes individuals ask Davenport if he’s okay or supply him assist. Throughout, the movie options hardly any music—the first sounds are of Davenport’s motorized chair clicking and clacking over the pavement as he goes about his day.
One of the movie’s extra memorable sections comes when Davenport visits his hometown of Bethel, Connecticut—additionally the birthplace of P. T. Barnum, whose title is synonymous with the circus. Davenport makes use of this element in tandem with the looming presence of a large circus tent erected not removed from his Oakland house to muse over the best way disabled individuals have lengthy been categorized as “freaks.” At his mother’s dwelling, Davenport briefly stops transferring his digital camera. He lets the viewers pay attention to poignant conversations he has together with his mom and his niece. This stylistic shift is each thematic and sensible: In areas of the nation that lack steady sidewalks and/or dependable public transportation, Davenport loses his freedom of motion. When he ultimately flies again to California, the viewers hears a wistful voicemail from his mother: “My goal in life is to get you back on the East Coast.”
Somewhat over a 12 months in the past, Davenport left Oakland and moved to Brooklyn, the place I dwell. I first noticed I Didn’t See You There in a tiny New York cinema final fall. Just after Christmas, whereas strolling across the park in my neighborhood, I handed a person in a wheelchair and thought I acknowledged him. I doubled again and sheepishly requested him if his title was Reid. His face lit up. Davenport and I met up for espresso a number of days after that—he prompt a spot with a to-go window the place we may sit exterior. (Fewer native companies are wheelchair accessible than you may think.)
He instructed me that neither of his two closest subway stations has elevators; he often travels greater than half a mile to entry a practice. I requested Davenport whether or not he discovered his new neighbors extra—or much less—accepting of his incapacity than his previous ones. “I love New York because people are too self-involved to give a shit,” he stated with a smirk. As an undergraduate at George Washington University, he’d majored in journalism, and he instructed me he’d skilled important ableism within the trade—individuals not calling him again, issue getting employed—earlier than occurring to pursue an MFA in documentary movie. He instructed me he’s tired of attaching a preachy message to his film. When I clumsily requested him the that means behind what I’d intuited to be symbolic directorial selections, he gently waved me off. He instructed me his moviemaking method is straightforward: “Film is photography,” he stated. “You want to look at beautiful stuff.”
I requested him why individuals ought to watch his film. “I think if you’re disabled, this film was made for you,” he stated. “If you’re not disabled, I think the film is an approximation of my perspective.” He went on: “There’s this whole idea of empathy in documentary film—I think empathy is kind of a unicorn, and kind of irrelevant. You don’t need to be empathetic to be considerate. A human being is a human being.” This delivered to thoughts maybe my favourite second within the movie, when Davenport and a stranger we will’t see have a quick dialog in a public restroom. The man is pleasant, telling Davenport that he’s seen him across the space and admires him for simply dwelling his life. Davenport reacts kindly however matter-of-factly: “I mean, everyone has their shit, right?” He then rolls proper into the subsequent scene.