South by Southwest began in 1987 as an effort by the local Austin music scene to promote itself nationally and offer a more laid-back alternative music conference to NYC's New Music Seminar, which had become both unwieldy and violent. At that first SXSW, there were 172 bands and 700 registrants. The film festival/conference came on board in 1994. By 1997, the festival showed over 100 feature films, and attendance was near 10,000. In 2013, with over 2,200 official musical acts (and seemingly as many or more playing unofficial showcases) and over 130 feature films, there were easily over 100,000 people who came and went to at least one official SXSW event. This year, attendance was even higher (exact numbers haven't been released as this article went to press).

Meanwhile, over the same two-and-a-half decades, Austin's notoriety has grown and its population has doubled to over 840,000. And while both the national media attention and mega-corporate branding have brought millions of dollars into the city over the 10-day yearly enterprise, it has also wrought a growing chorus of those nostalgic for the simpler days when you could easily get into screenings and duck in and out of venues to hear a potpourri of unsigned bands. The weight of all this growth and change seemed, for many, to reach its tipping point this year with the tragic deaths of three people and over 20 injured when a drunken festival attendee, at the wheel of a stolen car, sought to evade police by driving into the heart of the festival.

The following day, SXSW Managing Director Roland Swenson stated, "As much as we would like to just go home and spend time absorbing the shock of this horrific event, we feel our best use is to continue to operate today." And so, we all continued to operate, yet with a cloud hovering over the event that never really dissipated.

This year there were no break-out documentaries focused on music or other forms of entertainment, as there were last year with 20 Feet from Stardom, Sound City and Muscle Shoals. However, there were some that rose above the others.

Pulp, directed by German-New Zealand director Florian Habicht (Love Story, 2011), succeeds as not just another vanity documentary of a band, by focusing on various characters in Sheffield, England, where the Britpop band Pulp were preparing to play their final reunion show in 2012, 34 years after they first formed there. The band-perhaps most famous for their song "Common People"-has both entertained and inspired its hometown fans, from the portly senior citizen news vendor in the film to a troubled Millennial transsexual. There are, of course, interviews with band members, as well as footage from the show. But Habicht also serves up some very nice set pieces, including one featuring members of a senior a cappella group seated Hopper-esquely at a diner, singing Pulp's "Help the Aged." Pulp lead singer Jarvis Cocker noted in the post-film Q&A, "Even though I haven't lived in Sheffield for some time, I thought the film did a good job in depicting a part of the city that is disappearing." Indeed, the indoor market where Cocker once worked as a fish monger, and where the a cappella diner sequence was filmed, is now gone.

If there was a "Most Clever Concept" documentary award at SXSW, it should have gone to American Interior. Part road film, part concert film and part history film, American Interior invites us along in what singer/songwriter/director Gruff Rhys (also a member of post-alternative rock group Super Furry Animals) calls an "Investigative Concert Tour." This is the second such "ICT"; the first, 2010's Superado!, set Rhys on an adventure to find his lost long Patagonian uncle, musician René Griffiths. In this outing, Rhys follows the route traveled by his distant relative, John Evans, who came to America in 1792 in search of a mythical lost tribe of Welsh-speaking Native Americans. Evans wound up leading a Spanish expedition in search of the Northwest Passage (Lewis & Clark used his maps for their first 100 days), then defended America's northern border from English incursion (that North Dakota is America and not Canada is thanks to Evans), and eventually died of malaria in a New Orleans jail cell. At stops along the way, and shot in "glorious" black and white, Rhys performs a one-man show to audiences (with Powerpoint presentation) of Evans' journey. He also stops to interview historians, descendants of Native Americans whom Evans had befriended, and a wacky cemetery tour guide in New Orleans. And as Rhys learns more of his relative's adventures, he composes and then performs songs based on each chapter of Evans' life. By the journey's end, Rhys has completed an album, this documentary film, and an interactive desktop/mobile app so you can go online to learn more and watch in-depth interviews. And we shouldn't forget to mention Evans' three-foot felt puppet, who becomes Rhys' travel companion.

Supermensch is a loving tribute, well-directed by actor Mike Myers, to his friend Shep Gordon. Gordon came to California in the 1960s, fresh out of college, to find work as a probation officer. Instead he wound up in an apartment complex in Los Angeles whose other occupants included Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin. Gordon became a manager at Hendrix's suggestion and signed his first client, the then nearly-impossible-to-book Alice Cooper. Once achieving fame and success for Cooper, he soon had an eclectic string of clients, including Blondie, Teddy Pendergrass and Groucho Marx. Gordon then starting Alive Pictures, which produced such films as Hector Babenco's Kiss of the Spider Woman and the John Carpenter classic They Live. After meeting superstar chef Roger Vergé, Gordon became his apprentice, but eventually found himself managing a roster of star chefs, including Emeril Lagasse and Mario Batali. The film also relishes in Gordon's many sexual conquests, including affairs with Playboy models and actress Sharon Stone, as well as his spiritual quest and friendship with the Dalai Lama. In the hands of someone other than Myers, Supermensch might have delved more into the darker side of life as a mega-celebrity manager, which is sometimes hinted at in the film. Nevertheless, it is an enjoyable romp through the life of one self-admitted lucky fellow.

In Johnny Winter: Down & Dirty, producer/director Greg Olliver (Lemmy) takes audiences on the road with the 70-year-old albino Texas blues legend. Starting out playing honky-tonks around Beaumont, Texas, Winter rose to worldwide recognition. Unlike his dear friends Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin, Winter managed to survive the '60s without dying, but caught a nasty heroin/methadone habit he couldn't shake. By the early 2000s, Winter weighed under 100 lbs, could barely play or talk, and was being manipulated and cheated by his manager. The film begins with an introduction to the hero of the tale, Paul Nelson. Known as a "guitarist's guitarist," he idolized Winter. When Nelson discovered what had happened to his idol, he stepped in and took over management duties. He devised a way to get Winter off drugs and alcohol over the next few years-and it's like a rebirth. Today, Winter is back on his game, and surrounded by people who love and care for him. Olliver smartly balances his film with both current and classic performance clips of Winter, including from the original Woodstock festival, and giving Nelson the well-deserved props for his miracle-working. As the film nears its end, Olliver asks Winter why audiences should see the film. Winter replies, "I always like stories about people that drink and have drug problems and women problems. It's just interesting." But then he acknowledges this film is one of the rare cases where such stories end well.

Song from the Forest begins in the jungles of the Central African Republic as German journalist and first-time director Michael Obert introduces us to Louis Sarno. Sarno, a New Yorker, first heard the music of the Bayaka tribe over the radio in 1978 and became obsessed to the point where he wound up living among them for over 30 years. During that time, he married a Bayaka woman, fathered a son and amassed the largest recorded collection of Pygmy music in history. We learn that Sarno had promised his son, Samadi, that one day he would take him to see the world. Obert tracks father and son, now ten years old, out of the African jungle and into the concrete jungle of Manhattan for a vacation, where Sarno hangs out with his old friend, filmmaker Jim Jarmusch, and takes the boy shopping for toys (though in one of the few revealing moments of how Samadi views the outside world, he sulks because he'd rather his father buy him a real gun, not a toy one). According to Obert, since war broke out in the CAR in 2012, Sarno may well be the only white man left in the country.

In The Case of the Three-Sided Dream, first-time filmmaker Adam Kahan takes his love of jazz multi-instrumentalist Rahsaan Roland Kirk and turns it into a very likable documentary. Kirk is still considered somewhat underrated because many saw his multi-instrumentality as a gimmick. Through interviews with family members and fellow musicians, but also through Kirk's music and recorded words, Kahan paints an impressive portrait of the blinded-at-birth jazz artist. For example, in the mid-1960s, Kirk organized a group of jazz musicians and lovers to protest the lack of jazz on television by infiltrating the audience of The Dick Cavett Show one evening. Kirk and friends then broke out whistles and blew them loudly, forcing the broadcast to be cut. The protest worked, however, and network executives gave Kirk a slot on The Ed Sullivan Show. Kirk suffered a stroke in 1975, and passed away two years later.

The SXSW Audience Award in the "24 Beats a Second" category, created to "showcase the sounds, culture & influence of music & musicians, with an emphasis on documentary," went to Take Me to the River. Directed by film producer and musician Martin Shore in his first directorial outing, the documentary brings together legendary Mississippi Delta blues and soul performers with some of today's roster of rap singers, and southern rockers The North Mississippi All-Stars. Sadly, the fact that several of the older performers passed away during the film's production only emphasized how much more satisfying Shore's film would have been if he had just let them play on their own, without trying to mash them up with musicians who may only ever dream of matching their elders' accomplishments and stature.

And now, as the out-of-towners depart and the pop-up stages are put away, attention will turn to the City of Austin and the SXSW producers who must begin the task of trying to understand the causes of this year's tragedy, and what they need to do to prevent such tragedies from ever occurring again.

Ron Deutsch is a contributing editor to Documentary Magazine. He has written for many publications including National Geographic, Wired, San Francisco Weekly, and The Austin American-Statesman. He is currently associate producing the documentary Record Man, about the post-war music industry, and lives in Austin, Texas, with his trusty cat, Miles.

Academy Award-winning documentarian Freida Lee Mock takes on law professor Anita Hill's testimony at the Clarence Thomas confirmation hearings and its two-decade-long aftermath in Anita, a thoughtful, deeply felt account of Hill's remarkable journey and transformation from private citizen to internationally respected gender equality activist.

The Anita Hill-Clarence Thomas hearings took place the weekend of October 11, 1991, and those nine hours of testimony were indelible. To watch the articulate, reserved and unshakeable Hill give a straight-forward accounting of workplace sexual harassment, only to be subjected to scurrilous attacks and dismissed as a scorned loon by a panel of smug, old, white men was nearly incomprehensible.

By the time it was over, Thomas had cleverly diverted the issue from gender to race—inexplicable because Anita Hill is also African-American—and was confirmed. Hill returned to the classroom in Oklahoma, and endured threats of violence and vilification in the press and from state Republicans who sought to have her removed from her tenured professorship.

For the DC set, it was politics as usual. Wyoming Senator Alan Simpson actually referred to "that sexual harassment crap." One would think that such egregious disregard would scare off anyone so bold as to think they had a right to a harassment-free work place. At least that's what the pundits thought but instead, and as Mock so eloquently documents, the hearings had a galvanizing effect. 1992 became "The Year of the Woman," aka "The Anita Hill Class," and the conversation about gender-based power dynamics began in earnest.

However, Hill herself seemed to disappear from public view. It only took 20 years and one very odd phone call to spark her re-emergence. It's that call—a bizarre message recorded on Hill's office answering machine, from Justice Thomas' wife, Ginni—that opens Anita.

Speaking to Documentary from her office in Los Angeles, Mock discussed the joy of having a fresh perspective on Hill's testimony and how it continues to reverberate across generations and genders.

Documentary: Why did you choose to open the film with that infamous message?

Freida Lee Mock: I didn't anticipate the telephone call, and as a filmmaker I delight in those unplanned things. When it came to putting the film together and editing, that call was so resonant of the past and the present that we all thought it was a perfect way to bring the story into the future. In one sense it indicates how raw and fresh that hearing continues to be. Here's the wife of a Supreme Court Justice making a telephone call and asking for an apology for a sworn testimony. She called on a Saturday morning at 7:30 a.m. Does that sound logical? It was a very emotional and intimate issue for many people, and certainly for Mrs. Thomas.

D: What made you choose Anita Hill at this time?

FLM: I didn't quite choose the film. I wasn't even thinking about Anita Hill until the opportunity came up. I didn't really think about her in the years following the hearings, although I had been riveted when they were on and I viscerally remember her.

A friend of hers called me and asked if I would send a copy of my Tony Kushner film, Wrestling with Angels. She didn't tell me who it was for. I agreed and asked why, and she said that her friend was often asked to participate in a film about her own life and she wanted her to see a good film. She said that she wanted her friend to say "yes" to the right filmmaker. Then, when I asked for the address and saw the name I voiced to myself, "Anita Hill!" I'm absolutely sure I said this to myself: "If she's going to say yes to a filmmaker, why not me?" So I sent her Wrestling with Angels and the Maya Lin film [Maya Lin: A Strong Clear Vision] with a note saying, "Thank you for all you've done." And then I asked, "If you're going to say ‘yes' to a filmmaker, would you consider me?"

Shortly afterward she called me and we started an email correspondence and had some conversations on the phone about what this film might be. And I, of course, as I usually do to get the big picture when I start a film, began reading to understand what had happened.

D: How did you approach the breadth of the narrative?

FLM: I knew the story would be about the life and times. I didn't have a lot of planning before the decision was made that she would cooperate and that I'd be the filmmaker. I realized that the 20th anniversary was coming up in 2011 and to look at the story in that time frame, in a perspective away from the heat of the period, is to understand both the story of Anita Hill and what happened after the hearings. The other part is what the political framework was in terms of sexual harassment and what was going on behind the scenes with the issues of race and sex. That background became really apparent, but at the time, those of us turning on the television set didn't know.

We started filming in 2010, on Martin Luther King Day, and then it premiered at Sundance three years later-exactly to that day. It was nice to have it finished in time for that moment. It was an opportunity to tell a story in a trajectory of then, now and the future. It was a logical structure.

D: What was the process like when you were deciding what to use from the hearings?

FLM: I watched most of everything from that Columbus Day weekend. She is who she is because of the hearings. As she says in the film, it changed the trajectory of her life. I needed to collapse it and capture the essence and not make it archival and strung together. I tried to be true to the spirit of the moment and select things that were representative of the whole.

The challenge was to go beyond the salacious language, but of course we had to deal with that too. It was a serious matter and it did have a ripple effect in that it finally allowed the dialogue about sexual harassment that had been buried up until 1991, to begin. It also inspired a lot of activism.

D: I had missed how many congresswomen had spoken up in 1991. Was that a discovery to you as well?

FLM: Yes, and we came across a lot of stuff. A lot of the women who spoke up then are still in Washington. That footage in particular says how much more they understood than the guys who were on the committee. They stood as a group and they made it a point to attend the hearing. They were congresswomen who were there to watch those senators.

D: Had you had any idea of the amount of public support that she had before you shot the scene in the basement?

FLM: It was eye-opening when we went down into the basement, where she has the file cabinets full of endless letters of support. They're written to her from ordinary citizens from all over the world. Before the hearings she was very happy and fulfilled being a professor of law. She loved commercial law and contracts. It's a pretty intellectually challenging area. She wasn't an activist or a public speaker about any issues.

To me, this is a story of transformation. She became a public spokesperson for gender equality, and that happened primarily because of those letters. They spoke to her and were sustaining during those very difficult times after the hearings when she was being vilified. She would read the letters and find great inspiration and solace. She felt that the writers were looking to her to speak for them, and she rose to the occasion and became a public person because of the support of ordinary people.

D: The score is particularly apt. How did you find Lili Haydn?

FLM: Toward the end, everything was so rushed to meet the Sundance deadline. It was the first time I ever used the gender card but something about the story was so intimate that I thought perhaps I needed a composer who was a woman. I asked around and Lili was among those recommended. Brian [Johnson, the editor] and I listened to her music online and we thought, "This is wonderful." We worked together quickly. I don't think she slept for a month!

Left to right: Filmmaker Freida Lee Mock, Anita Hill, composer Lili Haydn, at the 2013 Sundance Film Festival. Photo: © 2013 Chad Hurst. Courtesy of gettyimages.com

D: When all is said and done, do you see Hill as the winner in this, despite Thomas' sitting on Supreme Court?

FLM: As a filmmaker I didn't set out to ask the public to decide who's telling the truth. Hopefully what you hear is her story and who she is and her truth. As for judging him, I find it's important for me not to get into that.

Anita opens in theaters March 21 through Samuel Goldwyn Films.

Elisabeth Greenbaum Kasson is a Los Angeles-based writer whose work has appeared in the Los Angeles Times, Documentary, Movie City News, Dice.com, Health Callings and more. Her stories have covered the gamut from movies, music and culture to IT and healthcare.

At the annual high-tech attentional food fight that is SXSW, you could see Google Glass-wearers, a Wookie, a flock of foldup bikes, food trucks, an entire portable showroom dedicated to (yes) toilet paper, and...what am I forgetting? Oh, the movies!

The standout documentary film of the festival and winner of the Grand Jury Prize, The Great Invisible, was one of several films focusing on ecological issues. Margaret Brown's cinema vérité look at the consequences of the 2010 BP oil spill on the people most directly affected brought audiences in Austin—at the heart of the oil industry—to their feet cheering and clapping. They stayed to weep with some of the subjects of the film, who joined Brown onstage and told, sometimes with voices shaking, what it meant to them to have their story told.

The Great Invisible focuses on the victims of the Deep Water Horizon explosion and their families, the seafood industry workers and oil industry executives. But this is not a film that points blame. Rather, it takes us inside the story of the consequences of ultimately disastrous decisions made on one pervasive fact: we Americans love our cheap oil. And, as executives explain at the end of the film, so long as we want that more than, say, worker safety, environmental health, community businesses or industrial innovation, we will keep getting cheap oil. 

The cost of cheap oil is the human conscience and quality of life; the film's subjects again and again return to the need for humanistic values to take a place alongside profit. As one of the film's central characters says as he explains why he volunteers at a free food bank for destitute seafood industry workers, "You don't have to get paid for everything you do. Let something be a blessing. If you don't have time to give a blessing, you're a mighty poor man." And as the father of a worker killed in the Deep Water Horizon explosion says, on his way to a public hearing to hear from the company that never apologized to him, "Somebody ought to feel something...besides greed."

The film is distinctive for its superb and intimate cinema vérité, rivaled at the fest only by Katy Chevigny and Ross Kauffman's E-Team, which follows a human rights team on its missions and which debuted at Sundance. Brown's film was originally funded by ITVS, and by the time of its debut, it had Participant Media backing and expectations for theatrical release in the fall. Participant will release material that would have been outtakes as shorter pieces—"the equivalent of a ‘B' side to the film," Brown says—and is also developing a fiction film based on the same material. "The reason I went with Participant was because of what they do with documentaries," Brown maintains. "I think education is a dirty word in documentary, but I hope seeing people's lives and the deep connection we have with this industry, we can get a little curious about how we can change our behavior."

Other ecologically-themed films were wildly diverse in style and analysis. Sandy McLeod's Seeds of Time follows sometime bureaucrat and agricultural activist Cary Fowler on his lifelong campaign to support seed banks—the libraries for future agriculture as climate change forces adaptation—both at the grassroots and in international negotiations. The film's style matches Fowler's modest but intrepid approach. Like Brown, McLeod hopes to inspire people to make a connection between their local choices and the larger issue of agricultural diversity. "I want people to say, ‘I can do something, and I need to,'" she maintains.

Yakona, a Qatsi Trilogy-inspired portrayal of the life of a Texas river, creates a visually and aurally dazzling, if slow-moving, story of renewal of a precious natural resource. Co-director Paul Collins noted that cinematography challenges included "stabilizing a camera in fast-moving water currents, hovering in full camera and scuba gear inches above a environmentally delicate spring ecosystem and flying a camera drone 100 feet above inaccessible river areas." The elaborate soundscape was carefully composed and crafted, heavily using library and field recordings. The film responded to the regional community's ecological concern, and used crowdfunding to raise $50,000 of completion funds.

Another regional film showcased was John Fiege's Above All Else, which features a rural East Texas landowner who suddenly discovers that his retreat from the world has become part of Keystone XL's pipeline route. With a close focus on his compelling central character, who tries everything from conversation with corporate officials to tree-sitting, Fiege also tells a story about the betrayal of individual and property rights by regulatory agencies and legislators. Fiege also raised $50,000 in completion funds with Kickstarter in what he calls "the most painful experience of my life—but worth it." The film also benefits from the support of executive producer and celebrity activist Daryl Hannah.

Travis Rummel and Ben Knight's DamNation, which won the Audience Award in the Documentary Spotlight strand, is backed by the outdoor-clothing company Patagonia, whose founder is an avid fly-fisher. The film links the efforts of direct-action activists—they scale dams and paint graffiti on them—with the nationwide movement to decommission dams. The film is oriented at committed nature lovers (as one says in the film, "If I have to choose between electricity and fish, I'll take the fish"), and its strength is the portrayal of vital, flowing rivers full of salmon and trout. Ecological writer and activist Matt Stoecker, producer and photographer on the film, expects the film to be used by local groups nationwide; a tour begins in June, with screenings in nine cities. It will also show in all Patagonia stores, and be available digitally.  

Two of the films in competition featured extreme art: Born to Fly and Impossible Light. Catherine Gund's Born to Fly follows a season with choreographer Elizabeth Streb, whose company produces work that looks like Cirque de Soleil meets the Olympics in SoHo. Magnificently captured sequences make for heart-stopping suspense and sometimes horror as dancers perform acts not only astonishing but also violent. Jeremy Ambers' Impossible Light follows the coordinated effort of many to create artist Leo Villareal's light sculpture, which illuminates the San Francisco Bay Bridge (the Golden Gate's under-appreciated sister).

Two films featured issues in the emergent digital culture. In competition, Luis Lopez and Clay Tweel's Print the Legend follows the race among several firms to develop a prosumer 3-D printer. Focusing on the personalities of their leaders and the relationship between brand identity and workplace culture, the film is a provocative profile of a moment. Although the filmmakers were not local to either workplace, they managed to be in the right place many times, and slick editing does a lot of magic-the film won a Special Jury Recognition for Editing & Storytelling. Like several other films, this one was shopping for distribution at SXSW.

Out of competition, Brian Knappenberger's The Internet's Own Boy continued its idiosyncratic success story. The film tells the story of the life and death of Internet prodigy Aaron Swartz as a story of government overreach, of concern to all Americans. "The Internet is a machine made of code and laws, and everyone has a say in it because it's the new commons," said Knappenberger during a break from a screening at SXSW. "This is the darker side of that story."

A standout at Sundance, the film had attracted big-money attention, enough to make Knappenberger's eyes widen just thinking about it. But he was committed to a Creative Commons license and to a don't-ask-don't-tell, DRM-free download policy, in the spirit of the subject of his film. Participant Media, not the highest bidder by far, came on board, willing to accept those terms, and the film will be released theatrically in June, through FilmBuff. "We'll be working with a lot of the organizations that Aaron was involved with, so it's a good fit," said Knappenberger.

Other films were in the small-treasure category, with hopes pinned on SXSW exposure. David Marshall's Beginning with the End, which was in competition, tracks high school students as they journey through an internship at a hospice; it's a touching testimonial to hospice, the case for a wider discussion about death and dying, and occasionally funny. Marshall, who also works on branded content in an ad agency, made the film through his Blue Sky Project, which makes low-budget, personal stories that "have a life because they don't have to make great returns." He saw SXSW as a distribution opportunity. "Places like SXSW are still the gatekeepers, as we wait to see what the new distribution models are," he notes. Amy C. Elliott's Wicker Kittens is the latest entry into who'dathunkit competition films; it's about jigsaw contests, featuring a big one during St. Paul's Winter Carnival. It's as low-key charming as its suburban contestants. Elliott, a self-described stubborn DIY indie, self-funded the film, with finishing funds from regional grants.

Two films offered striking windows into working-class and non-white realities that were rarely approached (with the great exception of The Great Invisible) elsewhere on screen this year at SXSW. Darius Clark Monroe's Evolution of a Criminal is the memoir of a man who went to jail at 17 for bank robbery and is now winding up graduate work at NYU. This is his thesis film, executive-produced by his professor, Spike Lee. While still essentially a work in progress, the film has the potential to open a wider discussion about crime, youth and race, both for targeted and wide audiences. Jon Matthews' Surviving Cliffside, another NYU thesis film backed by Spike Lee, is also a personal story, of the director's cousin and his family. The down-at-heels Appalachian family has it all: opioid addiction, unwanted pregnancy, unemployment, shoplifting for survival, and the seven-year-old leukemia survivor's attempts to win the Little Miss West Virginia competition. The achievement of the film, which is rough around the edges, is that it transcends stereotypes in an often painfully honest portrayal, about an America rarely even acknowledged in mainstream media. "It's the story of an insider, a loved one, saying, ‘This is someone I love and understand, I want you to love and understand them too.'" Matthews, a lawyer, says that he is not concerned about exposing his characters' illegal acts, because of his careful filming choices.

Patricia Aufderheide is University Professor of Communication Studies in the School of Communication at American University, director of the Center for Media and Social Impact there, and author of Documentary Film: A Very Short Introduction (Oxford University Press).

When filmmaker Frank Pavich took the stage to introduce his film Jodorowsky's Dune on the opening night of the True/False Festival, he looked out at the crowd in the 1,200-seat Missouri Theater and beamed. "I'm completely blown away," said Pavich. "I've been to Cannes, Toronto and Telluride, but within a few hours of being here, I feel so welcomed by this amazing community."

A few days later, Tracy Droz Tragos, co-director with her cousin, Andrew Droz Palermo, of Rich Hill, echoed the sentiment. "I've only been here 24 hours but I think this is my favorite festival."

Filmmakers who bring their films to True/False, which ran February 27-March 2, definitely feel the love from the captive audiences and the warm glow of the community, which goes all out in support of the festival. Situated in Columbia, Missouri—often referred to by the East and West Coasters as a flyover state—True/False draws filmmakers from Los Angeles and New York and from around the world. Traditionally it hasn't positioned itself as a marketplace, a competitive festival or a showcase for world premieres, but that may be changing: Five  films—Approaching the Elephant, Life After Death, Bronx Obama, Actress and the Vanquishing of the Witch Baba Yaga —all launched at True/False this year.

 "I'm especially proud of our programming this year," says David Wilson, a filmmaker and co-founder of True/False. "I think it has been some of our best. We showed films that were nearly a year old and had played at other festivals, but we also realized there are benefits to filmmakers to launch their films here."

With a small line-up of films relative to other festivals, True/False screened 20 shorts and 38 features, including Rich Hill, which won the Grand Jury Prize at Sundance; Jesse Moss' The Overnighters; Penn Jillette and Teller's Tim's Vemeer; and Rachel Boynton's Big Men, whose previous film, Our Brand Is Crisis, won an IDA Award for Best Documentary Feature.  

 "Big Men premiered at the Tribeca Film Festival last year, but we didn't feel like it had enough champions behind it so we added it to this year's festival," says Wilson. "Rachel Boynton is a talented filmmaker and it's a great film."

Big Men, about the 2007 discovery of oil off the coast of Ghana, opens March 14 at the IFC Center in New York, then March 28  in Los Angeles and Washington, DC, before rolling out to markets around the country.

Most of the films that play at the festival won't have theatrical distribution, so this year True/False implemented a Pay the Artists program, where each filmmaker or co-director appearing with their feature film received $450 in cash. This is in addition to paying for their flight and lodging and providing food vouchers. "Many films in the festival run will actually lose money, so we wanted to do more to support them and documentary filmmaking," Wilson explains. "We went to donors, who [each] made a multi-year commitment for an annual gift of $5,000; half went to our operating fund and the other half to filmmakers." 

While Wilson acknowledges that their model might not work at other festivals, True/False has always thrived on being independent and making its own rules. While there are sponsors who make the festival possible, the commercial aspect is behind-the-scenes, and smaller, more obscure films are given the same screen space and amenities as the crowd-pleasers that have received critical attention. The only award at the festival is The True Vision Award, which went to Amir Bar-Lev, director of Happy Valley, about the sex abuse scandal involving former Penn State assistant football coach Jerry Sandusky.

At its heart, True/False is a small, intimate celebration of documentary filmmaking.

A Jubilee masquerade party kicked off the four-day film festival and festival-goers donned masks and sipped cocktails from the local restaurants and enjoyed small dishes prepared by culinary students at the Columbia Area Career Center. The festival schedule is packed with live music, parties and buskers at the screenings, and there's even a True Life Run, but the focus has always been on showcasing the programming. 

From the large banner on Broadway outside of the box office, the True/False logo was literally everywhere in downtown Columbia, and a festive energy was in the air as people poured into the venues like The Blue Note, Ragtag and Jessie Auditorium on the University of Missouri campus.

As Columbia is a major college town and cultural melting pot, True/False capitalizes on the synergies between the university and its alumni. On the heels of winning the Best Documentary Feature Oscar in 2012, alum Dan Lindsay screened Undefeated in Jesse Auditorium and returned with a short in 2013.

Last year, True/False screened Morgan Neville's Oscar-winning Twenty Feet from Stardom, which featured interviews with Missouri native and University of Missouri alum Sheryl Crow. Jonathan Murray, a graduate of the university's world-class School of Journalism, and now head of Los Angeles-based Bunim/Murray Productions, spoke on a panel about the relationship between reality programming and nonfiction.

Columbia is also supportive of local filmmakers. Wilson is a native of Columbia and he and A.J. Schnack, another University of Missouri alum, co-directed We Always Lie to Strangers, about life in Branson, Missouri. It premiered at the 2013 SXSW, where it received a special jury award for directing, 

Although he now lives in Los Angeles, Jefferson City native Andrew Droz Palermo called being back at True/False a homecoming. For the past three years, he and Tracy Droz Tragos have been working on Rich Hill, a documentary about three teenage boys and their families in the small rural town 70 miles south of Kansas City. The film, a project in IDA's Fiscal Sponsorship Program, has just been acquired by PBS' Independent Lens and film and music distributor The Orchard. Independent Lens funded and aired Droz Tragos’ debut film Be Good, Smile Pretty, which went on to win an Emmy for Best Documentary. The Orchard will distribute Rich Hill theatrically in 18 markets, as well as across digital outlets via its fest and docu label Opus Docs.

The Saturday screening in the Tiger Hotel theater was jam-packed, and after the film, the three boys and their families fielded questions from the audience. Earlier that day Drogos participated in a panel entitled "Space Is the Place," along with Sherief Elkatsha (Cairo Drive) and Mark Levinson, a former physicist who spent seven years shooting at the Large Hadron Collider at CERN (the European Council for Nuclear Research), to make Particle Fever. 

For Elkatsha, the city of Cairo, whose 20 million citizens all share the same roadways, is the main character in Cairo Drive, which won the Best Film from the Arab World in the documentary competition at the Ab Dhabi FilmFest last October. "Many filmmakers told me that I would fail in that effort," said Elkatsha, who was raised in Cairo, but now lives in Brooklyn. He said he benefited from the perspective of living somewhere else and returning there, where his family still resides. Often he shot with a towel over his camera, for fear that he could be arrested, but he did manage to capture a city, post-revolution.

Tracy Droz Drogos spent summers and winter breaks with her grandparents in Rich Hill, and had many fond memories. Her grandfather was a mail carrier and her grandmother taught third grade there, and those roots helped connect with the community.

While Rich Hill showed the struggles of the three boys and their families who faced poverty and other issues every day, another film, directed by Austin-based independent filmmaker Richard Linklater, chronicled the life of one boy for 12 years. Boyhood, which was a closing-night film, utilizes nonfiction techniques and pacing in a narrative film.

In its second year, Neither/Nor is True/False's programming strand of "chimeric cinema,"  featuring elements of both fiction and nonfiction. Last year it was films made in New York during the late 1960s, and this year four Iranian films were screened.

Each year, True/False continues to grow and evolve and Wilson would like to see additional support from the community, including the University of Missouri. Two weeks before True/False opened, the university announced that Jonathan Murray would contribute a gift of $6.7 million to create a documentary journalism program at his alma mater. "We're really excited about the program, as we will both benefit," Wilson says. "It will only strengthen Columbia as a place for developing documentary storytellers and will complement our efforts at True/False."

Shelley Gabert, a native of Mid-Missouri, is a graduate of the University of Missouri School of Journalism. 

A Brief History of Time A Film by Errol Morris, 1991, 84 minutes
Dual Disc Blu-Ray & DVD Edition
Published by The Criterion Collection 2014

"I was sure that nearly everyone is interested in how the universe operates, but most people cannot follow mathematical equations. I don't care much for equations myself. This is partly because it is difficult for me to write them down, but mainly because I don't have an intuitive feeling for equations. Instead I think in pictorial terms..."

This eye-opening revelation by renowned astrophysicist Stephen Hawking comes from a chapter of his 2013 memoir, My Brief History. That chapter is included, along with an essay entitled "Macrobiology" by film critic David Sterritt, in a beautifully designed booklet packaged with the new dual Blu-ray and DVD edition from The Criterion Collection of Errol Morris' 1991 film based on Hawking's 1988 book of the same name, A Brief History of Time. The booklet also includes technical information about the restoration and transfer of the film.

The fact that Hawking would admit he doesn't "have an intuitive feeling for equations" makes him an accessible figure to a broad range of the curious yet scientifically and mathematically challenged folk. Bridging this great divide between the rarefied world of the science community and the rest of us was Hawking's fundamental goal in writing A Brief History of Time. The fact that it has sold over 10 million copies, been translated in many languages, and appeared on the London Sunday Times best-seller list an unprecedented 237 weeks is an indication that the book has had an impact far beyond academia.   

Hawking's predilection to "think in pictorial terms" and his drive to understand the most difficult of life's questions and present his findings to a mass audience may explain his willingness to collaborate with Morris on the cinematic transformation of his book.

In retrospect, the pairing of Morris with Hawking seems brilliant, given that the filmmaker had studied the history of science as a graduate student at Princeton. But as Morris tells us in his interview on the making of the film, it was not always smooth sailing. Morris interpreted Hawking's book as autobiographical, in part. There was some resistance from Hawking to this approach, but Morris prevailed. The intimate and informative interviews with Hawking's mother and sister help fill in the backstory of his relatively happy childhood. He was regarded as exceptionally bright early on, but he did not value his own intellect. He became somewhat of a party animal in college and was in danger of drinking his way through life, when in graduate school in 1963, as his health problems escalated, he was diagnosed with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (commonly known as Lou Gehrig's disease). He faced a prognosis of two to three years to live. The shock caused him to reassess and refocus his life. He reversed his downward slide by mobilizing the power of his intellect to unravel theories of the origins of the universe. The gradual collapse of Hawking's body, as traced throughout the film, belies the growing power and influence of his mind.  

"Which came first, the chicken or the egg? Did the universe have a beginning, and if so, what happened before then? Where did the universe come from, and where is it going?" The film opens with these questions and before our eyes begin to glaze over, a giant chicken peers at us against a star-studded sky, and we breathe a sigh of relief. We know we may be challenged, but we are also going to be entertained.

Morris first had to decide how to utilize his main subject, a man confined to a wheelchair, who never moves and who speaks with the aid of a computer and voice synthesizer. Morris refers to Hawking as "the first non-talking talking head" in documentary history. It was indeed a challenge, but he managed to seamlessly weave Hawking's life story together with stylish visualizations of his most cutting-edge ideas in theoretical physics. Most of the film was shot at the Elstree Studios in London. Morris built an entire set—an exact replica of Hawking's office, including his Marilyn Monroe posters that appear in a number of frames as the camera slowly pivots around the immobile Hawking.

The film has a surreal quality as we drift through time and space considering the magnitude of the ideas being discussed. We feel our brains being stretched to accommodate what we hear and see on the screen. The original soundtrack, composed by Philip Glass, enhances the otherworldly sensibility that pervades the film. Glass had worked with Morris before on his 1988 film The Thin Blue Line, and would again in 2003 on The Fog of War. But the conceptual magnitude of the science in the film is offset by the intimacy and humanity at its heart. The film won the Grand Jury Prize and Filmmakers Trophy at the 1992 Sundance Film Festival, as well as an IDA Award.

At the close of the film, Hawking's distinctive "voice" floats towards us: "If we do discover a complete theory of the universe that should in time be understandable in broad principle by everyone, not just a few scientists, then we shall all—philosophers, scientists and just ordinary people—be able to take part in the discussion of why it is that we and the universe exist. If we find the answer to that, it would be the ultimate triumph of human reason, for then we would know the mind of God." This is nearly a direct quote from the end of the book A Brief History of Time. In his memoir, Hawking admits that he had contemplated cutting out that reference to "the mind of God," which, he believed at the time, would have cut the sales of his book by half.

While it is truly astounding that Hawking is still alive, leading a productive life, he will not live forever. His ideas about life and the universe are his legacy. We have Errol Morris, along with The Criterion Collection, to thank for giving us the opportunity to reflect on those ideas, using this exceptional package as our guide.   

Cynthia Close is the former president of Documentary Educational Resources and currently resides in Burlington, Vermont, where she consults on the business of film and serves on the advisory board of the Vermont International Film Festival.

20 Feet from Stardom, Morgan Neville's celebration of the dynamic singers behind some of the the greatest hits in rock ‘n' roll, took the Academy Award for Best Documentary Feature, while The Lady in Number 6: Music Saved my Life secured the Oscar for Best Documentary Short Subject.

In praising Alice Herz Sommer, the late subject of The Lady in Number 6, director Malcolm Clarke noted, "She had an extraordinary capacity for joy and an amazing capacity for forgiveness... She was 110, she died quietly, and so this is for her. She was a woman who taught every one of my crew to be a little but more optimistic and a little bit more happy about all the things that are happening in our lives, so see the film it'll help you live a much happier life."

Neville lauded the late Gil Friesen, the film's producer and mastermind behind the film, who passed away just before the 2013 premiere at the Sundance Film Festival. "It was his idea and his baby," Neville said. "And when I first met with him, I remember he said, 'I want to win an Oscar,' and I remember thinking, 'You're crazy. That will never happen!' ...Tonight I know he'll be celebrating with us, along with his wife, Janet, and his son Theo...and lastly I want to thank the incredible singers like Miss Darlene Love"—who grabbed the mic and rocked the house with her blazing rendition of "His Eye Is on the Sparrow."

In today's fast-paced and budget-conscious entertainment industry, increased programming and production opportunities in film, television, radio and other media have given rise to a fertile environment for production music libraries. Music is a critical component of storytelling. The fact remains that while the appetite for music among filmmakers and producers has increased, budgets remain static. As a result, music libraries are becoming an increasingly integral resource for storytellers and content creators.

In the digital age, where the landscape is fast becoming saturated with content, finding the right music library can be complicated. There are a few points of focus that can help filmmakers and producers find the library that will meet their needs both creatively and economically.

Looking for Quality Music and Service

When looking for a library, don't settle for low-quality content, based on the preconceived notion that library music is all the same. The quality of content produced by music libraries has greatly increased in the past few years, offering excellent alternatives to costly popular music. Leaders in the music library world are now striving to break down the boundaries between library and commercial music. My company, FirstCom Music, for example, works with seasoned songwriters and Grammy Award-winning composers who are producing high-quality complete film scores along with tie-in, transitional cues that allow for flexibility in the filmmaking and editing processes. Libraries are also focusing on expanding the breadth of their catalogues. Under one roof, top libraries consist of music genres spanning millennia, ranging from authentic archival music of the 1920s to underscore, songs, trailer and promo music, including mixed stems. Gone are the days where all library content could be pigeonholed as "canned" or "stock" music. The best libraries also focus on customer service, and assist users in navigating the catalogue. Great libraries offer in-house music supervision and immediate music searches and can make music immediately available for auditioning or temping as needed.

Outlining the Best Media Rights Package

Filmmakers and content producers should keep in mind the media rights needed for a specific production, and find a music library that can provide licensing options that fall in line with today's broadcasting and distributor delivery requirements. Requirements obviously differ from project to project. Does a project call for Internet rights only, with an option to extend rights to include film festivals at a later date? Is a distributor requiring a filmmaker to have licensed rights covering all media, including full theatrical rights, before it picks up a project? Libraries can offer tiered or "step deals" that will suit a content creator's needs and mitigate licensing costs. The right library will work with producers and filmmakers to structure a media rights package that is tailored for each unique production.

My work with FirstCom Music on the documentary TWA Flight 800 provides a good example of the complexities of the licensing process and media rights packaging. In this case, the film editor was familiar with the FirstCom catalogue and had existing permission to access music from the library website. He temp-scored the entire film with FirstCom Music tracks and was able to screen it on short notice of finalizing a deal with distributors. The filmmaker had labored over the project for close to 15 years with no prior experience of working with a composer, and had limited resources to finish the film. Here, a "blanket license" was provided based on a tailored, all-media worldwide rights package that was in line with the budget and delivery requirements. By working with the filmmaker and designing a limited theatrical exploitation package, that license alleviated costs and streamlined the entire music process. The filmmaker was thrilled with the end result, and she delivered the film on time.  

Understanding the Different Types of Licenses

There are many ways to license music from libraries and several ways in which packages are structured. It is important to know which type of license works best for a production or series of productions.

          Blanket Licenses for film, programs, segments or promos offer several options and are designed to include unlimited music usage covering a variety of financial situations. Blanket licenses offer short-term benefits, or long-term incentives, depending on what best suits the filmmaker, production entity or network. The higher volume of production covered can mean better discounted blanket licensing rates. 

           A True Blanket is inherent with long-term annual deals (one to five years) for entities such as networks and production companies ,and will cover all films, programs, segments or promos.

           A Production Blanket is designed for a single production, or a "program" with multiple episode/segments, and may allow for use of unlimited music at a discounted rate. Fee reductions are based on the production length and number of episodic/program commitments (six episodes, 12 episodes, 22 episodes, multiple segments/promos, etc.).

           A Track Fee License, also known as needle-drop, pay per-use, or "all in" license, is paid as a single license for each time a cue is used or synchronized.

Protecting the Filmmaker, Producers and Partners

 With so many options for selecting and licensing music today, it is important to keep in mind there are certain risks involved with some vendors promoting "free music" or music-licensing "aggregators" that might not control exclusive or long-term music rights. This could open the door to possible future copyright issues and hinder one's right to use the music. Liability is exactly what filmmakers and producers must avoid when so much is at stake. Tapping into reliable libraries and music publishers is a great way for content producers to find music and protect themselves, the artists that create the music, and their film producers and partners.

Look for libraries with wholly owned and controlled content (composition and master rights combined). This is an attractive and defining quality of a good production music library. Some music catalogues that might own or control partial music rights to compositions or recordings can pose additional risks, unless one is prepared to pay higher rates and have a grasp of licensing terms.

Using Available Resources to Find Advocates

There are numerous organizations committed to keeping producers and filmmakers informed of their options and rights as it relates to music and the development of digital media. The Production Music Association (PMA) is the leading advocate and voice of the production music community. They are a nonprofit organization with over 550 music publisher members, ranging from major labels to independent boutiques. Their mission is to elevate the unique value of production music and to ensure the viability of the production music industry.

 The Motion Picture Association of America (MPAA), the Recording Industry Association of America (RIAA) and other groups are backing a push for an anti-piracy curriculum in schools. They are working on educational series to teach the value of copyrights and the impacts of using intellectual properties (film, music, books, photographs, etc.) with or without licensing rights. Using organizations like these as resources, not only for obtaining knowledge about production music, but for networking and fostering long-lasting relationships in the entertainment community, is invaluable. Tomorrow's creators need to secure their future rights too, especially in the digital frontier.

Lonnie Sill is the director of the Film/TV division of FirstCom Music, a Universal Production Music catalogue that contains 180,000 tracks, with over 7,000 new tracks released annually. In various capacities he has produced music for popular films, TV shows and soundtracks for key industry leaders, including Paramount Pictures, 20th Century Fox, Columbia Pictures, Cherry Lane Music Publishing and Windswept Pacific.

12 O' Clock Boys is an unapologetically compelling and uniquely empathetic portrait of dirt bike culture in contemporary Baltimore. If you've never visited Charm City, or if you've never ventured into the urban hinterlands that lie beyond its rejuvenated harbor shopping district, you might not be familiar with this unique phenomenon. During the summer months, it is not uncommon to hear the ominous roar of small engines in the distance or to glimpse firsthand packs of dirt bikes and modified all-terrain vehicles navigating street traffic by the dozens.

Lotfy Nathan, the London-born and Boston-raised director of 12 O'Clock Boys, was attending the Maryland Institute College of Art in 2008 and found himself mulling over his choice of subject matter for an undergraduate documentary class project. "I was living on Biddle Street," Nathan recounts, "and I just saw a bunch of those guys tear by on their bikes and I thought, 'Wow. What the hell was that?'"

It is illegal to own dirt bikes in Baltimore, but that has done little to diminish their presence on city streets. The Baltimore City Police Department is forbidden from pursuing dirt bikes with cruisers in the interest of safety, and must instead rely on helicopter surveillance to track and seize them, giving law enforcement a lopsided disadvantage. In recent years, dirt bike culture in Baltimore has grown to such proportions that local government finds itself struggling to devise new and unique ways to discourage it, such as the passage of a law prohibiting gas stations from selling gasoline to anyone on a dirt bike.

"Dirt biking has been a huge problem in the city," Baltimore City Police spokesman Anthony Guglielmi said in an interview with The Baltimore Sun in 2012. "They essentially terrorize motorists and residents, and we're very strategic in how we approach the problem."

Nathan's curiosity first led him to YouTube, where he marveled at the bravado and dexterity of the Wowboyz, a group of local Baltimore stunt riders who document their audacious cycling feats with consumer video equipment. "I thought it would be interesting to follow them somehow," he says. "I asked around and found that they congregated at Druid Hill Park. I did approach them—very warily—and then found that they were really into being filmed and they wanted to share their stories. Then I was off to the races."

12 O'Clock Boys introduces us to this insular subculture through the eyes of another intrigued outlier: a 13-year old dirt bike enthusiast named Pug, whose abundant passion for joy-wheeling is evident from the moment he first graces the screen. "I was introduced to Pug by a guy named Shank," Nathan recalls. Pug's dream in life is to join the ranks of the local stunt riding legends he idolizes: Wheelie Wayne, Superman and the 12 O'Clock Boyz, a group of riders who earned their moniker by executing perilous wheelies that send their front tires pivoting up to high noon. We also meet Pug's mother, Coco, an aspiring reality television star who struggles with single parenthood after relocating her family to East Baltimore in the wake of the tragic death of Pug's older brother.

As Nathan wrestled with expanding a student documentary project into a cohesive and accessible feature, he began gravitating toward Pug and Coco more and more as subjects and surrogates for viewers unfamiliar with the recesses of this idiosyncratic underworld. Filmmaker Eric Blair also joined the project as a producer and supervised a unit of show-stopping slow-motion Phantom cinematography that scrutinizes every nuanced affectation of Pug and his dirt bike brethren at speeds of up to 800 frames per second.

"Everything took on a more lyrical, meditative and mature tone," Blair explains. "The riders move fast. Life in Baltimore City is fast. The Phantom footage changed that and allowed for the story to pause a little and breathe a lot. Drastically slowing down even a small amount of movement such as the tilt of someone's head, the blink of someone's eyes, or when Pug smiles and shows his new gold teeth, seemed like fresh territory to explore with the technology. It just seemed perfect for this story."

Blair's Phantom HD Gold camera package was outfitted with an 18-50mm T3 Red lens, a set of Standard Zeiss Primes T2.1 and an Angénieux 25-250mm HR T3.5. "We usually shot at 250 ISO, which is a good sweet spot for the camera, especially if you want to pan and scan later," Blair reasons.

The production team also came to have a tentative relationship with local city government in the course of their efforts to document illegal dirt bike activity on Baltimore streets. Nathan even recalls being served a summons during principal photography for filming an unlawful act, although the charge would later come to be dismissed.

"The riders were going to ride regardless of our documentation, and I was often conflicted about documenting everything," Blair confides. "But it's a uniquely Baltimore phenomenon and a story that just needed to be told properly. I felt no differently about our documentation than what David Simon had done with both his books Homicide: Life on The Street and The Corner. I'm glad we achieved what we did and I'm glad we won't ever have to do it again."

Despite criticism from some quarters that 12 O'Clock Boys glorifies its subjects and their death-defying antics, the documentary is even-handed enough to depict the occasionally deadly consequences of stunt cycling on city streets. A recollection of the untimely demise of Marvin Watts, a young cycling protégé under the tutelage of Superman who was killed in 1999 when his dirt bike collided with a sedan, counterbalances the plentiful on-screen mayhem with a cautious weight.

For Nathan and his collaborators, presenting 12 O'Clock Boys at the Maryland Film Festival in May 2013 with many of its titular daredevils in attendance was a particular highlight. "I think it blew all of our minds seeing it on the big screen," Nathan enthuses. "There was a lot of buildup to that screening and I think it was great. For the riders who saw it, I hope they see it as a testament to the group."

"The Baltimore screenings we knew would be unique and unlike screenings anywhere else in the world," Blair agrees. "Some people may have had a bike stolen, some may have been scared by the noise and the disruption the pack of riders can cause. Everyone, however, seemed to find common ground in Pug's story. It was an incredible screening and more than what I could have hoped for."

12 O' Clock Boys opens nationally in theaters January 31 through Oscilloscope Pictures. In addition, the Maryland Institute College of Art, Nathan's alma mater, will be hosting a homecoming screening of 12 O'Clock Boys in Baltimore at the Brown Center's Falvey Hall on January 31, with the filmmaker and several other guests in attendance.

Josh Slates is an independent producer and director based in Baltimore. His feature-length debut, Small Pond, is now available on iTunes, Hulu and Amazon Instant Video. He is also a film critic and field producer for The Signal, a weekly arts and culture program produced by WYPR Radio.

There's a whole genre of films about filmmaking, and a lot of them are documentaries. Elliot is a new addition to the canon. What happens when two no-budget documentarians team up to make a film about two no-budget martial arts filmmakers? Not what you might expect. We talked with Matthew Bauckman and Jaret Belliveau about the making of the film.

Documentary: How did you come to make Elliot?

Matthew Bauckman & Jaret Belliveau: We first found out about Elliot after reading several newspaper articles about him and Linda Lum. Elliot was promoting himself as an accomplished martial artist and award-winning filmmaker who wanted to become Canada's first action hero. When we watched the trailer for Elliot and Linda's first movie, They Killed My Cat, we immediately rushed out to rent their first two action movies. We had recently decided to co-direct a documentary project based in Atlantic Canada after working collaboratively on Jaret's first feature documentary film, and we had a strong intuition that this could be a fascinating story about two passionate low-budget filmmakers. There was an obvious disconnect between all the glowing reviews of their movies and the quality in which they were made. Upon meeting Elliot and Linda we found out that they were working on a new movie called Blood Fight. At this point we decided to follow them onto their set, where we met their friend Blake Zwicker, a self-proclaimed method actor, and several other passionate crew members who were all trying to realize their dreams. After a short time of being on their set, we realized that things in Elliot's world were not as they seemed, and we set out to discover what this story was really all about.

D: The crime fiction writer Jim Thompson famously said, "There are 32 ways to write a story, and I've used every one, but there is only one plot—things are not as they seem."  Did you have this taped over you desk as you put together the film?

MB & JB: No, we didn't, but perhaps it would have saved us time if we had. In Elliot's world plot twists are commonplace, so it was really about having the patience to let the story find its own natural conclusion.

D: In terms of themes, ideas concerning truth and trust are at the center of this tale. Can you talk about these ideas in relation to storytelling, and a filmmaker's relationship with his/her subject?

MB & JB: With everyone's hopes genuinely pinned on Blood Fight's success, we knew the only way to give a fair and honest portrayal of these larger-than-life characters was to film in an objective, cinema vérité style. We tried to limit our influence over our subjects, and this is reflected in the way we have captured the seemingly mundane moments of their lives, which to us are usually the most honest and revealing. Capturing these moments demands a great deal of trust from our subjects, and the way we entered their lives was through compassion and empathy. As filmmakers we related to their struggles. As documentarians, getting to the truth of any situation is of great importance to us, and it becomes very tricky when your subject is not entirely truthful. There seemed to be something in Elliot driving him to delude himself and everyone around him, and our goal was not to give any answers but to present questions about how we all lie to ourselves.

D: There's a long history of films about filmmaking. Did you have a model in mind as you set forth, or did you simply start filming to see what you would find?

MB & JB: We are both huge fans of American Movie, which is an incredible film about a passionate amateur filmmaker, so we were aware of the obvious parallels but we did not use that movie or any other as a template, really. We definitely set out with a clear trajectory in mind, which, of course, quickly goes out the window when making this type of film. What we were unaware of in the beginning was the dramatic shift our film was going to take from comedy to drama as all of the conflicts in Elliot's life came to a head.

D: What did  you learn about filmmaking, and yourselves, as you moved forward on this film?

MB & JB: First off, it is not always the best idea to edit your own movie. Having shot the movie ourselves and being involved in these characters' lives for so long, it took a long time for us to get a reasonably objective view of the story again. There is a great peril of getting pulled too far into your story as a result of being involved in your subjects' lives so much, and we certainly found ourselves deep into Elliot's world. Luckily, we had the privilege of working with a very talented producer and editor who was able to give us fresh eyes on our project; it's true what they say: "In filmmaking you are only as good as your team."

D: If you had to do it all over again, is there anything you might have done differently?

MB & JB: I suppose we would have kept more of a distance from our subjects, which is easy to say looking back but difficult when you place yourself in the middle of other people's lives. Getting any money up front would definitely have made this process a lot smoother for our personal lives. Not having to edit the movie in Jaret's dining room and not having to borrow several of our friends' cameras may have made for less tense times.

D: Any other thoughts you want to share about the process of making the film?

MB & JB: Through the process of making this film, we had constantly questioned and reassessed the validity of what it was that we were doing. In a way, we weren't certain if we were seeing our own movie through rose-colored glasses like Elliot. Strangely enough, what kept us going was the cast of Blood Fight and their unwavering dedication to their dreams.

Elliot won the Jury Award for Documentary Feature at Slamdance.

Michael Galinsky is partners with Suki Hawley and David Bellinson in the award-winning production studio Rumur. Their film Who Took Johnny premiered at Slamdance. They are currently working on a film about the connection between stress and pain.

Like many sports documentarians, Allan Luebke looked to Steve James' Hoop Dreams for inspiration when he set out to make Glena, a film about a women's mixed martial arts fighter.  He then expanded the scope of his influences, and dug deep to pull together a character-driven vérité doc that brings the audience into the fighter's world.  It's a story about staying balanced when one gets pummeled by life.

Documentary: How did you come to tell this story?

Allan Luebke: By total accident. I was producing a talk show for a small independent television channel in Oregon's Columbia River Gorge, and I was researching potential guests. Our college intern heard that a female cage fighter worked at the Oregon Veteran's Home nearby. We checked it out online, sent Glena an email, and met with her in person soon after. I wasn't necessarily a fan of mixed martial arts—I knew what it was but had never really watched it—but the story of a single mother in her 30s trying to become a pro fighter was certainly intriguing. We booked her for the show, and she was one of the best guests we'd ever had.

D: Did you have an idea of where the film would go when you started, and if so did the story move in the way you expected?

AL: Glena started as a short film meant to just fill a few months while I was unemployed. I planned to follow Glena only for about four weeks leading up to her fifth amateur fight, and hadn't the slightest thought of making a feature-length film. But after filming was completed, people started asking about a feature film. To be perfectly honest, I don't remember when the switch flipped and how I decided to extend it, but I do remember starting to ponder how to build a feature-length narrative that viewers could stay interested in. Short films can be more experimental with their storytelling, but features have to be tightly woven stories with character development and emotional arcs if the audience is expected to invest up to two hours watching.

D: You are clearly comfortable behind the camera. What films or filmmakers did you look to for inspiration as you set out on this journey, in terms of style, storytelling or subject matter?

AL: Yes, a lot of movies. I'm a big fan of finding ideas in other movies and incorporating them into my own project, then over time refining them into something all my own. Visually, I wanted to make a vérité documentary because it seemed challenging and because I just love how in-the-moment those stories feel. Initially Hoop Dreams was my Bible from a storytelling and visual perspective. I also watched the documentaries Stevie, Murderball, Buck and Racing Dreams quite a bit. But after filming ended and editing began, I started watching fewer documentaries and more fictional narratives. I wanted Glena to be as compelling as a documentary but as entertaining as a movie you'd see in the theater. The Fighter, Rocky, The Wrestler and Warrior—which are all movies about boxing or MMA—were major sources of influence. Watching Tom McCarthy's Win Win was a nightly event for a while. The documentaries The Queen of Versailles and Undefeated helped me work through several structural issues.

D: There are a lot of different themes that kind of weave in and out of the film:  dedication, communication, relationships, poverty, family. Oddly, gender wasn't a very major theme. How did you handle the different themes?.

AL: I think what audiences will find surprising about Glena is that it doesn't have an agenda. The movie isn't about gender, and it doesn't advocate for mixed martial arts. It's just about a woman you come to deeply care about. You want to see how her journey ends. My favorite stories focus on the characters, not the issues, and that's the kind of movie I tried to make.

D: When you make a doc about a fighter, or any sports story, you're at the mercy of the results. That must have made the process both harrowing and exciting.

AL: While filming Glena, we always worked with three different outlines: what is likely to happen, what's unlikely to happen and what we want to happen. There were a couple times when we thought that it'd be helpful for the story if Glena won or lost a certain fight because then we could explore some themes that intrigued us, but ultimately the story that happened was better than we could have written. As a storyteller, you have to allow the story to unfold naturally but also be hyper-aware of every nuance so that you can be ready to follow those threads. When making a documentary where you're at the mercy of the results, you've got to have your storytelling skills as sharp as possible because you're going to be doing a lot of writing to mold the story into a proper narrative. One of the great things about filmmaking is that there are thousands of other movies to use as study guides, and we regularly referred to ten different movies that helped us understand how to tell our own story.

D: When you make a doc about somebody who struggles as much as Glena, it must be emotionally and intellectually difficult to move forward at times. As a filmmaker how do you balance out the need to keep some distance with the desire to put down the camera and do what you can to help the subject out?

AL: Glena went through some pretty tough times, but that's also what makes her story so good. If we as filmmakers had intervened, then Glena's story would have lost some of its power. Luckily for us, Glena understood how unique her situation was, and she encouraged us to roll the camera during those difficult moments. One morning I was planning to make the 90-minute drive to her town for some filming, but she called me early and said, "Something happened to my leg and I can barely walk. I don't know if I can even fight this weekend. My doctor is coming in on his day off. You should get here." Glena's life was pretty chaotic for those nine months of filming, but her willingness to let us be present with cameras is what made this movie possible. This movie unfolds entirely in front of the camera, so everything the viewer sees was the first time it happened to Glena, which makes for a uniquely intimate experience.

Michael Galinsky is partners with Suki Hawley and David Bellinson in the award-winning production studio Rumur. Their film Who Took Johnny premiered at Slamdance. They are currently working on a film about the connection between stress and pain.