|Troubadour casket from Vannes, in Brittany|
One starts to wonder about scripted language, unscripted thought. I went to a screening of My So-Called Enemy tonight - it's a documentary by Lisa Gossels that traces the lives of 6 Israelis and Palestinians (2 Jewish, 2 Muslim, 2 Christian) who are in a group of 22 young women and spend 10 days together at a peace camp in (of all places) New Jersey. The point of the camp is not to agree, but to hear each other out. As my colleague said, "There's no Kum-ba-yah, here." It's raw and intense and the friendships fight for air amidst family and media. And of course here, it's the editing that makes the piece make sense. It's the editing that gives it its narrative arc, its interpretation. I had never thought of editing as a recitation until I heard Lisa recite a quote from one of the young women in the film verbatim. It's then that I realized that Lisa had the entire film memorizes: every exchange, more than made it into the film, every line. Documentaries, it turns out, are a kind of recitation then.