Heroin(e)

This week, I viewed a program on Netflix titled Heroin(e). This program in particular was a documentary detailing the major heroine issue of a town in West Virginia. The documentary didn’t exactly differ from any other average documentary; it was educational and attempted to pull at your heartstrings so that you care about the subject matter. While the subject of drug-related deaths and heroine addiction are sad and concerning matters, this documentary in particular wasn’t exactly the most emotional or skillfully directed one that I’ve ever seen.

This week, I also had the opportunity to view the documentary titled The Complete History of Seattle by Truman graduate and underground film director, Nick Toti. Toti's documentary in particular employed many abstract filming and editing tactics that could be characterized as a cross between surrealism and dadaism (it's a bit of a stretch, I know). The documentary about a punk band composed of "alternative" Christians is definitely not one for the [extremely] faint of heart, but also is not one to regret viewing.

Heroin(e) didn’t employ any abstract camera uses or anything experimental or genre-deviating. Though after viewing The Complete History of Seattle, I can’t help but imagine what the lovechild between these two works of art would look like. I’m sure experimental cinematic masterpieces detailing hard drug abuse have been done, but the thought of the combining the documental style of Heroin(e) with the experimental surrealistic style of Complete History is an interesting one.

The way that this documentary is filmed is dry and straight to the point. This isn’t a bad thing whatsoever, considering that the subject matter is enough to catch and hold the attention of the viewers. Many camera shots in this 40 minute installment are taken from inside of cars. I once read somewhere (and no, I cannot remember the source) that conversations inside of cars hold high importance. I also know from experience that I’ve conducted many important conversations while in either the driver or front passenger seat of a car. Since the camera holder in these car scenes is usually in the passenger seat, the angle of the shot comes from below the person speaking in the driver seat. This contributes to a unique sense of intimacy and urgency required for a documentary like this.

I suppose that as a person who views more feature films than documentaries, I was expecting some type of structure: introduction, story, and resolve. However, I was disappointed when the program stopped seemingly abruptly. We, as an audience of cinema, have become so attuned to the notion that every narrative of every type needs an ending, preferably a happy one, but if not, any ending. This documentary didn’t just end, and that isn’t as problematic as it may sound. The drug problem in this town in West Virginia hasn’t been “resolved.” It hasn’t “ended” and this is where that hanging feeling comes from at the conclusion of this documentary in particular.