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65
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AthenaTheStorierX
United States
Double Town / Knitting the Song of the Alternate Place
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by AthenaTheStorierX
Poignant, Understated, and Absolutely Heartbreaking
This documentary did a gorgeous job of combining essay, interview, and storytelling to convey to audiences the experiences of the residents of Rikuzentakata, 7 years after the devastating earthquake and tsunamis that changed life forever in March 2011. It was quiet, with a gradual build-up of emotions as we went from focusing on small details to the bigger tales that are hard to put into words.
The scene is set with silence, punctuated by our narrators telling us about their interviews and own experiences with the natural disaster/town. The setting is littered with construction zones and equipment, creating a 40 foot/12 meter elevation and widened rivers.
"Underneath the town where I live is the town where my mom and dad grew up."
The testimonies start off with children and teens. They're relatively numb. They speak of wanting to leave and come back after the restoration is complete and things are settled. They speak of the minor inconveniences that they focused on at the time - unable to really grasp the larger disaster around them, wanting everything to return to normal.
"And the livelier it gets, the more I think about my son who died. He's somewhere underneath this town, below this ground. We had to just leave him there."
And the small details and thin sentiments set the stage for the harder hitting stories of the older generations. Those that are filled with loss that is hard to put into words. Family. Friends. Chances. The memory of what your bathroom looked like. The kind of stories that tend to be absent of details. The kind of stories that make your throat close up and your eyes swim.
---
"I heard stories about him. With each person's images of him and fragments of the landscape of this town, I became ready to imagine that person. The person I imagine looks like myself or my friends."
There was a year in college where I took the train back home. I know I did my usual routine of listening to music and playing games on my phone. But I wasn't present, so I don't remember it. You see, just a couple months before, a hurricane wreaked havoc on my town, and put my own home completely underwater. The water had since subsided, but nothing was the same. Buildings were in pieces. Waiting for new roofs and floors. Waiting to be torn down. Yards were being packed with dirt, creating an intimidating slant. Houses were being raised, according to new town codes. What once was 2-3 steps up to your front door, was now more like 10. The fresh dirt just recently finished settling as of this review, so those steps need to be fixed so we don't trip anymore. The train ride back to school was similarly blurred.
It's the small details where the story really hits home. The small details that seem to say nothing at all, but are said with a tone that conveys a lingering sense of sadness, loss, and longing.
"Terrible things happened. I didn't lose my family, but I lost something in my heart."
"I used to love stories and books. But after the disaster, I wasn't able to read fiction books for a while."
---
"The plain white seawall, boxed-in gray sea, and carved away hills. This strange square-cornered sorcery. I wonder if I will ever get to love it... to [my grandchildren], this scenery is part of their irreplaceable hometown."
My flood didn't come from the sea; it came from the skies. So it was interesting to see the different ways our respective communities approached restoration and prevention measures. And the way that those very same measures and steps created different dysphoric experiences and types of loss.
The one thing I didn't like about this film though, was the way it was concluded. The very last scene. The whole film was touching and poignant. I never once minded that the narrators/interviewers weren't from the area, because they seemed genuinely touched and empathetic toward the subject matter and experiences being discussed. But in the very last scene, they just felt detached and awkward. The tone felt like a bland classroom discussion filled with empty platitudes and sympathy. I think it should've ended a better way - perhaps even addressing the audience ourselves - since that last scene was supposed to convey this message to remembering and passing on these stories and more. That's the purpose of the documentary. So bring that in. It would've felt more fitting and genuine.
The scene is set with silence, punctuated by our narrators telling us about their interviews and own experiences with the natural disaster/town. The setting is littered with construction zones and equipment, creating a 40 foot/12 meter elevation and widened rivers.
"Underneath the town where I live is the town where my mom and dad grew up."
The testimonies start off with children and teens. They're relatively numb. They speak of wanting to leave and come back after the restoration is complete and things are settled. They speak of the minor inconveniences that they focused on at the time - unable to really grasp the larger disaster around them, wanting everything to return to normal.
"And the livelier it gets, the more I think about my son who died. He's somewhere underneath this town, below this ground. We had to just leave him there."
And the small details and thin sentiments set the stage for the harder hitting stories of the older generations. Those that are filled with loss that is hard to put into words. Family. Friends. Chances. The memory of what your bathroom looked like. The kind of stories that tend to be absent of details. The kind of stories that make your throat close up and your eyes swim.
---
"I heard stories about him. With each person's images of him and fragments of the landscape of this town, I became ready to imagine that person. The person I imagine looks like myself or my friends."
There was a year in college where I took the train back home. I know I did my usual routine of listening to music and playing games on my phone. But I wasn't present, so I don't remember it. You see, just a couple months before, a hurricane wreaked havoc on my town, and put my own home completely underwater. The water had since subsided, but nothing was the same. Buildings were in pieces. Waiting for new roofs and floors. Waiting to be torn down. Yards were being packed with dirt, creating an intimidating slant. Houses were being raised, according to new town codes. What once was 2-3 steps up to your front door, was now more like 10. The fresh dirt just recently finished settling as of this review, so those steps need to be fixed so we don't trip anymore. The train ride back to school was similarly blurred.
It's the small details where the story really hits home. The small details that seem to say nothing at all, but are said with a tone that conveys a lingering sense of sadness, loss, and longing.
"Terrible things happened. I didn't lose my family, but I lost something in my heart."
"I used to love stories and books. But after the disaster, I wasn't able to read fiction books for a while."
---
"The plain white seawall, boxed-in gray sea, and carved away hills. This strange square-cornered sorcery. I wonder if I will ever get to love it... to [my grandchildren], this scenery is part of their irreplaceable hometown."
My flood didn't come from the sea; it came from the skies. So it was interesting to see the different ways our respective communities approached restoration and prevention measures. And the way that those very same measures and steps created different dysphoric experiences and types of loss.
The one thing I didn't like about this film though, was the way it was concluded. The very last scene. The whole film was touching and poignant. I never once minded that the narrators/interviewers weren't from the area, because they seemed genuinely touched and empathetic toward the subject matter and experiences being discussed. But in the very last scene, they just felt detached and awkward. The tone felt like a bland classroom discussion filled with empty platitudes and sympathy. I think it should've ended a better way - perhaps even addressing the audience ourselves - since that last scene was supposed to convey this message to remembering and passing on these stories and more. That's the purpose of the documentary. So bring that in. It would've felt more fitting and genuine.
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