Photo of Iree Bowling, matriarch of the family profiled in Rory Kennedy’s documentary, American Hollow BY STEVE LEHMAN

Did yu ever see sich a sampil of a human afore?

"I live in a $200,000 house in Perry County! - how come nobody wants to make a movie about me?" So went the first wave of Kentucky criticism of Rory Kennedy's documentary, American Hollow, part of HBO's America Undercover series. (The comment was posted anonymously online, shortly after the film debuted on HBO last November.)

The question misses the point, in that documentaries must necessarily narrow their focus for the sake of effectiveness - the microcosm usually illustrates the macrocosm (in this case, a year in the life of one impoverished family in Eastern Kentucky offers a window into poverty, and to some extent, welfare). Hoop Dreams didn't "accurately" reflect all of Chicago, but it wasn't expected to. The photographs of Mary Ellen Mark don't tell viewers the whole story behind her images, but they do tell a story.

People speak of Appalachia as if it's one discrete place - the same way they speak of The South - but of course, it isn't.

Nonetheless, this question - "how come you made a movie about THEM when you could've made one about ME (in my $200,000 HOME)?"- has been asked ever since the days of the War on Poverty, and the atrocious images of kids eating dirt to the do-goodin' delight of Charles Kuralt and his cronies.

It's a question that isn't a question at all. It's a reassurance for ourselves and for the outside world. It's a question that states, "But I am not THEM. They are 'OTHER.'"

Kennedy's documentary, along with Elizabeth Barret's Stranger with a Camera (which explores the infamous 1967 shooting death of filmmaker Hugh O'Connor at the hands of landowner Hobart Ison in Letcher County) once again re-focuses national attention on Appalachia and poverty and the history of the representation of Appalachian culture to the larger world.

Both filmmakers will present their documentaries at the end of March as part of a series sponsored by UK.

Kennedy had all the network TV cameras poking around here looking for 'poverty,' like it had ever been lost.

Though the two films have little in common beyond geography (see review) - and neither filmmaker had seen the other's project at press - the subject matter does dovetail occasionally in almost uncanny ways.

In her film's narration, Barret talks about Robert Kennedy's visit to the mountains when she was a middle-class teen living in Hazard. She asks, "Were those who welcomed [Robert] Kennedy hopeful that the media attention would improve their lives? Were those who objected to the images of poor people being shown on national television afraid they would be blamed for these conditions, or were they afraid they would be considered poor too?"

It's interesting that various paraphrases of this exact same question have been making the rounds since November, only this time it's the daughter of the late Robert Kennedy to whom people are referring.

Kennedy seems aware that her name brings with it certain baggage - pro and con - in the mountains. But beyond that, she seems sensitive to the mistrust that any documentarian might have faced on a project such as this one.

She's willing to participate in a lengthy interview on the subject, which she begins by acknowledging, "I understand where people are coming from, especially people in Appalachia, where the representations have not been so positive in the past." She cites several projects that have "framed people from the region in a negative light. I totally understand and recognize the sensitivity [about] outsiders coming in and representing Appalachia," adding, "I hope I was conscious and conscientious about that.

"Any time [you] go into a culture and place that is under represented, and try to provide a voice... there's a lot of responsibility that comes with that. Coming into a situation where people are generally not empowered, and representing them to the world... 'what will this do to people?' is a question I ask myself constantly throughout this process."

As a documentarian, she thinks "it's really important to show people who live in poverty... to draw attention to pockets of our culture that aren't getting attention."

Caste

[They] didn't have a thing but a gang of ragtag younguns... [they] was the type that couldn't have made it in easier times.

The project was initially conceived as a documentary about the impact of welfare reform. She approached the UK Center for Rural Health, and ultimately met the Bowling family via a social worker.

Asked about (erroneous) press reports that she then lived with the Bowlings for the next year as she filmed the documentary, she quickly clarifies that she spent "about 30 days with them, off and on, over the course of a year," adding that "I did live with the family when I was there" noting that "[Iree] was warm, wonderful and very welcoming to us."

As for the transition of the piece, from welfare documentary to "a year in the life," she says, "I had gone down there with [certain] assumptions. We all have [them], and as a filmmaker, I try to check them as much as possible. [But] that's why the film changed. Rather than a portrait of victims on welfare, it became a celebration of community."

Clearly this is how she sees the film, or at least parts of it, but it is difficult to underestimate the impact the government aid had on the community's perception of the film.

Many locals were upset, not so much by the poverty, but by the selection of a family on welfare.

Classism and hierarchies and elitism are just as prevalent in the mountains as they are in any city. And while poverty might be acceptable, and a fact of life for many in this underdeveloped region, there is still an enormous stigma attached to government assistance.

One woman, identified as "Rose," posted this comment, "I lived in the area where these people live when I was a child but my parents made it better for us and taught us to work." She is especially irate that the Bowlings have figured out a way to supplement their aid (digging bloodroot and ginseng, for example). "I feel [the film] showed they have frauded the government by living the way they live and mak[ing] the extra money on the moss roots and whatever. My understanding is that you are not to have income of any sorts when you live off the Government."

She offers these final words of advice to the filmmaker, "One thing that we do not have here is people having to live in card board boxes [and] if this lady wanted to help some one she should have gone somewhere and helped those people..."

Roger Coldiron of Maryland, writes, "Ms. Kennedy's choice of families to center this film on demonstrates once again the outsider's inability to understand or appreciate mountain people. My parents are approximately the same age and came from precisely the same socio-economic background in Rockcastle County, Kentucky as the elder Bowlings. As a child, I remember ...my father worked to install running water in our house himself and that installation became a metaphor for his life. He taught my brother and me the value of work and of a disciplined life. I have commanded a Navy destroyer for the past year and a half; my brother is a graduate of Vanderbilt University (on a scholarship); and my 18-year-old daughter is a freshman at Mt. Holyoke College in Massachusetts. The Bowlings are not sympathetic characters. They are lazy and, as they say in the mountains, 'sorry.' Her film is the worst kind of manipulative tool that harkens back to the bad old days when all the social workers appeared."

Rose concludes her posting with the admonition, "People do not have to live like this, [if] that is the way they choose to live, fine, but don't put all of us in the category."

To allegations such as these, Kennedy is very clear that she has not categorized the entire region based on her experience of one family.

"[Some] charge that the film only represents the negative side. [But the film] does not purport to represent all of Kentucky, or all of Appalachia, or all of the South. It's a very self-contained portrait of one family, living in one of the most impoverished" sections of the state.

"My strategy with poverty," she stresses, "is NOT to say it doesn't exist. You have to look at these issues."

The hope for American Hollow is that "it doesn't set out to answer all these complicated questions about rural poverty or Appalachian poverty. [But the] balancing of pride, history, land, family, community, job opportunities, and changes in welfare are real issues that need to be debated."

She also had largely positive things to say about the Bowlings, and if she feels any derision - or even pity - for their way of life, she certainly keeps it to herself.

Of Iree Bowling, she says, "She has come so far. It was very humbling for me to be there, to witness how she didn't complain once. [She] has such strength of character, and an indomitable sense of human spirit."

She's "sorry for people who miss that about the film. That celebration of that spirit."

As for the uproar raised by some Eastern Kentucky politicians - who were vocal about their denial that such conditions as those portrayed in the film even exist - Kennedy relates an anecdote from Iree Bowling. The family's matriarch told the filmmaker that she had passed one of the most vehement protestors on the street, subsequent to the documentary's airing on HBO, and assured him, "I can't vote for you. I don't exist."

Sound and Fury

Unlike the big cities, where survival depends on the delivery of goods and services, Appalachia is a place where many still root a living out of the land. For my ancestors of five generations, the creed of survivors was 'root hog, or die.'

When Iree Bowling speaks of their self-reliance on her garden and wild game, she refers to the ample produce harvested from her garden, supplemented by less conventional victuals in harder times, i.e., "ground squirrels." (She also authoritatively wrings the neck of a chicken onscreen.)

In her remarks, there's a faint echo of George Washington Harris's archetypal "hillbilly," Sut Luvingood, who's thoughtfully explored in Sandra Ballard's essay, "Where did hillbillies come from" (included in Confronting Appalachian Stereotypes):

"Whar thar ain't enuf feed, big childer roots littil childer outen the troff, an' gobbils up thar part. Jis' so the yeath over: bishops eats elders, elders eats common peopil;...I eats possums, possums eats chickins, chickens swallers wums, an wums am content tu eat dus, an' the dus am the aind ove hit all."

According to Ballard, "Sut holds no illusions about human nature, and he holds nothing sacred but the here and now - as he says, dust is the end of it all."

Contrast that with Rita Kempley's scathing indictment of American Hollow in the Washington Post (entitled "'Hollow': Shallow, Too").

In her attempt to tar Kennedy as a misguided dilettante "tourist," she characterizes the film as "a documentary about poh' folks with noblesse oblige written all over it." But it's clear that her unbridled scorn is not for Kennedy, it's for the Bowlings. "Iree and her husband Bass also grow extra produce in their garden, and when times are tough they 'catch ground squirrels, fry 'em up and eat 'em,' says Iree. (Sutton Gourmet, take note.)"

In aboriginal parlance, one might say, she shows her own ass.

In more academic terms, Ballard's essay quotes Appalachian studies scholar Robert J. Higgs who asks, "who is the bigger fool - Sut, who acknowledges his condition, or those of us who refuse to recognize our own predatory ways and pretensions."

Ballard believes that Sut "an unparalleled eiron, asks us to take a look at our own place in the Great Chain of Being."

It would not be unreasonable to make the leap - that some members of the Bowling clan serve as the eiron (i.e., one who "shows us ourselves," according to Ballard, the eiron exists to "puncture the illusion of the alazon... "Greek for imposter, someone who pretends or tries to be something more than he is.")

In simpler terms, Kentucky author Gurney Norman (who's tried to stay out of the public discourse on the film to some degree), was willing to offer this comment for the record, "Look at the garden in [American Hollow]. You can tell a lot about people by what kind of gardens they put out."

Of reaction to the film, he admits that it is possible "we have almost succeeded too well in raising the consciousness about stereotypes" in Appalachia (noting the instant knee jerk reaction of the bourgeoisie evident in statements like the aforementioned, "I have a $200,000 home!").

But he's also very enthusiastic about what "an exciting time" this is for the region, for "regional writers, educators, filmmakers and community grass roots leaders," to begin to synthesize their creative energy. He sees the "cumulative effect" of all this new work as a positive sign (specifically citing Barret's film, and her husband's forthcoming documentary on Ralph Stanley as two prominent examples).

He acknowledges, "I really think progress has been made in this whole question of representation of Appalachian culture..." adding with a bit of a chuckle, "Kentucky people are far more sophisticated and have a tougher hide than we have in the past."

Down here, we don't share the 'naive conviction of the perfectibility of man.'

Rita Kempley concluded her Washington Post piece with the question (and answer), "does [Kennedy] truly believe that Iree's way of life should be preserved? Probably. Isn't that always the way with tourists?"

Given the chance to comment, Kennedy seems reflective and ambivalent. "Yes and no," she responds.

"What is lost and what is gained by preserving tradition and preserving culture? The film doesn't have a clear answer to those questions. People can judge for themselves. Personally, I'm mixed.

"There's something wonderful about Iree and her dedication to life, community, family, and traditions - whether it's quilts or gardens or keeping her family together. A lot of people have lost sight of the family."

But she is equally candid about the limitations and deprivations, and doesn't want to "glamorize or over-romanticize" the nobility of poverty, though she acknowledges "the lifestyle there in many ways really is wonderful."

Not so wonderful in others.

"Working is really an important part of life, and there are no jobs there. It's very isolated and there's lots [to be said] for having access to diversity and multiculturalism.

"The roads aren't paved and it can take police an hour or two to get back there. The education system is lacking. There are problems with access. It can be similar to other places that don't have resources... [And] it's unacceptable that people have to live under these conditions in a time of such prosperity.

"They all rely on each other which can be a positive and not so positive quality. There's something to be said for being exposed to other types of folks..." she pauses, "and not just through a television set."

No arts, no letters, no society, and which is worst of all, continual fear and the danger of violent death and the life of man, solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short. -Thomas Hobbes

In Stranger with a Camera, one of the first questions Elizabeth Barret asks in the film's narration is, "As someone who lives in the community I document, what can I learn from this story?"

The story is the controversial murder of Canadian filmmaker, Hugh O'Connor, by Letcher County landowner, Hobart Ison in 1967. Ison was subsequently sentenced to 10 years for the crime, and paroled after one (in accordance with standard sentencing practices at the time).

She asks, "what are the storyteller's responsibilities... in a place inundated with picture takers?"

The film is largely autobiographical, in that Barret grew up as a middle-class teen in nearby Hazard.

She adds, "To Hobart Ison, Hugh O'Connor was a stranger with a camera. Here in this place, I became a neighbor, a wife, and a mother with a camera."

Footage from the War on Poverty is interspersed with enlightening interviews which include Anne Caudill (widow of Harry M. Caudill, author of Night Comes to the Cumberlands), local media, surviving relatives of Hobart Ison and Hugh O'Connor, and colleagues of Hugh O'Connor.

Pursuing the project, she says what she "learned was that the issue of portrayal is a very contemporary issue, and as I started doing a film about a murder that took place during the era of the war on poverty, I felt that it had natural relevance to me as a filmmaker. But I was surprised at how current the topics are today, within the conflicts of these two men."

In discussing today's "media saturated society," she adds that "people could relate very much to the basis for this story. The murder itself became a springboard for looking at this issue of image-making."

When the project began to take shape for her and her colleagues at Appalshop, she said the first people who were willing to go on record were "members of the filmmaking community."

Although locals were slower to come around, she said ultimately "there was this history of Appalshop in Letcher County... people knew my films and they knew me."

Though she's quick to add, "It isn't black and white. [It] can't be simplified as outsiders and insiders."

The film is almost an open forum, with nearly all the principals getting a chance to apply their perspectives.

She has a great deal to say about the "role of media in public policy" and acknowledges that even though "these images, these film stories, these TV crews' footage [might have been] powerful weapons in the war on poverty, what happens with all the unintended repercussions... when people have been marginalized?"

That's a question that had no real answers then, and it has no definitive answers now.

As for "what caused Hobart to go down there and deal with this in this way - it was never one single thing... There is no one single Letcher County."

"He had a life before this terrible thing, and he had one after it. People might want things another way... but the most interesting grist for the film was all this gray in between."

In Review

Rory Kennedy's American Hollow and Elizabeth Barret's Stranger with a Camera will be subjected to inevitable comparisons, but they don't actually share much beyond the common landscape of Appalachia, and a backdrop of poverty.

Kennedy presents a fairly straightforward depiction of a year in the life of the Bowling family.

Barret's piece is part history, part memoir/autobiography, part sociological/anthropological treatise. She takes a seminal event - the 1967 death of Canadian filmmaker Hugh O'Connor at the hands of Hobart Ison - and, in essence, traces the trajectory of that bullet from 1967 through today.

Measured against those descriptions, both films are successful.

Kennedy's project was not blessed with the natural and obvious storyline that Barret's was. Indeed, she admits, the "hardest thing to do is to stop filming. It's hard to end documentaries when people's lives continue."

As it is, the most discernible arc that emerges is that of the teenage Clint. He realizes that there are few options for him if he stays in the mountains, and he's full of conflict and resentment about how he'll make his way. Ultimately, he's given a "hand up" by an uncle who invites him to move to Cincinnati. He stays for a month and returns, as predicted by his relatives.

Far less compelling is the time wasted on his doomed teen romance, which mostly consists of a stream of profanities structured around protestations about his knowledge of the nature of "luv." Though Kennedy is clear that viewers have generally cited Clint as their favorite part of the documentary, his star-crossed romance mostly feels like a badly rendered John Hughes for jeeters (most embarrassing is a moment where he and his sweetheart "frolic" for the camera, tossing flower petals at each other).

The documentary is also nicely scored by Bill Frisell (of Seattle), who composed original, traditional style music for the project. Asked if the Bowlings actually listened to that fare (when bluegrass is often more popular among urban academics than it is among people who live in the hills and hollows and are the actual descendants of that tradition - where now Garth Brooks can still somehow be piped to the most seemingly isolated outposts), Kennedy said she didn't encounter much music at all while there, other than Iree Bowling's predilection for religious fare.

Since many have gone on record as being insulted by Kennedy's goal of providing "a voice" for the underserved ("noblesse oblige" as it was characterized in the Washington Post), Elizabeth Barret and Judi Jenning's Appalshop project provides an interesting juxtaposition of the region from the inside out.

With decidedly different ambitions, Barret's Stranger with a Camera wasn't a year in the life of a family - it was more like 40 years in the life of a community.

The film has a traditional Appalshop/KET-ish feel - interviews, voiceover narration, token famous person reading from famous work (in this case, Calvin Trillin reads from his 1969 New Yorker article) and historical footage - all utilized well in the service of this naturally compelling narrative.

The clips from the 60s (including Christmas in Appalachia) which give younger generations a chance to actually view the footage of Charles Kuralt intoning, "This is the road... if you can call it that..." add an incredibly vital perspective, as do all the scenes from The War on Poverty which so many from the region found insulting and humiliating.

It should also be made clear, however, that the film never attempts to rationalize Hobart Ison shooting filmmaker Hugh O'Connor, regardless of how justifiably riled he might or might not have been about decades of stereotyping.

Though again, it isn't fair to compare the two works, the timing makes it inevitable. UK's series-which will afford viewers an opportunity to see the films virtually back to back, and to hear from the filmmakers directly-is certain to generate a provocative, illustrative discussion for the community. -RR

See for Yourself

On March 28, Stranger with a Camera, by filmmakers Elizabeth Barret and Judi Jennings, both of Eastern Kentucky's Appalshop, will be shown at 7 p.m., William T. Young Library auditorium. (It will also air as part of PBS's POV series in July.)

Independent filmmaker Rory Kennedy will present her latest work, American Hollow, at 7 p.m. March 29 in the University of Kentucky William T. Young Library auditorium. The event is part of the University's month long series of documentary viewings of works featuring the Appalachian and African-American experience. The film is the last in a five-film series titled "Documentary: Technique, Politics, Vision," sponsored by the UK Department of Educational Policy Studies and Evaluation and the UK Appalachian Studies Program.

"We organized this series to help reflect on the politics of representation and to take a critical look at documentary reinterpretation of actual circumstances," said Dwight Billings, UK sociology professor and associate director of the UK Appalachian Center. "We also look at how important intellectuals are portrayed, as well as the recovery of hidden voices."

And March 30 -April 5 the University will host a photo exhibit, American Hollow, from the book of the same title by Rory Kennedy and prefaced by Robert Coles, President's Room, UK Singletary Center for the Arts. Photography for the book was by Steve Lehman, and interviews were conducted by Mark Bailey (Kennedy's husband).

All events are free and open to the public. For more information on the events, contact Dwight Billings at billing@pop.uky.edu or 606-257-4412 or Richard Angelo of UK Educational Policy Studies and Evaluation at rmange00@ukcc.uky.edu or 606-257-3993.