Trouble the Water
Directed by Carl Deal & Tia Lessin
at the IFC Center
The best—and most obvious—difference between the handheld voyeurism in Trouble the Water, Carl Deal and Tia Lessin’s superb documentary on the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, and recent shaky-cam horror flicks like Cloverfield and Diary of the Dead, is that the former is infused with deeply heartfelt sentiments.
Unlike the latter’s fictional jabs at DIY verité style, Kimberly and Scott Roberts, the subjects of the documentary, prove their humanity by showing what became of their lives after the monstrous hurricane struck. The footage of them proudly proclaims, “I’m still here.” Trouble the Water was not made for the sake of showing “how it all went down,” as Hud mumbles vacuously in the Cloverfield trailer—but to be a beacon of hope.
Essentials differences aside, Trouble the Water could just as easily be a disaster movie for all of its frighteningly unreal images of demolished buildings and scurrying military units (“This is like a movie, man,” Scott says as if on cue). It’s not, however, because the film’s real monster is the faceless, crippling inaction that settled in after Katrina. Filmmakers Deal and Lessin hit the streets to reveal the horrifying stagnation that turned New Orleans’ Ninth Ward into a colossal fuck-up: one that, to this day, as the film’s perfunctory but chilling afterword reminds us, remains a glaring open wound.
The Robertses inevitably indulge their justified feeling of outrage and shakes their fists at the inexplicable inactivity that crippled FEMA—but only momentarily. They use that anger as a springboard to showcase the newfound sense of community that arose not in spite of but because of Katrina.
As preachy as it sounds, Kimberly Roberts firmly believes in the resilience of the neighborhood that the disaster created and its ability to wake up the officials that were shamefully unable to do their part. That kind of steadfast faith is apparent throughout Trouble the Water, making it an impressive document of devotion that miraculously stems from still-festering pain.
Directed by Carl Deal & Tia Lessin
at the IFC Center
The best—and most obvious—difference between the handheld voyeurism in Trouble the Water, Carl Deal and Tia Lessin’s superb documentary on the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, and recent shaky-cam horror flicks like Cloverfield and Diary of the Dead, is that the former is infused with deeply heartfelt sentiments.
Unlike the latter’s fictional jabs at DIY verité style, Kimberly and Scott Roberts, the subjects of the documentary, prove their humanity by showing what became of their lives after the monstrous hurricane struck. The footage of them proudly proclaims, “I’m still here.” Trouble the Water was not made for the sake of showing “how it all went down,” as Hud mumbles vacuously in the Cloverfield trailer—but to be a beacon of hope.
Essentials differences aside, Trouble the Water could just as easily be a disaster movie for all of its frighteningly unreal images of demolished buildings and scurrying military units (“This is like a movie, man,” Scott says as if on cue). It’s not, however, because the film’s real monster is the faceless, crippling inaction that settled in after Katrina. Filmmakers Deal and Lessin hit the streets to reveal the horrifying stagnation that turned New Orleans’ Ninth Ward into a colossal fuck-up: one that, to this day, as the film’s perfunctory but chilling afterword reminds us, remains a glaring open wound.
The Robertses inevitably indulge their justified feeling of outrage and shakes their fists at the inexplicable inactivity that crippled FEMA—but only momentarily. They use that anger as a springboard to showcase the newfound sense of community that arose not in spite of but because of Katrina.
As preachy as it sounds, Kimberly Roberts firmly believes in the resilience of the neighborhood that the disaster created and its ability to wake up the officials that were shamefully unable to do their part. That kind of steadfast faith is apparent throughout Trouble the Water, making it an impressive document of devotion that miraculously stems from still-festering pain.
