Audient Authentic: On the Bowery

This is the sixth in my series Audient Authentic, in which I watch classic (pre-1990) documentaries I have not seen, in chronological order.

On the Bowery represents a slight change in the direction of this series in that it is not actually a documentary.

We don't think of documentaries as being staged, or if they are, there is a specific purpose behind staging that keeps it within the realm of non-fiction.

Lionel Rogosin's 1956 film is definitely, without a doubt staged, or at least, featuring "scripted" (partially improvised) dialogue occurring within a mostly natural setting. It's a movie about indigent men on the Bowery (the contemporary name for what is now called Skid Row in New York), and takes place mostly in the bars, sidewalks and flophouses in which they spend their time. The actors are playing themselves, using their real names.

Just when I hesitated about whether this was really an appropriate entry in this series, I noted that the world at that time gave this film its documentary stamp of approval. It was nominated by the Academy as Best Documentary Feature, and it won the top documentary award at the Venice Film Festival. The category is best described, I suppose, as "docufiction."

I would have become aware of the film when it had a BluRay release in 2012. At the time I thought it might have been a recovered film, or something of that nature, but according to Wikipedia, no, that was just a BluRay release. The poster I've chosen is obviously from that release, not something that was designed back in the 1950s. And though I liked the other available posters, this one spoke to me the most.

On the Bowery was also selected for preservation by the National Film Registry as a work that was "culturally, historically or aesthetically significant." And no doubt it was. But that does not mean it particularly connected with me, unfortunately.

I do think there's something quite profound about the shots Rogosin captures of actual homeless people sprawled across the sidewalks and pushing around their pushcarts. That would have been a radical project in 1956, to document that. I suppose that's the "docu" part of the "docufiction" that speaks to me as significant.

The "fiction" part was harder to find as much value in. A couple main characters go through a couple days of hard drinking, scrounging for money, and telling each other war stories in and outside bars. They are given and reject opportunities through the type of poor willpower that dropped them from grace to begin with. They flirt with types of recovery and then fall back off the wagon.

The biggest difficulty, I think, with really becoming engaged in their stories was that I was having trouble hearing them. I reckon the sound mix was pretty bad to begin with, and then the copy I watched on YouTube just drove the dialogue even further into the background noise. To make matters worse, there were Spanish subtitles on the screen. Instead of really focusing on the dialogue, I found myself kind of reminding myself of my lost Spanish, making matches between the English and Spanish words in the hopes of getting some synapses in my brain to start firing again.

I don't think On the Bowery was ever intended primarily to be some kind of great drama. These are not actors, but rather, really downtrodden men who happened to be able to hit their marks and string together some lines of dialogue in a credible fashion. I wish Rogosin had just opted to go full documentary and had interviewed the people, instead of having them try to execute some kind of fairly paltry narrative. As it is, it feels kind of like we're just skating around their issues rather than facing them head on.

That said, On the Bowery has been praised for its depiction of alcoholism, which has been a major factor in people becoming homeless since homelessness was first identified as a thing. I do think the way these men keep getting a small amount of money, and then keep blowing it in a bar, showcases a sad truth of why it's so difficult to make effective strides toward curbing homelessness.

In July, as the American summer and the Australian winter really take hold, I will move on to the 1960s in my steady creep toward 1990.