Daddy Tran: A Life in 3D

I've been thinking about what to write about Daddy Tran: A Life in 3D, because it's an interesting case study in the family-film subgenre.

Daddy Tran - cinematographer John Tran's father, Hai - is a character: a diminutive Vietnamese immigrant with a list of obsessions the length of your arm, the biggest of which is photography. He was a professional photographer in North Vietnam, until the post-Vietnam-War situation became untenable and he fled with his wife and three young children, in a leaky boat, through pirate-infested waters. The family eventually settled in Calgary, where Daddy Tran worked in a photo lab and spent every available cent on used cameras, to the consternation of his long-suffering wife. Eventually, he opened a used-camera store, which was a local institution until it closed last year, a victim of the digital revolution. Now retired, Tran spends all his time taking 3D photographs - an odd format that is hard to convey in film. And he haunts his children - including John, the cinematographer, who clearly made the film (with his wife, producer-director Siu Ta), not just as a tribute to a patriarch but as an attempt to come to terms with a difficult man.

The tone of the film is lighthearted - it's a lovely tribute to a man who sacrificed a lot for his family and built a good life in difficult circumstances. But it mainly skims the emotional surface until family members start to talk about Daddy Tran's fears and obsessions (the multiple locks on all the doors in the house, the need to show off his wealth), and his explosive temper. It turns out that everyone is afraid of Hai's moods and caters to his demanding behaviour. This is where the film cries out for a response from Daddy Tran himself... but it doesn't come. It feels like it took all the courage the filmmakers had to even broach the subject in the film. And it's true - I asked John about this; he said he and Siu were too afraid to bring it up with him.

But apparently something really interesting happened after Daddy Tran saw the film (at its Hot Docs premiere): he started talking more to his family about his life, his fears and his temper. Turns out, he may be open to dialogue and change after all. I'd love to see another chapter to this film - Hai Tran a year later, more reflective about his life, his family and his emotions, and dealing with the need to slow down. In Daddy Tran, he never stops moving or talking, as if he can't bear to stop and reflect. I'd like to see what comes out when he's ready.

Parent films are emotionally difficult to make. You have to be ready for anything the parent throws at you and ready to face the consequences (see Mark Wexler in Tell Them Who You Are). With a difficult parent, that's a daunting task. It only seems worth the risk if the filmmaker believes that something good will come out of the process - something more than just a watchable film.

For the Trans, good things are happening, now that the film is finished. But I wish these things were in the film.

Tell Them Who You Are

I went back to the stack of eBay DVDs tonight. The film I pulled out was Tell Them Who You Are, Mark Wexler's film about his famous father, cinematographer Haskell Wexler.

I had no idea what to expect - family films can be tricky (though they're often very popular - Mme Holiday says they're the surest way to get a sympathetic audience), and a son turning a camera on his cameraman father... well, the opportunities for disaster are endless. Especially given the fact that Haskell is infamous for fighting with his directors.

And sure enough, the car wreck starts right off the top. Mark: "Dad, can you tell us where we are right now?" Haskell: "If you don't know where the fuck we are right now, just look around. You're making a goddamn documentary." Who's the director here? And how uncomfortable is watching this film going to get?

Well, it gets more uncomfortable. Haskell wants to tell Mark something on camera, and has set up the shot he wants before calling him over. Mark doesn't like the shot. They argue about this for so long, Haskell never gets to say what he wants to say. About a third of the way into the film, you feel these two emotional cripples deserve each other. Mark, who is well over 40, comes across as a boy desperate for his father's approval, which he's emphatically not getting. Haskell? Well, it's soon clear why Milos Forman fired him from One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest - he's completely insufferable.

And yet, the more uncomfortable the film got, the more I found myself sympathizing with both of them: Mark, who was allowing himself to look like an ass, and Haskell, who had to be more aware than most documentary subjects of the vulnerable position he was putting himself in, given his difficult relationship with his son. Clearly, this process had taken a lot of guts on both their parts.

And sure enough, it does become clear that the film is a process. There's never any big emotional revelation, but by the end of the film Mark and Haskell are working together (though Haskell still won't sign a release). The clearest psychological insight comes from Jane Fonda and Tom Hayden, both of whom clearly had father issues of their own. And you finally get a sense that Mark is a lot more clever than he's let on. He's not the fuck-up he sets himself up as - messing up the audio when shooting his dad's birthday party, being schooled in filmmaking 101 on camera. He knows enough to leave his camera rolling when Haskell, off camera, forgets he's wearing a radio mic and tells his friends what he's really thinking. And Mark and editor Robert DeMaio structure the film beautifully, the revelations coming slowly, our sympathy and understanding building towards a lovely finish.

The real emotional climax of the film, though, happens in the DVD extras. Watch the film, then watch Haskell watch the film. It's worth the price of the DVD.