Auschwitz, 1987.
Whenever I’m asked to reveal my “favorite” film ― and be aware this happens rarely, because everyone who knows me understands that I’ve never been obsessed by cinema (as opposed to music and books) ― I find it difficult to answer the question.
This doesn’t owe to a paucity of viewing opportunities, as I’ve sat through my share of wretched movies, but rather lingering uncertainty about the meaning of the word “favorite.” and how we ever arrive at a “favorite” anything.
A better question to ask: “Roger, what are your most influential films?”
Thankfully, documentaries are eligible, or else the list would be quite brief: Reds, Animal House, maybe Sammy and Rosie Get Laid. Claude Lanzmann’s 1985 documentary Shoah ranks at or near the top of my influences list; a film this grueling could never be considered “favored” in the customary context of pleasurable entertainment.
Shoah is an oral history of the Holocaust that runs almost ten hours and demands supreme effort on the part of the viewer, a commitment extending somewhat beyond the typically vapid Hollywood blockbuster on date night.
That first experience with Shoah came in the spring of 1988. I’d been in Europe the previous year when the film was shown on public television (see...
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