1.Prologue
The other day on Sekai e Hasshin! SNS Eigojutsu, we featured Ex Libris: The New York Public Library, the latest film from legendary American documentarian Fredrick Wiseman. With a running time of 3 hours and 25 minutes, taking in the film makes you feel like you’ve gone to the library on a lazy afternoon and watched a diverse range of New Yorkers just go about their day. Wiseman’s films aren’t narrated and do not include interviews; there is no real plot to speak of. Yet somehow he manages to capture a sense of hope through his subjects—New Yorkers who diligently work to improve themselves, gain more understanding of the world around them, and make their communities a better place.
2.On Ex Libris: The New York Public Library
I had the opportunity to interview Ms. Carrie Welch, the chief external officer of the New York Public Library. In the film, she mainly appears in scenes that follow the leadership of the library as they discuss budget and strategy. Welch herself stresses the importance of private donations to the library. (The New York Public Library is supported by both public funds and private donations.)
In my interview, Welch thoughtfully talked about the role of a library such as the NYPL in the age of internet institutions like Google and Wikipedia. The mission of the NYPL, she said, is to “offer free access to information, to knowledge, and to opportunity", and to “bring people together and serve communities". The internet may provide access to a wealth of information, but libraries provide the human resources and tools necessary to connect dots and turn information into intelligence and wisdom. And while New York City has its share of dangerous neighborhoods and is known for its serious homeless problem, the NYPL and its 92 branch locations serve as a haven for local communities, and provide an important safety net for the city’s homeless population.
Welch also talked passionately about the NYPL’s resources, especially its Picture Collection—an extensive reference archive of prints, photographs, posters, illustrations, and more that have been meticulously categorized. In the film, a member of the staff talks about how pop art icon Andy Warhol would borrow materials from the collection to create his artwork. In theory, search engines may provide a similar resource, albeit not curated by professional eyes. Plus, determining the right keywords to find exactly what you are looking for is always a challenge—one that often leaves me frustrated. At the NYPL’s Picture Collection, knowledgeable staff are always on hand to guide you, and even if your search takes a bit of time, there are always invaluable discoveries to be made along the way.
It came as no surprise to hear that Welch often visits the Picture Collection to unwind and lose herself in the fascinating resources at hand. More than just a sanctuary of learning, libraries serve as an oasis of calm for city dwellers. As long as they continue to serve their communities, libraries will remain a central part of American society. This film made me sure of that.
3.Director Profile and Selected Filmography
Frederick Wiseman (1930〜) is an American filmmaker and documentarian. After graduating from Yale Law School, he worked as a lawyer and taught at schools such as Harvard University. He made his directorial debut with 1967’s Titicut Follies, and for more than fifty years has continued to make documentaries that explore American institutions such as hospitals, high school, police stations, and more. He is known for his “fly-on-the-wall” style, where he films on location for four to six weeks and then finds a rhythm and structure in the editing room (often going through more than 100 hours of footage). His documentaries are characterized by having no narration, no interviews, and no plot to speak of—although he subtly weaves a message into his films through the footage that he selects and sequences together.
Titicut Follies (1967)
Wiseman’s directorial debut captures the daily life of the patient-inmates at Bridgewater State Hospital for the criminally insane, a Massachusetts Correctional Institution in Bridgewater, Massachusetts. A Massachusetts Superior Court judge ordered the film to be recalled (citing privacy concerns), and it wasn’t until 1991 that another Superior Court judge allowed the film to be released to the general public.
Central Park (1989)
At the end of the 80s, two Central Park-related crimes shook America to its very core. In 1986, the “Preppie Killer" strangled and killed an 18-year-old Jennifer Levin, and in 1989, a white female jogger was raped and left in a coma in the widely publicized Central Park jogger case. This documentary captures a different side of Central Park, showing how it continued to a place of refuge for New Yorkers and a center of art and culture.
Ballet (1995)
This documentary follows the daily life and trials of dancers of the American Ballet Theater as they practice and rehearse in preparation for a European tour.
4.My Wardrobe for the Interview
Necktie by United Arrows
Gray socks by tabio
5.Epilogue: The Role of the Library in American Society
As a kid, the library was my refuge. Every week my mother would drive me in her dark green Nissan Maxima to the Santa Clara City Library, where I would borrow around ten books—usually YA novels, regular novels, science books, history books, and collections of newspaper comic strips. Although the library was a place of quietude, the passion for learning and energy in the air was palpable, and the space was filled with a mysterious power that made me feel free. When I became a teenager, I would make my way over to the library after school, do my homework, and then engage in one of my favorite pastimes: people watching.
In my interview, Carrie Welch talked about how the NYPL brings the community together—and the Santa Clara City Library of my youth was no different. Book clubs, storytime for kids, lessons and classes and arts and crafts workshops, job fairs, sustainability projects, special talks...there was always something going on. When I visited for the first time in a long while a couple of years ago, I was surprised to find that the library had started hosting its own annual comic-con (short for comic book convention).
The facilitation of lifelong learning is also an important issue on any developed society. America is notorious for its low adult literacy rates—the United States Department of Education found that there were roughly 32 million adults—one in seven—who lacked basic literacy. Being unable to read and write in a modern society has a profound effect on your daily life, whether it’s the many warning signs and notices that we come across or the instructions written on the label of medication. They are unable to make informed decisions when it comes time to vote, and often times even have difficulty understanding the ballot in front of them. In other words, they are unable to perform their civic duty as an American citizen. For that reason, many libraries across the U.S. play an indispensible role in the American democracy by providing programs to teach adults how to read and write.
*A word on the Japanese adult literacy rate. Japan is known for having one of the highest literacy rates in the world—many sources indicate that Japan has a 99% literacy rate. However, it is important to note that there haven’t been any national studies pertaining to Japanese literacy since the 1960s. There have been articles in recent years, such as this one in the weekly magazine AERA and this one on YAHOO! News that cast doubt on what the authors see as the Japanese literacy myth. In recent years, it has become commonplace to hear managers complain that young people these days don’t know how to write proper sentences, while studies have started to show that reading comprehension among school children is declining. The truth of the matter is that the current adult literacy rate in Japan is hazy at best. Because American society functions under the assumption and acknowledgment that a percentage of its citizens lack basic literacy, it provides a safety net and support to address the issue. By contrast, Japanese society operates under the assumption that all of its citizens can read and write. As a result, those who lack basic literacy are left in the dark—unacknowledged and unsupported. They face unimaginable struggle in their daily lives, unable to speak up for fear of being shamed, and unable to hold down a job, often turn to delinquency and crime. They are stuck in a downward spiral with no safety net to catch them.
Another important function of libraries, especially in a state like California, is to provide ESL programs for immigrants. Students attending local middle schools and high schools are encouraged to volunteer for such programs, and work with immigrants as well as adults who can’t read and write. In this way, schools and municipalities facilitate the spirit of community service from a young age, and libraries become the place where communities are born.
As for me, I was a film geek from a young age, and the library was a wonderful resource for free movies. As a teenager, I would rent films every week—in addition to my usual diet of books. Unlike commercial video stores whose selection was comprised mostly of blockbusters and other mindless entertainments, the library had a selection of classic films and dramas and documentaries (which also usually happened to be more than 10 years old).
The library is also where I was first exposed to John Hughes, the master of the American coming-of-age story. The first Hughes film a rented from the library was The Breakfast Club, the story of five high school students with nothing in common who are summoned to the school library on a Saturday for detention. Over the span of a day, the five reveal their struggles and deepest insecurities, and slowly come to understand one another. For an overachiever like myself, the idea of having the library all to myself—even if it was for detention—was a dream. But more than that, the film made me stop looking at my classmates in such a critical light, and helped me establish more meaningful relationships among my peers. After The Breakfast Club, I wasted no time in renting every other John Hughes film the library carried.
Over time, as I kept renting movies every week, I found myself exchanging a few words with the Latino twentysomething who was always behind the counter of the film department. We talked about how Hughes portrayed the American teenager in his films, and agreed that if we had an objection to his work, it was only that his films did not portray the racial diversity that we experienced in our own lives.
Some weeks after that, I was sitting at a desk by the film department, people watching, when the twentysomething suddenly came up to me with an excited look on his face. “There’s this film I think you should see.” That film was Fredrick Wiseman’s High School II.
