Phyllis and Harold

Phyllis and Harold

85 Minutes








Last year, just before our bi-annual visit to my see my relatives in Florida, my wife had the idea to record the stories of my only living grandmother. My wife would then use the audio recording of these tales of my grandmother's growing up Jewish in the Bronx, her marriage to my grandfather, her children and her retirement to Florida to create a podcast to distribute among my relatives. And despite her tales of my great-grandfather escaping the Cossacks in Russia and living to be over 100 or the time she was splattered with shit when a sewage main burst, I never once considered playing the audio for anyone outside the family.

I am a firm believer that every human being has a compelling story to tell. But whether that story should be the focus of a documentary is another question. Listening to my grandmother talk about my mother as a child was definitely a cathartic experience for me, but those stories of concussions and torn drapes would have no bearing on anyone who does not know my mother. It is just not a story extraordinary enough.

In recent documentaries such as October Country, The Horse Boy and even feature length, fictional "reminiscences" like Adventureland, we have been given access to stories that are definitely important to the filmmaker. Yet while The Horse Boy smacked of smug satisfaction and, dare I say, misuse of mental illness, Adventureland had laughs and October Country interesting camerawork that helped convey a personal story in a way that was visually and emotionally pleasing for those not directly involved. Unfortunately, Cindy Kleine's Phyllis and Harold, a documentary account of her parents' rocky marriage, is devoid of any qualities that could elevate the film above anything more than a well-crafted home video.

Phyllis and Harold is a gentle film that does nothing to convey to the audience Kleine's impetus to put out a film about this insignificant pair and the reasons why they remained married for nearly 60 years. Featuring endless, locked-in close-ups of both Phyllis and Harold, Kleine uses interviews, letters and archival footage to paint the portrait of an unhappy marriage rife with betrayal, lies and love affairs.

After 40 minutes, I understood the thrust of the film and as Kleine strived to discover the true root of her parents, I realized the experience would never be as revelatory or important not only to me, but to anyone not related to the eponymous protagonists. To make matters worse, Kleine even interrupts the proceedings by looking directly into the camera and solemnly explaining what impact the film has had on her. Not only should the film itself convey this sense of catharsis without the confessional, but the appearance of Kleine destroys any sort of fluidity the film attempts to achieve.

I am sure Phyllis and Harold was an important, defining experience for Kleine and her family. Recently I have been questioning the significance of analogous documentaries as technology makes it easier for any budding filmmaker to create something on a laptop. However, a film made in a similar vein that continues to haunt me is Tarnation. In his 2003 film, Jonathan Caouette somehow made a totally narcissistic project about his homosexuality and his mentally ill mother totally work using the same tricks as Kleine. Yet in Caouette's cases, not only were the subjects infinitely more interesting than Phyllis and Harold, there was a certain bravado that clearly did not poke into Kleine's film. I hope someone could share in Kleine's catharsis while watching Phyllis and Harold. I have my own Jewish grandmother to deal with.

by David Harris