纪录片自媒体解说素材-新闻动态参考-“ bayou犯罪”评论：民权倡导者批评吉姆·克劳时代的最后一次喘息/‘A Crime on the Bayou’ Review: Civil Rights Advocate Critiques a Last Gasp of the Jim Crow Era
https://cdn.6867.top:6867/A1A/hddoc/news/2022/07/0508/24582i44np4vyjt.jpg“ bayou犯罪”评论：民权倡导者批评吉姆·克劳时代的最后一次喘息
‘A Crime on the Bayou’ Review: Civil Rights Advocate Critiques a Last Gasp of the Jim Crow Era
最近的塔尔萨种族大屠杀一百周年以许多新的纪录片特征和其他贡品为特征，在很大程度上造成了许多新的纪录片，因为这样的重大事件已经从美国历史上成功地删除了。南希·布里斯基（Nancy Buirski）的“ bayou犯罪”显示了策划近50年的变化，重点是另一个出于严重的种族动机不公正现象，而远没有被埋葬，而是一路大声地战斗到最高法院。几位主要参与者仍活着接受采访，这部纪录片对本案对迫使南方各州的长期影响付出了生动的证词，尽管尽管有新的联邦法律，迫使南方州却将他们束缚在吉姆·克劳时代。但是在某些方面，这部电影的最大优势是使用档案材料。他们编织在一起，以提供一种异常明显的感觉，即需要克服民权运动需要克服多少深度的制度和文化偏见才能实现真正的进展。喊！Studios将于6月18日向有限的剧院发布了这份令人着迷，美味的文件。在1966年，加里·邓肯（Gary Duncan）是一名19岁的渔夫，在路易斯安那州的飓风式斑块上有妻子和新生儿教区，延伸到墨西哥湾。那个十月的一个下午，他干预了白人学生和当地一所学校外的两个年轻亲戚之间的对峙。在成功拨打对抗的同时，他短暂地将手放在了一个白人青年的肘部。那个少年原来是该地区的国王的儿子，前法官莱安德·佩雷斯（Leander Perez现在执行。第二天，他的后代声称自己被拍打了，邓肯被指控“残酷对少年”。当那不能坚持下去时，邓肯只是被一次可疑的新指控反复被捕，这是使南方黑人“排队”的典型手段。（律师注意他们的客户也因“使用佛罗里达语言”等犯罪而被拘留，或者只是看上去太好了。 “榜样”寻求并让他摆脱困境。高级佩雷斯（Perez）自1924年以来就用铁拳统治了该地区，他是一位奇特的刻板政治老板，非常愿意在国家舞台上播放他的反黑人，反犹太的观点。 （他看到他在电视的“射击线”上与威廉·巴克利（William F.被记住是事实上的独裁统治。为了获得法律代表，邓肯不得不去新奥尔良，北诺德·理查德·B·索博尔（Northerner Richard B.他们的战斗结束了三个不同的案件，两起对佩雷斯本人提出了。一个人以索博为原告 - 自从佩雷斯不可避免地利用他对当地执法部门和司法机构的全部控制权使律师以虚假的指控被捕。就美国最高法院而言。在此过程（花了几年的时间）中，两个人成为了终身的朋友。佩雷斯（Perez）于1969年因心力衰竭去世。几年后，一篇文字后记告知，发现他从政府资金中将约8000万美元的石油特许权使用费汇入了自己的口袋。 （他的继承人被起诉是为了恢复原状。）这是一个丰富多彩的故事，其中心人物加里·邓肯（Gary Duncan）给人以对比的安静，坚强的印象。尽管如此，他还是通过解释在该地区长大的“您留在黑人社区”而设定了舞台，因为“我们没有权利”- 没有任何经验反对骚扰，暴力和偏见，这根本没有特殊的理由可能会施加。他们的礼貌抗议活动受到愤怒的白暴徒的欢迎。所有这些都创造了一个环境，我们感到，而不仅仅是被告知，正如一位民权律师所说的那样，南方的大部分地区是一个“极权国家”，任意和过度的惩罚性手段使下阶级的阶级“受到控制”。有一些抒情主义。 Buirski对位置的视觉唤起，以及偶尔在其结构设备中出现自命不凡的风险（分为一章带有托尔斯泰的报价等）。音乐主管道格·伯恩海姆（Doug Bernheim）在切特·贝克（Chet Baker）和迈尔斯·戴维斯（Miles Davis）上选择了较重的曲目，有时是有点鼻子。键入模板，以获取更大气和有趣的东西。Buirski充分利用语音演员来阅读审判程序的成绩单。因此，场景重新制定了“比小说”领土的边缘，强调了司法系统对非裔美国人的可笑程度。
The recent centenary of the Tulsa Race Massacre, which was marked by a number of new documentary features among other tributes, struck many in large part because such a major event had been so successfully erased from U.S. history. Nancy Buirski’s “A Crime on the Bayou” shows the change it took nearly 50 more years to orchestrate, focusing on another instance of grave racially motivated injustice that, far from being buried, instead was loudly fought all the way to the Supreme Court.
With several major participants still alive to be interviewed, the documentary pays vivid testimony to the long-term impact this case had in forcing Southern states out of a Jim Crow era they’d clung to despite new federal laws. But in some ways, the film’s biggest strength is its use of archival materials. They’re woven together to provide an unusually palpable sense of just how much deeply-ingrained institutional and cultural bias needed to be overcome for the civil rights movement to make real headway. Shout! Studios is releasing this engrossing, flavorful document to limited theaters on June 18.
In 1966, Gary Duncan was a 19-year-old fisherman with a wife and newborn in Louisiana’s hurricane-vulnerable Plaquesmines Parish, which extends into the Gulf of Mexico. One afternoon that October, he intervened in a standoff between white students and two of his younger relatives outside a local school. While successfully dialing down the confrontation, he briefly put his hand on the elbow of one white youth.
That teenager turned out to be the son of the area’s kingpin, former judge Leander Perez, who’d bitterly resisted the school integration that federal mandates were now enforcing. The next day, his offspring claimed he’d been slapped, and Duncan was charged with “cruelty to a juvenile.” When that couldn’t stick, Duncan was simply arrested repeatedly on one dubious new charge after another — a typical means then of keeping Southern Blacks “in line.” (Lawyers note that clients of theirs were also taken into custody for crimes like “using florid language,” or for simply looking too well-dressed.) Backed by his infuriated mother, however, Gary refused to plead guilty, even when assured doing so would provide the “example” sought and let him off the hook.
The senior Perez, who’d ruled the area with an iron fist since 1924, was an outlandishly stereotypical political boss quite willing to air his anti-Black, antisemitic views on the national stage. (He’s seen discussing the “fact” of African Americans’ innate immorality with William F. Buckley Jr. on TV’s “Firing Line,” then heard elsewhere claiming their brains cannot develop due to “the thickness of the cranium.”) His fiefdom is remembered as a de facto dictatorship. To get legal representation, Duncan had to go to New Orleans, where northerner Richard B. Sobol had relocated in order to dedicate himself full-time to the civil rights advocacy begun on a summer-vacation volunteer basis.
Their fight wound up encompassing three different cases, two lodged against Perez himself. One had Sobol as the plaintiff — since Perez inevitably used his total control of local law enforcement and judiciary to have the lawyer arrested on bogus charges at one point.
This was precisely the kind of methodical racist intimidation that advocate and client sought to end in pursuing matters as far as the U.S. Supreme Court. In the process (which took several years), the two men became friends for life. Perez died of heart failure in 1969. Some years later, a text postscript informs, it was discovered he’d funneled some $80 million in oil royalties from government funds into his own pockets. (His heirs were sued for restitution.)
It’s a colorful story whose central figure, Gary Duncan, makes a contrastingly quiet, stoic impression. Still, he sets the stage by explaining that growing up in the area, “You stayed in your Black community” because “we didn’t have no rights” — there was no recourse against harassment, violence and prejudice that might be exerted for no special reason at all.
Buirski amplifies that notion effectively by using archival stills and footage not directly related to the case, showing southern Blacks manhandled by police, in otherwise all-white courtrooms, their polite protests greeted by furious white mobs. All this creates a context in which we feel rather than just being told that, as one civil rights lawyer puts it, much of the South then was a “totalitarian nation” where arbitrary and excessive punitive means kept underclasses “controlled.”
There’s some lyricism to Buirski’s visual evocation of place, as well as an occasional risk of pretentiousness in its structural devices (chaptered segments with quotes from Tolstoy, etc.). Music supervisor Doug Bernheim’s choice of preexisting tracks, heavy on Chet Baker and Miles Davis, are sometimes a little on-the-nose.
But these are minor stylistic quibbles in a documentary that transcends a familiar PBS-type template for something more atmospheric and interesting. Buirski makes good use of voice actors to read transcripts from trial proceedings. Scenes thus re-enacted edge toward “stranger than fiction” territory, underlining how ludicrously stacked against African Americans the justice system was.
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感谢大佬分享。我又来学习了~ 谢谢楼主分享，发现宝藏了。 太好了，终于找到宝藏论坛了！
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