Concerto for Humanity

Concerto for Humanity is a maximalist piece of archival documentary filmmaking. Directed with an unwavering social confidence by Stacey Stone (who is also the film’s editor – a logical dual-role since this project is almost purely a work of editorial contexts working in tandem with music and the spoken word). The setup is an immediately transfixing one: what if we placed 16mm footage from the 1930s alongside contemporary digital imagery; or, as the voiceover puts it, what if this individual with the black-and-white camera woke up in today’s world? What kind of world would he see? This movie answers that question through unrelenting means and to an unambiguously grim result. It’s a work of the avant-garde, made by an artist who refuses to let the audience off easy. We’re made to sit through some horrific things during the twelve-minute runtime. Although it leaves one with some questions regarding the project’s overall statement – not in terms of what it’s showing us and the very obvious implications of the editing, but more whether these images will continue to engage the mind of the viewer after the film is over. How open-ended and explorative actually is this piece of video-journalism?

From beginning to end, what the audience is exposed to is deeply powerful. And the entire experiment is, in many ways, a success when you consider the fact that the images gather further meaning – often more upsetting meaning – when positioned in conjunction with this lovely 30s footage – even when the 30s footage is also depicting something negative. In terms of the modern, the AI content is utterly stomach-turning in a manner which is intentional and confrontational, and it doesn’t get more harrowing than captured moments of police brutality and war. What unfortunately lets these visual aspects down, though, is the decision to include expository voiceover in the film. That’s by no means an indictment of the vocal performance by Colin Cassidy (which is strong), but more an observation that the images would hold a great deal more potency if they were left to their own wordless faculties.

Thus, to answer the question I posed earlier in this review: explorative – very. Open-ended – absolutely not. The individuals who produced this movie surely meant for the messaging’s solidity. And the intention to depict our world in all its ugly detail is always an admirable one (and something that the moving image does better than any other form of media). However, the fact remains that these ideas perhaps lack nuance; the implicit and purely visual quality that would elevate Concerto for Humanity to the artistically transcendent heights that the title may lead the viewer to anticipate. But it’s a documentary that evokes such masterworks as Koyaanisqatsi – especially when you realise that the music featured was written specifically for the film (by Larry Tuttle), much like Philip Glass’ instantly iconic compositions for the 1982 experimental classic. To witness something so unashamedly provocative is always an exciting experience for a critic. And despite my misgivings, the editorial and political ambition makes this a positive contribution to both the documentary and art film scene.