In
its very nature, cinema has the uncanny ability to capture life as it is. Though the picture it leaves us with might be
disturbing, cinema, and most especially documentary, has the capacity to help
the audience see things anew throughout the eyes of an artist or activist.
In a narrative documentary like Born into Brothels, the
audience/spectator is taken into the belly of the beast of the issue; because
honestly, you can’t look away from children who are suffering or in danger. The moving and stationary pictures, captured
in the film by both the filmmaker and the children ,highlight their plight,
while the voice over brings meaning to the messages.
A documentary like Born Into Brothels functions within the
realm of narrative storytelling. It first proposes a problem and then works to
resolve the problem. Nichols
discusses this problem/solution structure in his writing on pages 85-86. He elaborates on narrative storytelling,
stating that: "narrative welcomes suspense or delay where complications
can mount and anticipation grow.” (132) The
opening sequence of Born into Brothels
certainly caches the audience attention.
Almost
exposé-like, the audience feels as though they are being led into
forbidden territory, where the camera and the audience alike are not
allowed. Further, the film personifies
the elements of argument and refutation in the characters (or social actors) of
the photographer/filmmaker, the unyielding family members of some of the children,
and the government constraints respectively.
While she presents that the only way to free the children from a
repetitive life of sex and crime is an education at the boarding school, it
seems there are a mountain of obstacles stuck in the way, preventing her from
resolving the issue.
Nichols
notes that the expository mode “addresses the viewer directly, with titles or
voices that propose a perspective or advance an argument.” (pg. 167) The
voice over commentary gives an “informing logic” accompanied by demonstrative
visual images. Amid the myriad of visual
images repeated in Born into Brothels,
it is interesting and perplexing to me that I continue to go back to the little
girl, scrubbing out a pot on the floor with what looks like a newspaper. While these images
are powerful in themselves, peppered throughout the film are clarification of
facts, a human and intimate look at each child (effectively “adding flesh to
fact”), personalizing their individual narrative, and a clear summation of each
of their stories up to this point.
Even
now, nearly a week later, this film has caused a successful emotional response
in me as a viewer. I’m still angry about the aunt who wouldn’t let her niece go
to school. I have told my students, my
roommates, even my parents about the film. Perhaps it is that we were so
effectively persuaded to side with the most dominate voice we heard, that of Zana
Briski, that her voice established (more so than in a
fiction film) an air of authenticity; a truth, that couldn’t be ignored.




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