TIFF Review: The Residential Monument of ‘City Hall’
The latest undertaking of documentarian Fredrick Wiseman, City Hall, contemplates the day to day experience and broad social shifts taking place in Boston between 2018 and 2019. From the historic and vast, to the mundane and unadorned, the film pays witness to various elements of the city that are paid for by tax dollars and driven by citizens. The film watches the internal mechanisms of the major metropolitan city operate without gimmick, undistracted by the process of filmmaking in a uniquely engrossing experience. Out of this massive institutional monument springs a vision of democracy at its most functional and intentional.
Fredrick Wiseman’s decades-long career has been dedicated to documenting American institutions of all shapes and sizes since the 60s, always letting his subjects speak for themselves. His fly-on-the-wall camera is never addressed by the room, managing to enter places and capture events diegetically. Wiseman’s work is also unnarrated and self edited, arranged in a vast compilation that spends several minutes in a setting before sprawling out to the next. In its montage shots in between extended sequences, it meditates on the architecture of City Hall itself, as well as the storefronts of immigrant owned businesses around Boston. By simply placing the viewer in the room, he invites us to construct our own connective lines, bringing our own frame of reference to derive meaning. But do not mistake this passive view as apolitical; it is thoroughly on the side of the people working to help the city progress, and spotlights those driven by empathy.
Its only recurring figure is Marty Walsh, serving his second term as Mayor of Boston. And serving isn’t some vague rhetoric here, his moments on screen are all focused on his duty to his electorate. He appears at holiday celebrations, interdepartmental meetings, environmental roundtables, and a televised celebration of the Red Sox World Series victory. It is unexpectedly heartening to see a mayoral leader so focused on progressive policy and in favor of accountability and humanity. Walsh holds himself with unmistakable purpose and conscience and his addresses are always his own words, delivered in his recognizable Boston accent. He speaks honestly about his childhood battle with cancer to acknowledge the value of nurses, and opens up about his former alcohol addiction to identify with the obstacles facing veterans.
City Hall recognizes that Walsh’s Irish-American experience is only one of many diverse identities that defines Boston. We watch citizens through vignettes of courthouse marriages, seminars for Latina women in the workplace, and active construction sites. These little moments are not particularly memorable or poignant on their own, but compiled they begin to pattern an elaborate tapestry of society. Each face and voice contributes something new to the overall image. Beyond this, as Fred Rogers would put it: City Hall looks for the helpers. It champions people who work with homeless LGBT youth, 311 operators, eviction prevention teams, food bank volunteers, public transit providers, and even a DOT employee who’s willing to drop some parking tickets. We begin to identify a system of experts, functioning as supportive infrastructure for the wellbeing of the city.
There is no shouting or direct conflict at any point in the documentary, but the passion and intensity of these matters is visible beneath the surface. We can see the friction that will eventually erupt into protest and outcry in response to racism and pandemic chaos. Donald Trump’s name is like a dirty word, only ever uttered to contrast the efforts made to better the lives of vulnerable populations. The city is absolutely not utopian, these Bostonians know the struggle for racial justice intimately, and many of them have been failed before. But the film gives us hard evidence that there are real people in rooms together attempting to enact change. One of the most memorable scenes observes a Dorchester neighborhood meeting, where residents have the opportunity to engage in dialogue with a marijuana dispensary looking to open up shop. The hopeful entrepreneurs are held to the fire with rigorous lines of questioning by the people of the community. How will they account for the dispensary’s proximity to community staples? Where do they expect customers to park? Will they employ community members already affected by racially disproportionate carceral rates? We never learn the outcome of this fierce debate, but the process is the real point here.
Rounding out at 4 hours and 35 minutes, City Hall isn’t a casual encounter. It is residential, familiarizing the viewer with the personalities of the city, and the problems they face. Governing a population of almost 700,000 is not easily condensed for a commercial runtime, nor can it be summarized by a neat linear story. Wiseman deliberately details how complicated public policy is to enact, and how outcome of implementing specific programs may never manifest as expected. Within a single city budget presentation, the film swiftly summarizes how transparency must come at a forfeit of traditional entertainment paradigms. There is monotony no doubt but, as the characteristic density of Wiseman’s work demands patience and thoughtfulness from us, the effort of witnessing soon becomes its own reward.
Amidst some more flashier features and awards buzz, this is the film that I return to in my head most often, especially when consuming the news. On a national level, democracy is being smothered by the Trump administration, and power hungry capitalists are feeding off our cynicism as they pretend what they do is leadership. While it feels that the United States is slipping backwards and many fear for their hard-won rights, there is also proof that governance can be a way forward. Seeing action on a community level is a reminder that we can be one of the countless people working to improve our lives every day. We are waking up to it, and taking the wheel back. City Hall can be our city hall.
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