CAPTURING THE FRIEDMANS Rating: (out of 5 stars) Director: Andrew Jarecki Producers: Andrew Jarecki, Marc Smerling Director of Photography: Adolfo Doring Visit the IMDB page for full cast and crew

(Read the interview with director Andrew Jarecki)

Review by: Erik Nason
5/24/03

Capturing The Friedmans is an understated knockout, a haunting film that reveals its story slowly but surely, layer by layer, until we're as baffled as the people who lived it. It's one of the best documentaries I've ever seen.

The Friedman family lived in a nice Long Island town, on Picadilly Road, and until November of 1987 seemed close to normal. The dad was an award-winning teacher, the mom a homemaker, raising their three sons. From home-video footage we see them as a happy clan of goofballs. Their biggest quirk seems to be the near-constant videotaping itself...until the cops find child porn in the dad's home office.

He's been teaching computer classes to kids in that room. An investigation starts. Before long the dad is charged with over a hundred counts of child molestation and sodomy. The youngest son, 18, is charged with another 245.

Capturing The Friedmans piles mysteries upon mysteries. First off, the alleged molestation -- it seems preposterous. Groups of kids forced to engage in crazy sex games, and yet there's no evidence -- the kids kept coming, week after week, never crying to their parents or saying anything. The investigation seems a textbook example of how to elicit false reports from children.

We hear a detective, even with years of hindsight, brag about his technique in "breaking down kids' defenses." An alleged victim now says his testimony was made up to please the police. Another victim recounts games of "naked leapfrog" that he believes have psychologically scarred him, the memories so awful that he uncovered them only under hypnosis.

This madness alone would make for a stunning film, but in this one it's just the beginning. The Friedmans' lack of media savvy dooms them -- all those home videos have made them far too comfortable on camera. The public suddenly sees them as monsters, and once that first domino has fallen (once the father is revealed as, at the very least, having a lust for young boys), the family's every quirk seems further proof of evil.

There's an indelible moment when the police arrest the father, Arnold, and the youngest son, Jesse. The oldest son, David, who works as a birthday clown, arrives at his home -- or as the macho detective says, "So then the clown shows up" -- and finds the media swarming his lawn, yelling that his dad and brother are pedophiles, badgering him for comment. The police won't let him in the house and reporters won't leave him alone, so David hides his face from the cameras and voices resentment -- by pulling underwear over his head and crowing, "I'm an asshole!"

The film shows us what the six o'clock news couldn't. We see that Arnold's sons had adopted his sense of humor, and fell back on it under pressure, both as an unconscious tribute to him and because they knew no other way. We sense that the father's jokes were his way of reaching out from behind mental walls. He often seems shy and repressed, but with a camcorder in his face the eyes come alive, and his wisecracks have genuine warmth.

Director Andrew Jarecki (previously best known as the inventor of Moviefone -- consider him redeemed) lets the Friedmans reveal themselves through an amazing array of footage. There are home videos they shot in happier times, and ones they shot in the worst of times. There are modern-day interviews with key figures, most importantly David (the oldest son), Elaine (the mother) and Jesse (the youngest, he of the 245 counts). From this range of views we try in vain to figure out what really happened -- everyone's story is different, and even they don't seem sure of much. Arnold Friedman is dead now, and his survivors are still trying to piece together his life.

I have never seen a more psychologically complex film of any kind -- no fiction writer would dare try to make the story's final twists plausible. Jesse goes on trial for his alleged partnership in his father's highly dubious molestation of all those children, and the ensuing scenes are unforgettable. The last half-hour of this movie must be seen to be believed -- it must be seen, period.

Jarecki's triumph is that his wild mosaic of clips and opinions rings true even as it defies reason. Everyone's behavior -- the family, cops, everyone -- at some point seems absurd, and yet these are smart people, doing the best they can. He lets the contradictions mount, letting his subjects speak for themselves. It's a low-key approach that, given the explosive material, feels perfect. He holds us rapt on so many levels -- it's a legal thriller, a mystery, a family drama and, somehow, a tragedy that becomes a study in humor.

The Friedman men are bonded by their shared sense of fun, and defiantly cling to it long after others have used it against them. Elaine's wit seems darker and sharper though, and it costs her: the boys shun her for insufficiently standing by their dad, but she seems to have been outside their club long before trouble hit. When David condemns her as having "no sense of humor at all," it's among the cruelest of accusations -- and for this film, that's really saying something.

Capturing The Friedmans is deeply scary and sad, and yet the film all but bounces from scene to scene, carried by the oddball charm of the Friedmans themselves. David especially (who we're told is now "New York's #1 birthday clown") tells their story with a wry but still goofy wit, presumably as a tribute to the father he still loves, and because he knows no other way.

(A Magnolia Pictures release. Opens in New York on May 30, 2003 and in Los Angeles on June 13, 2003. Expands to more cities at later dates.)

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