The new films tells a compelling tale about kids picking on kids, but will it have a lasting impact?
Bully may go down in history for the controversy over its MPAA rating, though, of course, its makers were hoping for a different kind of legacy. A highly personal project from writer/director Lee Hirsch about the effects of bullying, it's meant as both a comfort to the bullied and a call to action. But with the decision to release the film unrated, after a failed attempt to appeal to the MPAA to reduce the rating from R to PG-13, the movie will be shut out of a number of major chains (though Regal and AMC are making exceptions). That's a shame, because the track record for activist documentaries has shown that for these films to really endure, they need to make their impact early and often.
Think, for a moment, of the most memorable documentaries ever made, the ones that have survived years—even decades—without their subjects lessening in relevance or interest. Highly focused examinations of people, places, and lifestyles that are foreign but fascinating to most audiences would dominate that list, especially films with particularly distinctive styles. The collected works of the Maysles Brothers, Errol Morris, Fredrick Wiseman, and Werner Herzog would all be up there, along with consistently exalted movies like Sherman's March, Hoop Dreams, and Koyaanisqatsi, or classic music and sports docs like Woodstock, The Last Waltz, and When We Were Kings.
What nearly all of those films have in common is the fact that they aren't really tied to a cause and don't try to call the viewer to action. Sure, there are great political and social awareness documentaries that have stood the test of time—Harlan County, USA, or Hearts and Minds—but these aren't specifically activist works. Unlike, say, An Inconvenient Truth, these films don't try to get the viewer to do anything.
Activist documentaries that do linger in the memory beyond their initial release are rather few and far between. The aforementioned Al Gore/Davis Guggenheim climate change film is still talked about, even if it seems mostly to come up as a dismissive offhand political reference point for those arguing against the contentions of climate scientists.
Then there's the case of Michael Moore. Surely films like Roger & Me, Bowling for Columbine, and Fahrenheit 9/11 continue to exist in the collective movie-going conscience. But Moore's reputation can get in the way when thinking about him. While his life and public appearances are strongly geared towards activism, those films, though having a distinctive political point of view, are largely examinations of existing or past sociopolitical issues. Columbine is perhaps the most misconstrued, often thought of as a strident anti-gun screed when it's nothing of the sort: It raises more questions about our national character than it does try to drive political action.
Consider, on the other hand, the film of Moore's that is arguably the most specifically designed to initiate change: Sicko. Given the primacy of the national debate over health care during the past few years, this film would seem an obvious reference and rallying point for supporters of a single-payer system. Yet it seems to have quickly slipped out of the conversation in ways that his earlier films have not, demonstrating that even if a documentary is high-profile and highly controversial, advocacy can seriously limit the length of its reach.