MIFF Review: I Didn’t See You There
Reid Davenport’s documentary invites you to accompany him on his day to day as a disabled filmmaker living in Oakland. However, the film’s uniqueness comes from his deliberate choice to (almost) never be seen in frame. With modern cameras having shrunk over the past decade, Davenport finally sits you right in the chair with him. Putting us in the position and ultimately allowing us to share the feeling of being “looked at, but not seen.”
This limited point of view situates the viewer either at eye or chair height with Davenport to such great effect that I was left slightly sick while watching the more motion heavy scenes (in a good way?). The film is less an investigative documentary and more a poetic visual essay. Davenport uses the circus tent outside his apartment, as well as the idea of the freak show, as a thematic knot that ties everything together. As he travels back and forth from Oakland to his hometown in Bethel, we hear him reflect on freak shows, their inhabitants, and how their eventual dismantlement did little to curb our fascination with spectating oddities that continues to rear its ugly head today. However, Davenport doesn’t give himself any leeway either. At one point, he even questions whether his previous works, which featured him as the star as well, also contributed to disabled people being placed in front of the looking glass and “politicised”.
Having seen the film twice now, I can safely say that Davenport has nothing to worry about. When it comes to his own work, what we see and deal with alongside him is enough to make anyone go mad. It starts off with the minor transgressions. Cars parked on or barreling through pedestrian crossings; people asking where Davenport needs to go, despite him literally sitting still and watching traffic pass by; and random stares from strangers across the street. However, his worst interactions come from his experiences with transportation. People “touch” him as he deboards the plane, regardless of his ability to get in the chair himself. Additionally, he’s accosted for his name and boarding pass well past the point where it would be appropriate.
The absolute highlight of his public transport woes comes when, approaching the bus, he’s asked by the driver to “slow down”, and buckled in backwards rather rudely; something he’s never been expected to do before. After the bus driver has successfully caused a scene, we, along with Davenport, are subjected to gawking by the other passengers. We are held captive by their gaze for what seems an eternity. I too have had the experience of being manhandled by society. But despite having Cerebral Palsy myself, throughout the film I couldn’t help but appreciate Davenport’s different position as a wheelchair user. His willingness to choose such vulnerable moments to share with us, to display incidents so mortifying, illustrates his boldness as a filmmaker.
It’s not all doom and gloom though. He also chooses the more mellow moments of his life. Moments with his family back home as well as an outing with a close friend. After all, he’s anything but a “loner”. It’s clear from the conversations with his mother and the general peaceful atmosphere that he would love to stay in Bethel. But like his dog pawing at the backdoor, Bethel is a physical “purgatory” that leaves him dependent on others. The town, with its P.T. Barnum statue erected during Davenport’s absence, has chosen to make itself inaccessible to the independent disabled. Therefore, an “ethical purgatory” with more accessible transport is the best option for his career. Davenport has been forced to move, no matter how much it hurts him emotionally.
While the vision for I Didn’t See You There (2022) is an ambitious and poetic film, its editing does hold it back. While most of the snapshots provided are beautiful, the momentum feels sporadic at times. I would suddenly find myself jolted when we’d go from dreams about learning guitar to barreling down the street with an intense soundtrack. And at the very end, when Davenport enters a dark alleyway, presumably to disappear in a cut or fade to black, he turns back around, only for the title card to arrive too late.
Nevertheless, Davenport has done an excellent job putting us in his shoes in such a short amount of time. His permission for us to be vulnerable, joyous and meditative alongside him was a treat I won’t soon forget!
Thanks to the Melbourne University Film Society for publishing.
