Offering thoughts that even blink at a "review" about something like Dear Zachary: A Letter to a Son about His Father seems wrong. Unfair. Foolish. High-horse douchebaggery. How can any critic/writer ponder the faults of a documentary that's totally rooted in the filmmaker's personal tragedy, constructed from a brutally heartfelt place, and intended for a grieving family member? Fuck out of here. All you should ever do with something like this film is experience it and allow it to move you in ways that its balance of pain and love could only execute.
Fortunately for the critical world's sake, though, Dear Zachary has received universal acclaim and adoration. I'd read about the flick all of last year, but was never able to check it out until today, courtesy of trusty Netflix. And wow, I lost count as to how many times I was on the verge of tears. Filmmaker Kurt Kuenne pulls off such a well-rounded, flawless study of a beloved friend and the aftermath of his murder at the hands of a mentally-unstable older-lady lover that you leave the flick with a "I feel like I now actually know this Andrew Bagby fella, and what a great guy he was" sensation. Kuenne travels cross country and up into Newfoundland to interview practically every person Bagby came into contact with throughout his 28-year life, and through these candid, fearless sitdowns I immediately realized just how cherished he was by everybody in his life.
And then, the way Kuenne shifts the tone from happy retrospective to a dread-soaked murder recount is so sudden, so effective. I'm opting not to dissect Dear Zachary here, simply because I think it's a film that deserves to be seen firsthand, rather than relayed from my eyes.
While watching, I was reminded of something that happened to me back after my college graduation. One of the top five most amazing things that anybody has ever done for me, and easily the greatest graduation gift a dude could ask for. I'm not currently in the mood to write the page into a tizzy with an all-encompassing "college experience" account, though, so I'll just drop you into the days surrounding graduation from St. John's University, out in Jamaica, Queens, which I really do miss a bunch. When I look back on that four-year saga, there are many people who stand out for good reasons---friends I've sadly lost touch with, friends I'm still close with, and friends I wish I could've gotten to know more.
The one person who truly left her mark, however, was Ms. Day (which I'll keep referring to her here as, to keep identities somewhat disclosed to those who don't who I'm talking about). Nearly three years of some the biggest heartbreaks I've ever experience. Some of the closest feelings to "love" that I've ever been met with. Some of the toughest life-changing, eye-opening happenings I'll ever endure. I wouldn't take back or change a thing, though. She and I grew up so much together that all of the good and bad feels necessary to this day. Lessons ranging from racial acceptance and awareness to basic dating-ritual rights and wrongs were mutually absorbed. It was a hell of a relationship.
Ms. Day isn't in this pic, but it's still fitting. SJU, circa 2004.
The "She's truly something special" deal was sealed the moment she gave me my graduation gift: my very own "Matt DVD," which is this documentary-styled short film she and one of our on-campus co-workers put together by interviewing a slew of my closest friends and associates at St. John's. Asking each person all about me, capturing their kindest words and funniest memories. Due to time constraints and the general flakiness of mankind, they weren't able to interview everybody that mattered to me, but I'd say they managed to compile an impressive 70%.
The first time I watched the Matt DVD, I actually shed a few tears. Facial raindrops. One thing about myself that I hardly ever share with people is just how insecure and self-conscious I can be, a truth that has recently faded away piece by piece thanks to my successess and realizations of just how fortunate I am. But back in college, shit wasn't as sweet. Nowhere near. I can specifically recall times when I'd cry alone in my room, asking myself What was wrong with me? Why is it so difficult to look in a mirror? So to have somebody go through the efforts to make a multi-person testimonial in my honor was mind-blowing. Unbelievable. Therapeutic. Amazing. Life-changing (there it is again). I'd never realized that people at SJU really fucked with me on a respect-level. Heads who you would've considered to be the "big men on campus," or the "ladykillers," and even the "hot chicks."
I'm confident in saying that the Matt DVD was my first real step toward self-acceptance, and I have Ms. Day to thank for that.
Time to time, I toss the Matt DVD back into my DVD player and go back to Queens, in spirit. People looked so much younger. Things were much more innocent. I just finished watching it again, promptly as Dear Zachary came to its conclusion, and that knot in my throat, the jiggling of the eyelids returned. The Matt DVD is completely positive, and in no way on par with Dear Zachary's profound impact. But in a way, the two "documentaries" are kindred entities. Both were made out of love and appreciation, and both are intended to serve as letters to their focal subject(s).
And both do chin-ups on my heart.
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