Filmmaker Maris Curran created “The Master Quilters of Gee’s Bend Alabama,” a quiet and intimate documentary about a group of Alabama women and their traditional craftwork — which has recently been celebrated in the world of fine art.
It’s an interesting piece to study because the techniques portrayed in it seem very attainable. There is no Hollywood-worthy camera movement here, no motion graphics masterpieces, no expensive camera crews or equipment. Most of the shots are quiet, moody, place-based moments of listening and looking that elicit a strong emotional effect on the audience.
The film opens with quiet, almost still-life scenes of quilts and trees, as well as some slow, poetic voiceover in a Southern drawl. It transports you to the scene — to the Deep South on a sultry summer’s day.
The slow introduction also slows time. Quick cuts and fast action wouldn’t communicate the pace of life here, nor the pace of quilting. These women make their art slowly and with precision, and the editing of this piece is clearly a nod to that. In addition to slow cuts, motion within the frame is also very slow. Scenes such as gently swaying trees and quilts, bridges stolidly standing, and a man trotting by on horseback (47 seconds) are all nods to not just the artwork but the lifestyle of the main characters.
We see our first quilting, and human faces, about one minute into the piece. That’s a long time to wait and breaks many of the rules of filmmaking and journalism. There’s no quick hook here or jarring lede. However, in this case I think it works. This is not a character-led story, but a cultural and artistic one.
At the one minute mark, we are introduced to numerous characters. But we do not learn their names nor are we properly introduced. We see only to their faces and their hands. I am of two minds on this — in one respect, I think it captures the community nature of this work. But on the other hand, it adds to the lack of personal recognition (and financial renumeration) that we soon learn is part of this story. We learn their names later, but without the standard fullness and titles that we would usually give to masters of their craft or industry.
There is a beautiful collection of varied shots from about 1:00 to 1:30. It includes the standard repertoire of wide, medium and tight – from faces to landscapes all the way down to the eye of the needle. This is accompanied by voiceover storytelling and gospel singing. The singing continues through much of the piece — much of which I felt to be performative and that, while beautiful, was less engrossing than the short clips of interviews, most conducted while working.
At 2:06 there is a series of beautifully composed shots with a distinct visual language: lines, geometric shapes, and humans taking the time to notice those lines and live in them. I think the filmmaker is showing us the art these women live around, and are able to reproduce through their quilting. It’s subtle, but deep and meaningful shooting. It requires forethought, planning and a kind of journalistic hunger to find the sparks of creative expression in the world and help explain why a small, rural place has this outsized impact on the world of fine art. I think this is the major accomplishment of this piece. Other examples of this work can be found at 10:00, and in the countless visuals of quilts.
There can be downsides to this kind of esoteric, emotional work. There are hints toward newsy, problematic issues at 12:40 and 13:12. But the pace and style of this piece does not allow for the sort of journalistic inquiry I think was called for there. I think that if a film cannot answer the questions raised — or at least attempt to — then those short, mysterious answers that leave the audience with more questions than answers should be left out.
In general, this is a worthwhile look at the kind of filmmaking I’m interested in: Telling intimate stories in an atmospheric, real-world environment. Plenty to learn from here.