I've written about some bad films lately, and some good ones. What I haven't done, however, with the possible exception of Notes on a Scandal, is written about a truly transcendent film. Notes is part of my regular repeat viewing schedule, however, and no matter how great a film is, the visceral impact of it on the second or third go around is never going to be quite the same.
Step forward David Sington's The Fear of 13, then, to remind me of why I love film so much. It's a documentary with a simple enough premise - a condemned man talking to camera, with sporadic illustrative shots - and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end from the very first line to the very last.
Much credit, of course, has to go to our protagonist, the singularly charismatic Nick Yarris, who moves back and forth in time between his misspent youth and the death row cell to weave an utterly compelling narrative. Yarris earned my sympathy very early on, but never my pity - how could I feel sorry for an individual with such boundless inner strength?
I'm torn, to be honest - I could write pages and pages about this one, but not without spoilers, and Yarris took me on such a powerful emotional journey it leaves me reluctant to offer these. I'll say what I believe is necessary, then - from the visuals to the sound engineering, the production is superb, and I'm not sure I can remember the last time a film grabbed my attention quite so hard, or so consistently.
Even if documentaries aren't normally your sort of thing, this is something you really do need to experience.
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