‘Capturing the Friedmans’

Like all documentaries, this one — about an ‘ordinary’ family from Great Neck — is a fiction based on facts.   [Not rated]

By: Bob Brown
   Your family is sitting down to Thanksgiving dinner with all the trimmings when the police burst in. They haul Dad and your brother away, right there live on the evening news. Can’t happen here? Well, it happened to a family on a quiet, tree-lined street in Great Neck, Long Island.
   This first film by Andrew Jarecki won the Grand Jury Prize at Sundance 2003, and no wonder. It is the heartbreaking story of the Friedmans as told largely by the Friedmans themselves. The events that led up to these arrests are disturbing enough, but the Friedmans had already been filming and taping their lives before the nightmare descended. They kept the tape rolling through the worst of times.

	The Friedmans (above) were as normal as any middle class suburban family could seem, but the arrest of patriarch Arnold (below, right) and son Jesse exposed their dark secrets.

   What gives this documentary real power is the way Jarecki weaves all the elements together. He juxtaposes the story of the jovial, middle-class Friedmans in their affluent suburb with that of the Friedmans in siege mode. Happier days contrast with days of shouting, of recriminations and denial and bewilderment. A single event brings them to despair.
   Arnold Friedman is a well-respected teacher, a loving husband and the father of three boys. He is a former club musician who turned to education to support his growing family. Aided by his teen-age son, Jesse, he teaches computer skills to schoolboys in his home. To all appearances, he is a solid citizen and family man. But appearances change.
   An investigator randomly intercepts a piece of child pornography that Arnold ordered through the mail. There follow the knock on the door, the denials, the room-to-room search, the discovery of magazines and class lists, the interviews, the accusations, and the arrests. In a twinkling, Great Neck, N.Y., becomes Salem, Mass. Is Arnold a monstrous pedophile, a predator who abused dozens of boys for years? Is Jesse his sadistic accomplice in crime? Older brothers Seth and David refuse to believe it. But their mother, Elaine, is not so sure.
   The advertising copy from Magnolia Films says this documentary shows "the elusive nature of truth through the prism of one of the strangest criminal cases in American history." That’s somewhat ingenuous. Arnold’s case resembles a few others that broke into headlines in the 1980s. Back then, before priests were in the spotlight, hints of pedophilia and child abuse surfaced among day-care centers. With "help" from investigative interviewers, children recalled inappropriate touching by adult caregivers in their homes. Parents shared stories, reinforcing a collective hysteria. Adults were convicted and did jail time. Although some testimony was later recanted and some were exonerated, the taint of doubt remained.
   This film explores all facets of Arnold and Jesse’s guilt, from inside the family circle and out. Interviews with investigators, lawyers, family members, friends, alleged victims, parents, court officers and journalists are intercut with clips from news broadcasts and, most revealingly, the Friedmans’ home movies and tapes. Everyone tells Jarecki’s camera a piece of the story — everyone, that is, except Arnold Friedman, who died five years before the documentary was made. Arnold was a voluble, exuberant man before the troubles. On home video, the more heated the family arguments, the more taciturn he becomes. He is not around anymore to give his post mortem. That is a testimony in itself.
   Like all documentaries, this one is a fiction based on facts. As Robert Evans said of his autobiographical The Kid Stays in the Picture, "There are three sides to every story. My side, your side and the truth. And no one is lying. Memories shared serve each one differently." Every documentary adopts a viewpoint. Even Evans sticks to his, after acknowledging others.
   Jarecki reassembles all the parts of the Friedmans’ story to pitch a particular view: Arnold is a nice guy with an offbeat taste in smut that has gotten him into more trouble than he deserves. The oft-repeated refrain is "I didn’t do it." The real problems are overzealous police looking for devils everywhere; a cold, unforgiving mother; a "hanging" judge; and parents driven by blind rage.
   But tidbits from Arnold’s past slip out. Dark corners are lit. Someone covered up before. Lawyers are advising strategies, and someone is clearly lying. There is another refrain, "Did anything happen?" As a complex and troubled family history is lifted from the shadows, we understand why Elaine is not so sure. And yet, we have come to feel compassion for Arnold and his boys, for Elaine in her anguish. Her deep sense of betrayal is palpable.
   We become nostalgic for the loss of an innocent suburbia of the 1960s and ’70s, of pool parties and barbecues, of family Seders and beach outings, of birthdays and just plain goofing around with Dad. Every moment is precious, no matter how trivial. It’s all there on 8mm celluloid. It must be true. Later, it’s every troubling moment, no matter how ugly. It’s all there on tape, obsessively, narcissistically recorded. It must be true, too. What happened?
Not rated.