Punishment Park

While never subtle, Peter Watkins' Punishment Park (1971) is riveting and willing to engage in political discussion through dialogue and crosscutting give-and-takes, rather than brandishing a singular viewpoint. So although it is clear where Watkin's politics lie, they don't intrude upon a film that is successful on a cinematic level, negotiating between an action-based documentary and a think-piece about the role and responsibility of individual dissidence. And, of course, there is the machine of government that hands out discipline to any voices that chooses, rightly or wrongly, to dissent.

Beyond the fascinating juxtaposition of criticizing objective/subjective responsibilities of media and the visual medias, which Watkins forcibly critiques at the film's end with the narrator (himself, natch) speaking against the system that he's documenting, the film adroitly considers the willingness to let institutions rather than individual choice decide the ethics of speaking out. And while a few bits of dialogue feel a bit too crafted in 70s brotherhood and peace to a contemporary viewer, the fact that we're only ostensibly closer to that dream reveals the worth of reconsidering it anew. I especially enjoy the ambiguity prevalent in the ending, when it feels some of the police forces feel they must still justify their reasonings, which speaks to a sense of humanity and possibility still prevalent in this bleak future, even if the park itself threatens to perpetuate its nihilistic attitudes toward the oppressed.

The last female interviewee, the one who comes to the aid of the downtrodden African-American (she's the 23-year-old feminist, I believe) offered the moral framework for the film, grounding her beliefs in enough detail and consideration that these sections personify the dedication Watkins received from his actors and fellow creators. It's a visionary film, and one I want to think and talk about long after it's finished.

Punishment Park: 10/10