Lead and Copper (2023) Film Review
Social justice documentaries are a subgenre of their own inside the broad world of documentaries. They seem to be very common in independent cinemas, but don’t let this misguide you. As every movie, they’re hard to make because of funding issues, and distribution models aren’t exactly friendly with stories that perhaps not everyone identifies with. Fortunately, the grand majority of them are made by capable filmmakers who become immersed in the story they’re trying to tell. Such is the case with William Hart‘s Lead and Copper.
But don’t let that misguide you. Lead and Copper is hardly like any other film of the social justice catalog. Hart is adamant about this, and he shows it with the final result of a film that a) couldn’t have been easy to make, and b) there are many that don’t want it to be made. Why? Well, the documentary sheds light on a situation that isn’t exactly new. The citizens of Flint, Michigan, have been subject to a horrific situation involving a basic service. Something they should not worry themselves about: The water they consume on an daily basis. For years, industries have been pouring lead into the system. While everyone’s been affected by this industrial disaster, the effects are mostly visible on the vulnerable. There’s no other way around to say this: the children have been poisoned.
The film takes on from that horrific reality and provides an impressive revealing look at what everyone has done about this. From scientists to government locals, everyone has played a key role in the story, and unfortunately, some of them haven’t been helpful.
Hart’s filmmaking endeavor is just as interesting as the feature itself. It’s pretty noticeable how he goes guerrilla style at trying to go full circle with the film without necessarily providing a solution for the conflict. He just reveals enough to let the audience, and hopefully authorities, that there’s something to be done and it should be done because it could simply happen to you. The principles of empathy should be omnipresent in documentaries like Lead and Copper, and Hart accomplishes this early on by writing a narrative structure that depends solely on those affected by the problem. The film is told by the citizens of Flint themselves, those who are brave enough to talk against a government organization that should be protecting them. Lead and Copper is their channel, and while it’s not the only one, it’s loud enough for audiences to listen to their pleads.
Hart doesn’t exactly provide commentary and allows those wanting to comment just enough to let viewers understand how the “mechanism” works. Responsibility is a strong word because everyone seems to be involved in some way in what’s essentially an ecological disaster. But Lead and CopperĀ isn’t designed to “point and shoot.” While culpability isn’t exactly relative, producers do whatever’s necessary to focus the camera on those that need to be scrutinized, and lets the viewers make their mind.
Some of these documentaries aren’t exactly impartial, but there are some that seem to stay behind in delivering their inherent message. Hart isn’t shy to claim what needs to be claimed. He lets everyone know that Flint isn’t exactly alone, and his documentary is compelling enough to make us look in the right direction.
