Now we come to Doc Days

I guess the Oscars are being held this weekend. I know this because the Balboa Theater is in the midst of its annual Doc Days, when it screens all of the short and long-form documentaries nominated for Academy Awards in an all-you-can-watch buffet.

You might remember my four-hour marathon viewing session last year. This year, the Balboa and the SF State Documentary Film Institute are doing things a little differently: They're screening all the films for free. And rather than cycling four or five films continuously on each day, they're presenting all nine in a row on Tuesday and Wednesday, but in a different order each day. At least two insane people seated near me attempted the full nine-bagger; one finally cracked after seven films and nine hours, while one apparently stayed for the finale, An Inconvenient Truth. He'd already seen at least two of the films prior to entering the theater too. Moonshot.

My strategy was different. I hit the noon screening of a short film on my "lunch hour," then headed downtown to take a meeting with a venture capitalist. By 4:30 I was waiting in line to get back into the theater, where I took in four more films. Tomorrow I'll attempt to see the remainder, save for An Inconvenient Truth; I've got a DVD copy I haven't watched yet, and I'll see it at home before the weekend's up.

I'll try to keep these capsules short. It's been a long day and I don't want my brain-dump to get out of hand.

∙Recycled Life, 38 minutes. This film about people who scavenge from a garbage dump in Guatemala City was similar to many nominated shorts from the past two years, in that it pointed a camera at people living in some of the most inhumane conditions on the planet, then mitigated their misery with a ray of hope. (See God Sleeps In Rwanda and one more short noted below.) I would have been more shocked by their dreadful circumstances if I hadn't spent roughly 38 minutes reading this story about a similar situation in the Philippines a couple of months ago. Once you've read about the "hot demolition" technique in the Quezon City dump, the scene among the guajeros just isn't going to have the desired effect. Another one I'm thankful wasn't in Odorama. Thoughtful and provocative, sure.

∙Two Hands: The Leon Fleisher Story, 18 minutes. This might've been my favorite all day, thanks to its brevity, soul and wit. Fleisher, a concert pianist, lost the full use of his right hand after cutting it in 1964. What exactly went wrong was something of a mystery; how to treat it was equally mysterious. Eventually, after years spent conducting and teaching, he found his mojo again and returned to the stage. Since the Norman Corwin short won last year, I'm guessing this will win on Sunday night. It went down easily, and was filled with beautiful music. Bonus points for being set in Baltimore. A+.

∙Jesus Camp, 84 minutes. Already saw it, but it sure was fun to see Pastor Ted gaze into the camera and say, "I know what you did last night! If you give me a thousand dollars, I won't tell your wife!" again. It's one of those "completely heterosexual" moments you've been hearing about.

∙My Country, My Country, 84 minutes. More evidence that CNN gets it wrong, when it comes to the war in Iraq. I wish they could pipe this stuff into every household in America. No, it's not propaganda, and it's not really a polemic at all. It's cameras on the ground in Baghdad and Kurdistan, in people's houses, out in the streets, in cars and trucks and polling places and doctors' offices and the Green Zone. The film addresses the six-month period prior to the January 2005 elections in Iraq, an enormously significant period. But the scenes of husbands and wives bickering at home, of people selling guns, of what people talk about during power outages in Baghdad, of soldiers stretched to their limits (and sometimes looking like Keystone Kops), of what Iraqis trust and what they really want (or think they do) -- that's the core of this film, and the upshot too. There's a whole TV channel for golf; can't there be one for this? Chaotic, frightening, full of hope and full of failure. Wish it had a narrator.

∙The Blood of Yingzhou District, 39 minutes. Another uplifting feel-good tale, this one addressing (groan) orphans with AIDS in China's rural central provinces. I hope I'm not making light of the misery in this film by saying it should meet Recycled Life and God Sleeps In Rwanda and go bowling on Thursday nights. We see a couple of small children -- one about three, one about seven -- whose parents have already wasted away, and who are now shunned by their village peers, left to silently contemplate their loneliness while sleeping in crumbling hovels among goats, pigs and chickens. (How'd they get AIDS? Their parents donated blood. The doctors mixed everyone's blood together, separated the plasma, and shot the red blood cells back into the patients so that they would be able to donate blood again, sooner. Can you hear me smacking myself on the forehead?) Eventually one of the orphans is taken in... by another HIV-positive couple, the male of which is always filmed smoking cigarettes. Oh man. This is one of the grimmest things I've ever seen, except for half the other nominees this year and last year.

The Balboa certainly could have charged $5 a head and made a killing off the near-capacity crowd today. I'm sure they did fine at the refreshments stand -- the place was starting to look like the Guatemala City dump by 9:30. Regardless, it's always great to see a neighborhood business with a line out the door, especially in my remote corner of town. Back tomorrow for more.

Thanks to Chino's Taqueria for making it all possible too.