Photo Courtesy Sundance Film Festival

On first viewing, there's something elusive about Daniel Robin's Sundance award-winning documentary short my olympic summer; there's something romantic, there's something bitterly sad, there's something hopeful, there's something too perfect. It's easy to admire but difficult to connect to the film because the reality presented is so gorgeous and forgiving. Using a mix of home and archival footage, Robin, through the voice-over of M.R. Dhar, tells his parent's love story through a letter written but unsent and film reel shot but undeveloped by his mother. In poetic language, the letter details how the marriage was broken by neglect and then the footage explains how it was salvaged by the 1972 Israeli Olympic hostage situation.

On the short, Film Threat's Phil Hall, comments, "Robin frames the film against his own failed marriage, citing his personal problems in the opening and closing of the short. That is the film’s big mistake – one story has nothing to do with the other, and the filmmaker’s problems don’t fit into this otherwise engaging production."

Certainly, there's a manner in which Hall is right, that taking two real life events and juxtaposing them doesn't necessarily mean that one grants the other any significance. But, then there's this note from Eye for Film's Anton Bitel: "Robin may seek clues to his own recent divorce in the near breakdown of his parents' marriage so many years ago – but he is also philosophical enough to acknowledge the vanity of taking comfort from a picture of the past that is ultimately "false and incomplete" (if, he implies, no less "false and incomplete" than his own film)."

The parentheses here are important. In fact, they are more than important; they close within them the clue to the central conceit, and also genius, of Robin's film. Namely, my olympic summer is a document of nonfiction that plays with its facts and fantasies. Intimate and slyly sensual shots of Robin's mother, explained in the film as those of her solo trip abroad, nod to the idea that she's having an affair. As it turns out, those same shots in a real life context were captured by Robin's father. There was no affair to speak of, no proved infidelity at all and no, in fact, acknowledged dire strife between his parents. By imagining this personal history, Robin's only intent was to study his own marriage, that one thing Hall assessed had failed. The question being then, "Does that exploration still fail for a viewer who now knows what's true and what's not?"

"I just wanted to communicate, or share, how difficult it is to maintain a loving and passionate relationship within a young marriage," Robin writes via e-mail, although conceding, "I suppose I do have this idea that my formal approach will urge viewers to reconsider their own expectations of what a documentary is, or can be."

In this way, Robin's challenge quiet turns away from his personal exploration of marriage to the viewer's understanding of reality, particularly as seen through the prism of flawed or falsified memory. It's a gentle jab at an audience's comprehension of cinema as well, and in other hands, it may very well have come off as manipulative. As for Robin, also a prolific Web series producer at www.neighborhoodfilms.com, he's left saying, "I challenge myself with each film, or Web series, in terms of finding new ways to use the language of cinema to express ideas and emotions." And, that artistic goal, no matter how misunderstood it might be at times, is no less than beautiful.

SM: When my olympic summer screened at the International Documentary Film Festival, the film's re-contextualization of reality played a large part in the way audiences responded to the short. At Sundance, the discussion of that narrative conceit went largely unspoken--at least by the media. As a jumping point, how have you dealt with viewer's reactions to this controversial storytelling element?

DR: At IDFA I actually had the opportunity to tell the audience, after the screenings, about my process of combining narrative and nonfiction storytelling devices. This angered many, which I embraced enthusiastically. Audience members yelled out they felt betrayed; then other audience members would argue back that it didn't matter. (The audiences at IDFA are very passionate about documentaries) And this is central to my process. At the end of the film, what are you left with emotionally? For me, that is the barometer if the film is successful. And to those who still felt betrayed, I feel the film is successful because now there is an internal discussion going on in their minds about why I would do such a thing. Perhaps they will begin to question the process of filmmaking in relation to how truth takes various shapes in cinema.

Then there is Sundance, a feature-centric film festival that perhaps doesn't consider that a short film could arouse such provocative discussion, so there is never a Q/A for the directors of shorts who play before a feature. Don't get me wrong--I love showing my films at Sundance, but they really need to consider this issue of not allowing time for a Q/A. However, there was one situation at Sundance that stays with me. Debra Zimmerman, who presided over many events at IDFA but didn't see my film there, came up to me after a Sundance screening and gave my film gushing praise. I suppose these are the moments filmmakers cherish, but I wasn't satisfied, more so I wanted to come correct because I didn't have the opportunity in a Q/A. I told Debra that a good portion of my film was fiction, and right before my eyes her facial expression changed completely. Confusion, dismay, perhaps anger. She said she had to reconsider her praise, that maybe she didn't like my film as much now. The point is, even savvy, experienced viewers have a fixed notion of what a documentary film should be. Too bad.

SM: Part of the brilliance of the short, as I see it, is this re-contextualization. On first viewing the film, I was struck by its artfulness and its poetry, but the personal history element of it that at the time I assumed existed, served as a way to dissociate me from the story. Knowing now, however, that there's a craft to the story, I'm much more engaged in the poignance of its message. Off that, how exactly did you and M.R. Dhar go about crafting the script to hit the film's level of intimacy?

DR: I've always made very personal films. With my olympic summer I had the opportunity to find another way to talk about my life without being so self-indulgent. The story came out of wanting to talk about my experiences in my failed marriage (all of that part of the film is real). My parents had given me the Super-8 home movies, and I began to structure a story line about them that would encompass my own emotions and ideas about the difficulty of maintaining love within a young marriage. I knew that if I found the right words for the narration, the images of my youthful parents would resonate that much more. I think home movies have a built in voyeuristic quality that in many ways has more emotional narrative impact then a traditional narrative film with credible actors and dialogue. So, for me, the intimacy was inherently there in the images. It became my job to find the right words that would heighten this voyeuristic quality.

M.R. Dhar came in after I had worked a lot with my friend, Jonathan Sanford, who really helped me to find the right structure, how the scenes played together and built on one another. M.R. Dhar brought a narrative craft and sensitivity in terms of writing the narration. He knew exactly what I was after, which was this level of intimacy you refer to, and it took several passes between us before the words meshed with the images. I really wanted the least amount of exposition as possible, allowing the other elements of the film to tell the story.

SM: Cutting between these pieces of home footage, archival footage and experimental transition segments, editing for the film is best described as lyrical. There's almost a dream-like quality from moment to moment, particularly as the short circles back to the image of the mother typing. How did you go about this editing process?

DR: I came up with the plot of the story fairly quickly, which is pretty much how you see it played out in the film. The rhythm and pacing came from my obsession to find a way to visualize how memory is a construct, just like history. Some memories do take on a dream-like quality, to the extent that your not sure how reliable your recollection of that time is. I wanted the images and sound to create an atmosphere that evoked an elusive and uncertain window into the past. This is why I return to specific images, as if I were questioning the fidelity of these home movies.

SM: In terms of aesthetic influence, the experimental segments seem reminiscent of Stan Brakhage. Not wanting to impose that theory though, what filmmakers and works do you find yourself drawn to and in dialogue with?

DR: Actually there really aren't any specific film references that I considered in close proximity to what I was aiming for. However, the films of Peter Forgacs inspire my confidence to re-orchestrate history for the purpose of my storytelling. Also I pored through a bunch of Borges stories, which also gave me confidence to move into this territory of slippery narrative constructions.

SM: Has the win at Sundance affected your notions of the film at all, or perhaps the way in which your work communicates with others?

DR: It makes me feel good to receive that kind of validation on such a big stage. I suppose I didn't think people would respond so favorably to my film. It's a risk to make personal films. I guess one should never underestimate the audience.

SM: Your Web series documentary works, The Valet Chronicles in particular, served as an early jumping point for your style. What growth have you seen in your art perspectives since those beginnings, or what, for that matter, do you see as being consistent throughout?

DR: Actually I began making short personal 16mm films well before my foray into web video. I brought those sensibilities, framing with the camera, pacing and rhythm of editing, and the minimal use of sound to my www.neighborhoodfilms.com series, and then have come full circle with films destined for festivals.

I try to think in terms of what aesthetic choices are best for the medium. Web video is a different viewing experience then watching a movie in a theater or even watching television. So my ideas and formal approaches may overlap to an extent, but I'm always considering where people will see my films.

SM: Given four words to describe your style and four words to describe the purpose of your work, which eight words total do you chose?

DR: You're killing me. Style: personal, atmospheric, rhythm, process. Purpose: cathartic, engage, communicate, new cinema.

SM: Why?

DR: Well, I think for a film to be successful, and I don't mean monetarily, it must establish and be consistent with its own unique atmosphere. Ultimately the film should become a special cinematic universe that engages on its own terms.

SM: To back track a bit, how did you get into filmmaking in the first place, and then more importantly, why is it that you want to make it?

DR: I like to watch movies, so I thought why not try to make them. It's hard to express yourself, whether it be in a conversation, writing an email, etc. With filmmaking it feels right with me. Sometimes I can be more articulate with images, sound, and editing. It also makes me feel less alone in the world when it works.

For more information on the filmmaker and his work, visit www.neighborhoodfilms.com

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