Luke Buckmaster 

Man on Earth review – a beautifully humane documentary about a dying man’s last days

Directed by Australian film-maker Amiel Courtin-Wilson, this compelling work follows Bob Rosenzweig’s decision to end his life through assisted dying
  
  

Bob Rosenzweig
Bob Rosenzweig, a 65-year-old American who decides to end his life through assisted dying, is the subject of Man on Earth. Photograph: Sydney film festival

There are lots of literal grey areas in the Australian film-maker Amiel Courtin-Wilson’s very compelling and heart-rending documentary about the final week of Bob Rosenzweig, a 65-year-old Jewish man living in Washington who has Parkinson’s disease and decides to end his life through assisted dying. From the opening shot Courtin-Wilson draws a stony overcast aesthetic, beginning with an ambiguous image of what seems to resemble a foggy, ashen skyline before a vague human outline emerges. Later there are shots of misty skylines and bodies of water more cement-coloured than blue; it’s as if the world around Rosenzweig is greying before his eyes, easing him through his last days.

Courtin-Wilson and the cinematographer, Jac Fitzgerald, impressively texture the film in ways that make it feel stylish – but not so stylish as to detract from its impact. Man on Earth is an observational documentary that prioritises, above everything else, the subject and his circumstances. It’s pitched at just the right level of immersion: a soft, spectral glow veneering more conventional fly-on-the-wall elements such as handheld camerawork. The director has said in an interview that inspirations for the film’s palette include The Magpie by Monet, who was once described by John Berger in ways that perhaps also apply to Courtin-Wilson: an artist who “wanted to paint not things in themselves but the air that touched things”.

What can’t be observed in Man on Earth in direct visual terms is the relationship between the director and his subject. The former bore a huge responsibility to the latter to tell his story responsibly and powerfully. And the latter was wise to entrust him: presumably Rosenzweig watched Courtin-Wilson’s other films, several of which are also built on striking collaborations with intriguing people from various walks of life. For instance the Australian-born Tibetan Buddhist nun Robina Courtin, who was the subject of 2000’s Chasing Buddha; the great Indigenous entertainer Jack Charles, who was the subject of 2008’s Bastardy; and Daniel P Jones, an ex-convict who plays a fictionalised version of himself in the strikingly gritty, yet intensely poetic, 2011 drama Hail.

Courtin-Wilson introduces us to Rosenzweig in an odd way, showing him mid-sentence or mid-statement, saying: “And that’s what my new philosophy in life is – ah, fuck it.” There’s a feeling we might have arrived a smidge too late to fully appreciate what he’s saying. Which might be true in a broader sense too, in that it’s obvious the best days for this sharp and quick-witted individual, worn down by time and sickness, are far behind him. Rosenzweig – who designed bathrooms for the likes of Elton John and Janet Jackson, and hung out with celebrities including the Sex Pistols and Blondie – has been given six months to live.

The rakishly thin Rosenzweig reflects on the intense chronic pain he experiences, and how “you really don’t have any concept of time when you have Parkinson’s” because “there’s no need to know what day it is”. One of his sons, Jessie, who is his carer, also comments on his condition, observing for instance how Parkinson’s “constantly forces your body to move” and thus constantly makes it burn energy. “Imagine swimming a hundred laps every hour,” he says. Rosenzweig is resolute that it is “absolutely the right time” to say goodbye, and he’s “ready to go”.

Assisted dying allows the subject to make preparations and bid farewell to loved ones: a task Rosenzweig undertakes with bravery, introspection and a wee bit of cheeky humour. The cameras are there until the very end: in his home, perched by his deathbed. The film’s last 40 or so minutes in particular are – in a melancholic way – beautifully humane, but gosh it’s heartbreaking: tears were rolling down my face and I have no doubt many viewers will respond similarly. We all arrive at the same destination as Rosenzweig in the end, but not all of us shuffle off the mortal coil exhibiting such strength of character. Films like Man on Earth are tough to watch but we emerge from them deeper and richer.

  • Man on Earth is screening as part of Sydney film festival. It will be released in cinemas from October, with worldwide community screenings available now; to register for or organise an advance screening go to floodprojects.com/man-on-earth

 

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