Filmmaker Spike Lee's latest documentary, When the Levees Broke: A Requiem in Four Acts, is not without controversy. Lee is one of the most provocative filmmakers in the business who has unflinchingly turned his eye on the most highly charged issues of our time, including the state of race relations. He has no interest in making films for lazy Saturday afternoons when, armed with overpriced stale popcorn and watered-down drinks, many of us stumble through the dark in search of a seat to be entranced by the latest digitally enhanced special effects. You know, those computer-generated montages that blur the line between reality and spectacle, where anything is possible because there are no consequences.
In When the Levees Broke however, the consequences are what Lee's focus is all about. Hurricane Katrina had a life of roughly 10 days. Spawned in the Caribbean, it largely left Florida untouched as it made its way to the Gulf of Mexico and its eventual target — the Alabama, Mississippi, and Louisiana coastlines. In this day and age, hurricanes are presented to the country almost in the form of entertainment. CNN, MSNBC, Fox, the Weather Channel, all treat correspondents as heroes when they are lashed about by the wind and rain. Then as soon as the hurricane dissipates, the media and the public at large are off to the next story. Little thought or interest is devoted to what is left behind. Katrina broke that mold as the extent of the damage and the breakdown of the local, state, and federal governments became apparent. But as the nation's attention span has grown shorter, inevitably there comes a day when the page is turned. And it is that day that Lee is focused on.
Some may criticize Lee and say his motive for making the documentary was to play the blame game. If he's guilty, he is well within his rights. While no one is responsible for creating a Hurricane Katrina or guiding its path, experts have long known that New Orleans was a disaster waiting to happen. And the ineffectiveness of the various levels of government speaks for itself. But the real power of the documentary is not in the various political positions or recollections, although they are powerful. What is striking are the pictures, and not just those from the Super Dome, which convey a level of suffering that seems unimaginable in this country, at this time.
It is the pictures taken recently, the trash-filled streets lined with mud-encrusted homes and automobiles that stand baking in the sun; the chairs and pictures of once-everyday lives that, while still recognizable, have become useless artifacts. And viewing those pictures raises some questions: How do you rebuild what has become discarded? How do you rebuild shattered communities? And above all, how could it all have been prevented?
While the levees referred to in the title of Lee's documentary specifically related to New Orleans, they also loom as a larger symbol. Indeed, the day will come when another Andrew, Katrina, or Wilma will eventually make its way toward Florida's shore. And in that hour Florida's "levees" will be more than any physical barrier. They will be demonstrated by how well our houses are constructed, how well prepared our citizens are, and the effectiveness of our disaster plans. Now is the time to examine how prepared local and state officials are, how responsive the government is, and how dedicated the insurance industry is to helping rebuild storm-plundered communities. In other words, the levee is us. The question is, how strong are we?
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