In 1968, as Frederick Wiseman prepared to release his second documentary, “High School,” a sense of apprehension was understandable. His debut film, “Titicut Follies,” had faced significant controversy. This initial work offered a stark portrayal of patients and inmates within Massachusetts’ state-run Bridgewater State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. Shot in his signature direct cinema style, the film lacked a narrator, interviews, or explicit contextual information. While viewers were encouraged to interpret the scenes themselves, Wiseman’s careful selection and editing undeniably crafted a compelling narrative.
Massachusetts authorities attempted to block the film’s release just before its 1967 New York Film Festival premiere, arguing it infringed upon the patients’ privacy and dignity. Wiseman, a former law professor, consistently asserted that the ban was politically motivated, aiming to suppress the stark reality of inmate conditions and treatment at Bridgewater. Despite the initial N.Y.F.F. screening, a lengthy legal battle ensued, reaching the U.S. Supreme Court, which ultimately declined to intervene. This marked the first instance of a film being banned in the United States for reasons unrelated to obscenity or national security, with public access finally granted in 1991. This 84-minute black-and-white debut proved to be a pivotal moment in both cinematic history and American free speech jurisprudence.
Documentaries frequently unveil uncomfortable truths. What made “Titicut Follies” so impactful and Wiseman, who recently passed away at 96, such a master documentarian, was its refusal to simply narrate a single event or present a straightforward plot with easily defined characters. Instead, it immersed viewers in a hidden world, establishing a profound insight that Wiseman explored throughout his subsequent 43 films: individuals are inextricably linked to the institutions they inhabit, and their behaviors are profoundly influenced by these structures.
“High School” might seem like a stark departure from “Titicut Follies.” At Northeast High School in Philadelphia, Wiseman’s camera meticulously tracked students, teachers, and administrators through their typical days: classes, counseling, parent meetings, and all the familiar routines of a 1960s American high school. Yet, despite education being the school’s primary goal, Wiseman exposed an underlying system of rigid hierarchy and militaristic control. This structure, particularly emphasized in the film’s concluding moments, appeared eerily designed to prepare young men for the ongoing conflict in Vietnam. The film’s critical portrayal was so unsettling to the school district that, despite its wide release, it remained banned from being screened in Philadelphia. As Wiseman once remarked, “I didn’t want another lawsuit on my hands.”
In 1968, streaming wasn’t an option for Northeast students, but they instinctively understood the film’s message. Their conviction led them to print T-shirts emblazoned with the phrase, “Fred Wiseman Was Right.”
While these initial works might imply a clear political agenda, Wiseman maintained that any such themes were not preconceived. His method remained consistent throughout his career: arriving with minimal equipment and a single colleague, he simply observed. “For me, there’s no reason to make a film if I already have a thesis,” he explained in a 2018 interview. After four to twelve weeks of filming, “the final film is a report on what I’ve learned as a consequence of making the film.”
More accurately, Wiseman’s overarching purpose became clear over his extensive career, stretching from “Titicut Follies” in 1967 to “Menus-Plaisirs — Les Troisgros” in 2023. Simply put, Frederick Wiseman was fascinated by human interaction: what people did when they gathered, and the underlying reasons for their actions. His films beautifully capture a myriad of everyday moments: shared meals, sporting events, intimate conversations, and religious services. He brought us into hushed hospital rooms, observed patient salespeople, documented doctors’ dark humor, and showcased artists in rehearsal. We owe him for revealing the comical intricacies of Lions Club debates over seemingly minor civic improvements. Wiseman’s filmography is a tapestry of meetings—bureaucratic, administrative, curatorial, educational, disciplinary, medical, and countless others. Meetings, it seems, are a fundamental unit of modern human existence, and through Wiseman’s eyes, they could be surprisingly captivating.
A casual viewing of a Wiseman film might lead one to believe in its pure objectivity, the absence of a guiding voice. Yet, Wiseman himself acts as a silent narrator, allowing us into his unique perception. He explained in a 2016 interview, “The thesis and the point of view would emerge from the editing.” In “Welfare” (1975), for instance, the film’s message gradually appears: despite being underfunded and overwhelmed, staff members maintain a sense of shared humanity with those seeking assistance. “Ex Libris” (2017), a deep dive into the New York Public Library, subtly but powerfully advocates for public library funding as essential for democracy. And “Primate” (1974), arguably his most unsettling work, serves as an implicit warning about the dangers of a surveillance society.
Wiseman was famously reluctant to explicitly state the precise meanings of his films. When questioned in 2018 about the central theme of “Monrovia, Indiana,” he responded, “I don’t think I should explain it — if you want to figure it out, well, good. It’s only necessary for me to create a structure to try to make something that works as a grammatical narrative.” He preferred that viewers engage actively, drawing their own conclusions, paying the same close attention he did, and finding joy in the human subjects along the way.
While film enthusiasts sometimes jest about the runtime of Wiseman’s works, some are quite concise (like the 75-minute “High School”), while others extend to marathon lengths, such as the nearly six-hour “Near Death.” However, once immersed in a Wiseman film, time often becomes irrelevant. Every individual, every interaction, proves captivating—be it revealing, humorous, tender, or poignant. As he once remarked during an unexpected Reddit Ask Me Anything in 2015, “There is great drama, tragedy, comedy in ordinary experience, which if you happen to be lucky enough to be present when it occurs, you can use in film.” This was his genius: capturing profound moments on what might otherwise be someone’s best, worst, or most often, utterly ordinary day.
Crucially, each person depicted in his films is an integral part of a broader societal tapestry. Wiseman never focused on isolated narratives; he demonstrated that no one truly acts alone, and every action carries repercussions. His final, exquisite film, “Menus-Plaisirs — Les Troisgros,” beautifully exemplifies this. Set in a three-star Michelin restaurant in France, it centers on the family operating it and the local farmers who provide their ingredients. As the film progresses, it subtly reveals the immense dedication required to preserve these culinary and agricultural traditions across generations, resisting the pressures of modern scaling and franchising. It’s a testament to the meticulous care given to soil, water quality, grower relationships, and the precise artistry of plating snails or cooking veal. It underscores a profound love for the entire, interconnected process.
Naturally, this expansive fabric also includes Wiseman himself. By filming these diverse individuals over five decades, he granted them a unique form of immortality. Equally vital, he imparted a powerful message: that we should genuinely care about these people, here and now. They are our collective neighbors, even if we never meet them. He approached his craft with such profound attention that the resulting cinema is nothing short of beautiful—a form of filmmaking that truly feels like an act of love.