The worth of a society can be gauged by how it looks after its most at-risk individuals. Conversely, one might infer another self-evident yet seldom articulated fact: mending a society, even a civilization, commences with mending its most vulnerable members. This notion resonates when observing Sally Aitken’s Every Little Thing, a documentary as tender and graceful as the hummingbirds of Los Angeles, who are the focus of a woman dedicating her life to their care.

Aitken’s movie (opening in New York this weekend, then traveling across the country over the following weeks) chronicles Terry Masear’s mission, who manages a rescue center for wounded and abandoned hummingbirds from around Greater Los Angeles. She receives calls for help from various people, almost like an emergency service for these birds, takes them in, nurses them back to health at home, and eventually lets them go back into the wild. This process demands great patience and skill; some of the birds need to be taught or re-taught how to fly, as they can be timid and reluctant to do so. The birds are tiny and fragile to begin with, but the ones Masear helps often are newborns whose mothers have vanished or passed away, making them even more vulnerable.

The narrative in Every Little Thing delivers a poignant emotional journey, showing us Masear caring for various injured hummingbirds, naming each one and trying to heal them. However, not all of them survive. As we witness the struggles of Cactus with thorn injuries, Sugar Baby who was damaged by sugar water, Jimmy who fell from a tree after his mother’s death, and Larry Bird with a back injury, it becomes evident that success is only occasional. When one of these fragile birds passes away, Masear lays it to rest in her garden, placing a red flower on the grave and digging a small pit in her backyard. She shares that the hummingbirds’ bones are so delicate that they disintegrate within just a few days, giving the impression that they never existed at all.

As I ponder the intriguing question: Why hummingbirds, why now? It’s undeniable that watching a film about rehabilitating these minute birds in the midst of a city on fire seems strangely fitting, yet not out of place. The timing doesn’t feel off because the essence portrayed within this film—its timeless values and relevance—is embodied by the extraordinary character at its heart, Masear.

She is unyielding in her speech but gentle in her tone, making her an intriguing blend of resilience and sensitivity. As we watch her delicately attend to the hummingbirds—cradling them in her hands, administering feedings with syringes, cleaning their fragile wings with cotton swabs, placing them in tiny handwoven nests—we witness a woman brimming with compassion. Yet, there’s an undercurrent of mystery surrounding her relentless dedication, hinting at depths yet to be explored.

This film starts with a brief 8mm clip of a young girl running towards the camera, which might be Masear as a child. As the movie progresses, Aitken intermittently shows similar snippets, yet in such a scarce manner that these moments accumulate into a growing puzzle rather than an explanation. In fact, it feels like the film is being haunted by secrets left unsaid. However, Masear does eventually share some glimpses of her past and how she arrived at this point in her life. Yet, she appears reluctant to disclose too much about her history, which only intensifies our curiosity. Contrary to most movies that aim for clarity and revelation, it’s more challenging to create one where the mystery deepens with each viewing.

As a movie enthusiast, I find the heart of this mystery lies in the captivating close-ups of hummingbirds, with their mesmerizing slow-motion sequences that highlight the astonishing swiftness of their wings and the seemingly otherworldly way they hover in mid-air. The absurd flexibility of their petite bodies is an added bonus, making these images a sight to behold (captured by the skilled eye of wildlife cinematographer Ann Johnson Prum). The ethereal elegance of these shots stands in stark contrast to the rough, grainy footage of Masear’s past. However, these disparate styles harmoniously blend together as well, bridging time and texture to create a cinematic bond. This union serves as a narrative thread, guiding us from the depths of human suffering towards transcendence found in the otherworldly flight of these avian wonders.

In one of my preferred films from 2021, titled “Playing With Sharks: The Valerie Taylor Story“, Aitken showcases the life of a diver, filmmaker, and shark advocate who dedicated her existence to capturing and championing these marine creatures. Notably, Taylor’s journey was about challenging the common misconception of sharks as ruthless sea predators (a notion she had unintentionally reinforced earlier in her career by providing footage for Steven Spielberg’s iconic movie “Jaws“). However different hummingbirds may be, they certainly don’t occupy our nightmares. Nevertheless, these two documentaries showcase Aitken’s exceptional filmmaking skills – the way she emphasizes the physical, legendary grandeur of the ocean in “Playing With Sharks” and the dreamlike elegance of hummingbirds in “Every Little Thing“. As we watch these films, we are left with a strong belief that we’re witnessing something profound and mighty beyond just their cinematic aspects. In essence, “Every Little Thing” embodies the delicate yet indomitable mystery of all life on Earth.

Read More

2025-01-10 20:53