I was a dissenter. I retaliated against a lot of things, but more so I retaliated against the way people tried to color the world for me. I questioned, and I didnāt realize until I got older that I was always questioning why things have to be the way they are. I was deeply invested in my imagination, and cinema was that environment that sort of told me: you can create, these ideas can come out of you and unfold, and you can create the reality that you want through this particular medium.
Reginald Riceāhe goes by Reggieāis a thirty-three-year-old documentary filmmaker. In 2016, he participated in Kartemquin Filmās Diverse Voices in Docs, a professional development program for emerging documentary filmmakers of color. He recently created a short film on 57th Street Wines, and he is finishing up Tracing Our Path Through Bronzeville, a feature-length documentary highlighting cultural institutions and artists in Bronzeville.
I grew up on the South Side of Chicago, in the Englewood area. My mother and father, they took me and my brothers to the show [cinema] just about every weekend, especially in the summer. I began to take a liking to film, but more so storytellingāthe storytelling art form interested me the most.
Even today people say bad things about Englewood. They donāt understand that itās just various pockets of environments where bad things happen. Itās not everywhere, like, violence is not everywhere. With the imagination that I had, I created Englewood out of something beautiful. The elders that lived in my communityātheir stories were like movies to me. Even my parents! There were times when my mother would pull out the box of family pictures, and she would tell stories about our family and experiences, and I would see these stories visually. It was almost like sitting around a fire, having that storytime experience. So that was, that was dope.
I went away to college and actually my concentration was Philosophy and History, [which] really gave me the substance to write and to create, to see visually. Boteus, Plato, Senecaāyou had these individuals who were almost persecuted for thinking differently, seeing the world differently. They understood that, āOkay, my reality is not what I want it to be, but I can create my reality. I might be confined within a circle to be able to think, but Iāll influence my reality through generations.ā
But I think the most critical time when I decided that I was going to go into film was in 2010. I went to Egypt, studied abroad for the summer. I was so surprised that a lot of the information I read in books in undergrad didnāt really portray the experience that I got there. I think that ethics in that space was more valued and appreciated than possessing material objects, which really put me in awe. I mean, the hospitality was amazing.
Before I went, a lot of people were like, oh donāt go over there. I was likeāI come from Englewood, it canāt be that bad. I think that when youāre from a place, or when you see a place for yourself and you really go in without judging, you get the full experience. I knew people who never went to Englewood and then they go and theyāre like, āOh, itās just everyday people doing everyday things.ā I mean, you have your bad, but thereās a lot of good. Thatās what I found in Egypt.
So thatās when I was like, Iām going to be a documentary filmmaker. You know, Iām going to get my camera, Iām going to take these classes, and Iām going to try to pursue this.
After a long pause in the conversation, he looks up through his black, thick-rimmed glasses and chuckles. āIām sorry, itās hard to talk about myself. I mean, itās easy to talk about film and all of the things I enjoyā¦ā
I started the Bronzeville documentary. I came out of pocket to finance this. Sometimes I didnāt have any way to commute but through public transportation, so I would have all my equipment and I would get on the CTA bus and people would be likeāwhat are you… you must be doing something. And I would get to these places and sometimes my camera wouldnāt work, sometimes I would forget a significant piece that I needed. But I made it to this point.
The story of Tracing Our Path Through Bronzeville primarily begins with: what does it mean to tell a story? We have people who come in, and they just wanna shoot a movie, but they donāt really investigate what itās really like to be an artist. Initially I didnāt paint, but I started painting because I had to understand what it was like.
[When painting,] sometimes you can be like āhereās a mistake I made,ā but somehow it works its way into the picture. Iāve taken advice from the artists, and they say: āItās all jazz. After layer on top of layer on top of layer, you findā¦synthesis, you find your image.ā The painting gave me insight on this esoteric aspect. Itās like, are you controlling this paintbrush or is there something beyond you thatās dictating how you lay that paint on?
When you begin a film, you have it on paper. What you have written down is guidelines, but the film becomes a living being in itself, and you have to cooperate. If you go against it, sometimes you donāt get the best results, but if you allow the film to unfold and sort of feel your way through, itās like the story grab you by the hand and say: āThis is what it gonna be.ā
I try not to do what everybody else is doing. When you get a camera, itās fun to just get out and shoot things. But if you really want to include the storytelling art form, I wanna do things that are true to what I desire to do, and thatās to tell stories that are rarely shared.
I met Derrick Westbrook, the sommelier at 57th Street Wines. You donāt have a lot of black guys who are wine connoisseursāit shocked the hell out of me! I was like, Thank god, here we are, we had an opportunity that barely gets told.
[Since doing film], I learned how to see differently. I take walks, or whenever Iām out, I look up, because I feel like once upon a time, I didnāt look up enough. Iāve learned to look past peopleās flaws and really listen to them. Iāll give you an example: when I was growing up, there were some drug addicts, some drunks in the corner, and you would be like: āWhy are these people here?ā And then youāll see them with a Vietnam War hat on one day, and youāre like: āThese are these vets!ā Everyone seems to haveāat least the people Iāve crossed paths withāa purpose for where they are.
I think my motivation is to expose people, to break peopleās lens away from the traditional or common narrative. I think thatās what documentary film is about. Itās about dismantling cultural barriers and exposing people to preserve aspects of life that humanize us. I feel like we have a lot of political documentaries out there, about social activism, but I donāt think there are enough documentaries that are like: after we protest, after we come to work, we should remember to enjoy life.
If something is really working on your spirit, time and the environment that youāre occupying become irrelevant, and you engage. Thatās what art does. Itās almost like medication.
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