Inside Out: No Other Land & Frederick Wiseman’s The Store
Documentary filmmaking and the insider/outsider perspective.
The arthouse cinema scene in New York is abuzz with talk about documentaries! A timely Oscar contender launched a theatrical release at the Film Forum, despite being unable to find a suitable distributor. Uptown, Film at Lincoln Center launched a monthlong retrospective of legendary filmmaker Frederick Wiseman.
Below are reviews of No Other Land and The Store, one of the over thirty titles in the Wiseman retro. The two films could not be more different in content1. One is about the systematic destruction of a Palestinian village that is happening while you are reading this; the other reveals the inner workings of Neiman Marcus in 1983. But they use the same form, at least at first glance. They employ the vérité style of documentary, which dispenses with talking heads, narration, and archival footage in favor of a “fly on the wall” ethos. It relies on the viewer to draw connections between scenes, and tends to be less didactic than what I pejoratively describe as “normie docs.”
Within the vérité form is a dichotomy of insider/outsider, which should be considered with these two documentaries. Wiseman is one of cinema’s greatest chroniclers of American institutions: prisons, hospitals, governments, schools, and so much more. His skilled scene selection and editing give the viewer an uncommon insight into the structures that we take for granted. Some things can only be revealed with an external, detached perspective. But only a filmmaker directly involved in the events they capture can imbue their work with a righteous passion. That’s more than accomplished by Basel Adra, Hamdan Ballal, Yuval Abraham, and Rachel Szor, a collective of Israeli and Palestinian activist journalists who are as close as can be to the events shown in No Other Land.
No Other Land
Now playing at the Film Forum in New York; expands to other markets February 7.
Wisely avoiding an attempt to contextualize the long history of conflict between Israel and Palestine, No Other Land focuses on the dismantling of one village in the West Bank. This is a personal matter for the filmmakers: one of them, Basel Adra, hails from Masafer Yatta, which has been slated for demolition by the Israeli military. The goal, as is the case across the occupied Palestinian territories, is to force out the current residents to clear space for Israeli settlers. We see houses and schools razed by bulldozers, one by one over the course of years, and Adra agonizes: “they destroy us slowly,” hoping to engender an atmosphere of hopelessness. It is grimly inspirational that so many of the residents of this village refuse to fold after repeated harassment and attacks, with no end on the horizon. But as Adra’s mother says, there’s no other land for them to inhabit.
The film’s production began when Israeli journalist Yuval Abraham started reporting on the situation in Masafer Yatta. Contemptuously described by a soldier as a “human rights Israeli,” he strikes up a working relationship with Adra and the two attempt to shed light on the destruction unfolding around them. (Cinematographer Rachel Szor and photographer Hamdan Ballal also collaborated on this film with Abraham and Adra.) Abraham decries how all of this is being done in his name, but his allyship has limits. After reporting a story, he is able to go back home to Jerusalem, whereas Adra cannot leave.
As shown in the film, the separation between Israelis and Palestinians is deeply embedded within the bureaucracy. License plates and passports have different colors, depending on which group you belong to. Adra has a law degree, but the only jobs available to him are in construction. Of the many elements to No Other Land, one of the most striking is how the Israeli state uses this bureaucratic oppression to abet physical violence, both through its military and nominally independent settlers. If the defining feature of the state (as a concept) is a monopoly on violence, it must follow that these settlers are a part of the state. Israel’s right-wing government has emboldened extremists to be openly bigoted. Sounds familiar to Americans, far too familiar.
While the film ends in 2023, shortly after the October 7 attack, Masafer Yatta still remains under siege. Just days after the film was nominated for an Oscar, settlers invaded once again, burning cars and shattering windows. But despite the film’s painful relevance and numerous accolades, No Other Land remains without distribution in the US, which has made the film into a cause célèbre amongst critics. A report by Anthony Kaufman, published in Documentary Magazine, describes how risk-averse studios and a largely Islamophobic industry has led to the filmmakers releasing the film on their own. The whole thing is worth a read, particularly some speculation on how this has been spun into an awards campaign talking point:
A representative of another small U.S. distributor, which made an offer for the film shortly after its Berlin premiere, agrees that emphasizing No Other Land’s distribution status is a deliberate sales strategy. “We were told there were a few distributors interested and they were holding back for a big streaming deal,” they say. “My personal feeling now—especially given the articles I’ve seen—is they are using [the lack of U.S. distribution] as a marketing tool while they hold out for a big payday for awards.”
Whether this David versus Goliath spin is a cynical selling point for the film, or a result of genuine censorship, No Other Land remains an honest confrontation of an unfolding humanitarian disaster that champions activism and solidarity while revealing its limits.
⭑⭑⭑⭑☆
The Store (1983)
New 4K restoration plays at Film at Lincoln Center in New York on February 21. An older transfer is streaming on Kanopy.
Of my many interests, fashion is pretty low on the list, but I am convinced that Frederick Wiseman can make anything compelling. One of the most thrilling films I’ve ever seen was his film City Hall, a four-hour tour of Boston’s municipal government. The titles of Wiseman’s films are simple, as if his work can encapsulate the entirety of a city hall, a hospital, a department store. Originally released in 1983, the store of The Store is Neiman Marcus, whose Dallas headquarters is explored in the fleeting (for Wiseman) two-hour runtime. We see shoppers peruse fancy things: ruby rings, a sable fur coat, a bangle worth $42,500. We also go behind the curtain, so to speak, where sales directors strategize and seamstresses alter dresses.
Wiseman is a wizard of juxtaposition, generating meaning by cutting from one scene to another. A tranquil shot of an illustrator painting a dainty image of jewelry is followed by machinists drilling and hammering away to actually make those rings and baubles. There are also some delightfully surreal moments sprinkled throughout, usually involving costumes that are very much not fashionable. A stray shot of a guy dressed as Robin Hood wandering the floor is highly amusing, as is an extended scene in which a back-office employee receives a “singing telegram” from someone in a chicken suit who does a striptease while belting out “Let Me Entertain You” from Gypsy. (Yeah, I don’t know, either.) The film never tells you what to make of all this. We see a lot of people look at themselves in the mirror, but there isn’t much self-reflection. It's on the viewer to put it together.

The fashions we see in The Store are very much a product of the maximalist 1980s, the apex of consumerist luxury and corporate worship. (Coincidentally, this is also the first of Wiseman’s films to be shot in color.) The flagship Neiman Marcus store has a golden escalator that looks a lot like the one the current President rode down on when he announced his ridiculous foray into politics. This is the milieu from which Donald Trump came into prominence, and based on that viral New York Magazine article on young MAGA acolytes, he’s brought 80s fashions back with him, at least among a certain set of the population. But it’s not just the aesthetics of the past that have returned. Noxious, openly racist views are back too, as well as fealty to wealthy businessmen2. In today’s headlines, we feel the presence of the past.
⭑⭑⭑⭑☆
A funny coincidence about watching The Store: the last scene is of then-CEO Stanley Marcus singing “My Way,” “in the style of Rex Harrison.” (Translation for non-theater nerds: he talked the lyrics.) The day of this film’s press screening I also saw Better Man, whose final scene is also a performance of “My Way,” albeit sung much more beautifully.
A lot of people have written about No Other Land, and many more have written about the films of Frederick Wiseman. I may be the first to attempt to compare them.
I didn’t mean to draw connections to the Trump presidency in both of these reviews but let’s just say that politics have been on my mind this week.