Growing up in Perry Hall in the 1960s, Amy Nicholson spent her summers where most local kids did—downy ocean. Beachcombing at Assateague. Waitressing at a doughnut shop in Ocean City. Crossing the wooden bridge to Chincoteague Island in Virginia, in search of wild ponies.

So, when the filmmaker, now based in New York, and her musician husband, Tim, a fellow Marylander, went looking for a future retirement spot, they naturally gravitated to the Eastern Shore.

There, in 2017, they fell in love with Inlet View Campground on Chincoteague, a community of mostly blue-collar residents who remade their rusty trailers into tidy vacation homes with million-dollar waterfront views. Then that became their home-away-from-home, too. And it is also now the subject of Nicholson’s third full-length documentary, Happy Campers, which chronicles the campground’s poignant final season as residents mourn their “shabby Shangri-La” on the eve of its demolition to make way for a resort.

“Family campgrounds are an essential part of Eastern Shore culture, and they are disappearing fast,” says Nicholson, 60, whose 2012 film, Zipper, documented a Coney Island community’s struggle to save its beloved seaside amusement park.

Decades old, Inlet View was decidedly unfussy. Residents proudly dubbed it the “Armpit of America.” TripAdvisor rated it sixth among Chincoteague’s six campgrounds and one reviewer griped, “Even the Griswolds wouldn’t stay here.” But to longtime residents—and the open-minded—it was an outpost of boozy bonhomie, stunning sunsets, and humble diversions, where everybody knew your name, but no one cared who you were.

“There was a pervasive philosophy that if you were able to live cheek by jowl with your neighbors, you were one of them,” Nicholson says.

It wasn’t until campers learned of their pending eviction that Nicholson decided to make the film. Using a handheld camera, she filmed without a crew for the first time, tenderly capturing the last rites of camper culture: beers and bonfires, community potlucks, the antics of campground pranksters, with one resident featured in the image above.

“The films find me, not the other way around,” says Nicholson of her work. “I come across a place or a community or a subject that draws me in and I get obsessed with what makes this thing something that the world needs to appreciate.” Her award-winning 2005 Muskrat Lovely explored the duality of an Eastern Shore beauty pageant and muskrat-skinning competition.

An admirer of John Waters, Nicholson’s own Baltimore roots run deep; her grandfather worked for Bethlehem Steel and her production company, Myrtle & Olive, honors her great aunts, who shared a house in the city for decades. Happy Campers premiered at the prestigious DOC NYC in November, where it won a Special Jury Prize. Following a screening at the Ocean City Film Festival, it was submitted for the Maryland Film Festival at the Parkway Theatre in May.

Ultimately, fancy RVs and glamping displaced Inlet View.

“I tend to fall in love with things that are undervalued, experiences or communities that have magic and if you try to fix it, you break it,” says Nicholson. “I don’t begrudge the developers, but there was magic there and it was broken. It’s not there anymore.”

Picture CPAC (the Conservative Political Action Conference) meeting Lord of the Flies meeting a Richard Linklater film and you get a sense of the rollicking new documentary Boys State.

Every year, in Texas, thousands of promising young men—high school seniors—gather to learn about the Democratic process and essentially cosplay a real election. They break into two made-up parties, the Federalists and the Nationalists. There are delegates and party leaders and, most coveted of all, a governor, the highest elected office.

The event is sponsored by the American Legion and has been going on for decades. Dick Cheney was a participant. So was Bill Clinton.

Because the event takes place in Texas, the boys are overwhelmingly conservative. They care deeply about the second amendment. They “back the Blue.” When they talk about “abortion” (as in, “A big issue for me is abortion”) it is understood that they mean they are anti-abortion. Some favor Texas secession although the most serious among them reject that policy.

They’re loud and rowdy and jocular, but they are mostly good kids—after all, they’re voluntarily spending a week of their lives learning about American Democracy. That said, it’s crazy seeing young people who are so reflexively conservative. It’s like a birthright to these boys. (And yes, in case you were wondering, there is a female equivalent of the retreat called Girls State.)

The filmmakers, Amanda McBaine and Jesse Moss, focus mostly on four boys—and they’ve chosen wisely.

There’s Ben, possibly the most politically savvy of the bunch, a kid who has Ronald Reagan figurines in his bedroom and who intuitively understands how to use bare knuckles campaign tactics to win. Ben is wealthy, handsome, and Jewish—but he is also disabled. A bout with meningitis as a child left him with no legs and a deformed arm (he gets around pretty nimbly on prosthetics). As a result, he’s a firm believer in rugged individualism. Any notion that a person can be oppressed by society is nonsense to him. Look at me, he insists: I have so many disadvantages and look how accomplished I am! He expresses this worldview to his somewhat amused parents as he packs up his stuff for Boys State in what appears to be a sprawling mansion.

Next there’s Robert, a floppy-haired Matt Dillon lookalike, who is not quite what he seems. At first, you think you have his number: handsome, athletic, effortlessly popular. He uses a kind of jocky bonhomie to get signatures for his governor campaign and shouts out chest-thumping messages of American exceptionalism to the appreciative boys. But in private interviews, he proves to be more thoughtful, and interesting, than he initially appears.

Then there’s René, a most extraordinary young man, who seems to be 17 going on 45. (He even wears tiny wire-rimmed glasses low on his nose, like a pair of starter reading glasses.) René is Black and liberal, which already puts him in the .01 percentile of his peers. (“Call me if you want to come home,” he says his mother advised him before he left.) He’s also exceptionally brilliant—hyper articulate, serious, with a slight chip on his shoulder that comes from always knowing he’s the smartest kid in the room. René is elected the chairman of the Nationalist party (Ben is the leader of the Federalist party)—and is almost immediately met with resistance, at least some of which is rooted in racism.

Finally, there’s the film’s true protagonist, the idealist Steven, a son of Mexican immigrants, who got his passion for politics by attending a Bernie Sanders rally, no less. Like René he’s an outsider among his peers—not just because he’s Mexican, but because his politics lean left. That said, Steven is a natural born politician, in the best sense of the word—he really wants to listen and learn and earn people’s trust and vote. At first, his earnestness seems no match against Robert’s frat boy charms, but it turns out these rowdy kids appreciate his authenticity. Even when it’s revealed that he organized a local March For Our Lives (sacre bleu!) it doesn’t quite derail him as much as you might think.

What makes Boys State so remarkable is that every political type is laid out before us—the opportunist, the glad-hander, the policy wonk, the true believer. Many of these boys are cynical because they’ve grown up watching a broken political system. Ben, in particular, uses “grievance politics” because he saw how well Trump wielded it in the election. Robert lies about his core beliefs because…isn’t that what politicians do? But the emergence of Steven as a leader is heart-warming. Some of these boys may be too far gone to save. But many of them are secretly yearning for a person of character and quality to lead them. Aren’t we all?

Boys State is available on Apple TV+ starting August 14^th.

When the 17-minute documentary, The Pause: A Brief Contemplation of Scott’s Infertility starts, we are in medea res, as it were. Our hero, arts agent Scott Burkholder (who is also the co-producer of the film along with filmmaker Richard Yeagley), is sitting in his Fells Point living room with his wife, Jenn Burkholder, and they’re getting some bad news from the doctor. The surgery to salvage Scott’s viable sperm was unsuccessful. They can try again—another surgery (it would be Scott’s third) but the odds are almost entirely against them. They won’t be able to have biological children.

We watch Scott’s face in this moment as he registers this terrible news: comprehension, shock, grief. An optimist by nature, he was really hoping this time would work. Now, he must take “The Pause” of the film’s title and contemplate his future—and his legacy.

I sat down with Scott to discuss the film, which was accepted into The New Yorker’s short documentary series and can now be viewed on its website.

This subject is so personal. What made you decide to do a documentary on your own infertility?

I work in the arts and I recognize that art is powerful because it exposes people to perspectives that they’re not familiar with. I knew there was an important story to be told about male infertility… Initially I wasn’t anticipating that I would be the subject. But ultimately documentary work is successful because of access. And because Richard [Yeagley] and I had a relationship, we knew the access would be a lot easier. Also, early on, I felt an important piece was that I felt really isolated in this experience. And I wasn’t seeing this story represented anywhere, which is why we said, hey this is a story that needs to be told. If it was on me to share the story, ultimately, I was willing to do that.

It’s true. We don’t hear as much about male infertility. It’s usually seen from the woman’s perspective.

I’ll admit when we began our journey toward a family and realized it wasn’t happening, the natural inclination was to say, Hey, Jenn, you need to go see a specialist. And that was probably my own misogyny and a societal misogyny and the way that our patriarchy operates. But I also say media oftentimes do point to the female as the bearer of the burden and the individual that, more often than not, is going through infertility. As I’ve been in the midst of it, I’ve realized that’s definitely not true. It takes two to tango. You can’t make a baby without the functioning male parts, as well. Initially, in our story, Jenn definitely went to the doctor before I did and the doctors are smart people and very promptly said, your husband should be checked out, too.

The film starts with you receiving some bad news. Would the film still have existed if you had gotten good news?

When we started filming, we also didn’t know quite what the narrative was going to be. We didn’t know the result of that surgery. I was still in a place where biological children were a possibility. So we didn’t know if the film would be my journey to biological children or not. After the surgery, we continued to film and, we recognized that much of the narrative we had to share was my own contemplation of infertility. And coming to terms with my own ability to produce biological children.

Jenn pivots immediately. She wants to adopt. You weren’t ready for that conversation yet.

That’s very much the crux of the tension in our relationship. Prior to that surgery, she had already done research into adoption and foster care and we had sat down with a friend who was a foster parent to talk about it. She set that up. At that time, I was not ready for that. I was like, I’m not interested in this. I was just not there yet.
Richard captures that in the Christmas scene where we’re decorating the tree and we sit down and have a conversation and I ask her, “What do you want [for Christmas]?” And she says “Well, you know what I want.” And I did. I knew exactly what she wanted. But I wasn’t there. And that’s part of what you see unfold as the film goes on.

For you, there was kind of a double mourning that went on: The loss of your own biological child and a loss of sense of self, right?

Grieving requires an exploration of what you did lose.
One of the things that I did, I wrote an obituary for this child that I never had. Along with that, I read A Grief Observed by C.S. Lewis. And C.S. Lewis talks about losing his wife. You realize there are very few people in your life who actually know you. Who know all of you—your quirks included. And in that knowledge, they’re able to tell you stuff about yourself that you don’t even know. I think a child is like that. At the time, I didn’t know that’s what I’d lost, but as I pondered it and thought through it, I [realized] I’ll never have the experience of seeing someone else play with my genes, someone who has my genetics and experiences life slightly differently and potentially makes different choices but still has a part of me in them. That’s a significant loss. I had to let go of that and move beyond that.

Was sperm donation ever considered?

It’s hard for me because Jenn will inevitably have a very different relationship to that child than I ever could because her genetic makeup would be a part of it. There will be an intimacy that I just cannot experience. That physically is not there, which is part of why we’ve opted to go down the path of adoption.

So you are going to adopt? Even by the end of the film, you weren’t quite ready for that.

We’re looking to do foster care with the intention of adoption…The state mandates that you go through educational classes on becoming what they refer to as resource parents—most of us would refer to them as foster parents. We took the classes through the state/city in October-November of 2019.The next step is what’s called a home study. It’s complicated because we started a significant renovation of our house that was supposed to be a four month project and instead became a 16 month project. [After that,] the intent is to go through the home study and welcome a child into our home.

You’ve had a few virtual screenings, with the desire to do more. And now, of course, The New Yorker exposure. What has it been like talking about this experience?

This whole experience has been therapeutic. These questions force me to confront my thinking and to put to words that emotion. Very personal questions get asked. Whether I like it or not, I’m the face of this. My desire is to allow other couples, particularly men, to not feel as isolated as I did going through this…As I’ve gone through this, I’ve learned a lot about myself and just that value of being vulnerable. I want other people to realize that, just because you can’t biologically produce your own children it doesn’t make you any less of a man or a human. You still have a lot to offer society. Your legacy is not tied to the genetics of a child that you might raise. I need to say that, I need to put that out there. For myself, and I hope for other people.

Bad films are a dime a dozen, but it takes a really special kind of bad film to become a cult classic. That’s the premise of Jeffrey McHale’s You Don’t Nomi, which looks at this phenomenon through the lens of one particular so-bad-it’s-good film, Showgirls.

It takes almost half of You Don’t Nomi’s running time before someone utters the word camp, but that’s what Showgirls is—and that’s camp in the Susan Sontag sense of the word: something that takes itself so seriously, it has no idea how ridiculous it is. And make no mistake, despite some recent revisionist history, director Paul Verhoeven, writer Joe Eszerhas, and the entire cast and crew of Showgirls thought they were making an important film, a serious exploration of decadence and sexual agency and power.

The film is “a type of comedy I don’t think you can make on purpose,” explains David Schmader, who hosts regular Rocky Horror-style screenings of Showgirls in Seattle.

You Don’t Nomi examines the film mostly through film clips (both of Showgirls and other Verhoeven films, including Robocop and Starship Troopers) and the voiceovers of film critics, film historians, and assorted ironic admirers of the film, like Schmader. (As a film critic myself, I was slightly dismayed that we only hear their voices and never see them. Justice for the critics! They have faces, too!)

Most of the critics agree that the film is bad, albeit fascinatingly so. But one critic, Adam Nayman, actually argues that the film is good. (Indeed, he has written an entire book on the subject, the aptly titled, It Doesn’t Suck: Showgirls.) He points out that Showgirls has some striking imagery and moments of arresting beauty. This is true—and indeed, the tension between the film’s technical mastery and laughable action/dialogue is undoubtedly part of its allure.

But most of the talking heads point out how hilariously crazed the film is. Our heroine, Nomi (Elizabeth Berkley), storms through the film in an extreme and inexplicable state of rage, upending tables and pushing people aside as she stomps from one room to the next. For some reason, the question “Where are you from?” particularly incites her. “Different places!” she screams back, more than one time. The film also has unusual obsessions, which I confess I failed to notice the first time I watched it: women’s manicured nails, which is a topic of frequent and often incongruous discussion, and “brown rice and vegetables,” which is meant to represent female oppression by the man, I guess. (Nomi is shown triumphantly chowing down on a giant burger.)

Showgirls is also arguably the least sexy film about sex ever made. This is a common refrain from critics, often because they don’t want to cop to their own desires, but in this case, it’s true. Never has writhing and thrusting been so joyless.

The poet Jeffery Conway places Showgirls in the holy trinity of camp, which also includes Valley of the Dolls and Mommy Dearest. It’s no surprise that all three of these films appeal to gay men in particular, as they are the gatekeepers of camp. And, as Showgirls features a bitchy, jealous diva/villain (played deliciously by Gina Gershon, in the film’s best performance), its camp bona fides were never in question.

Here’s the thing about Showgirls: It has a poignancy about it, that McHale leans into. First and foremost, there’s the poignancy of the filmmakers who thought they were making something great, epic even, when they failed so spectacularly. And then there’s the poignancy of poor Elizabeth Berkley, who had already unintentionally contributed to the camp pantheon in the Saved By the Bell episode where her Jessie Spano gets hooked on caffeine pills and becomes histrionically insane (in the great tradition of sitcoms, she was back to her old self the next episode), and who thought this was going to be her career breakthrough. There’s an underdog quality to the film, after all these years. And when the doc shows Elizabeth Berkley hosting a screening of the film and basking in the adoration of the crowd—finally, after all these years, in on the joke—it feels like a happy ending for Berkley and Showgirls.

You Don’t Nomi will be available starting June 9 on Amazon Prime and other streaming services.

Being a female celebrity is like navigating an endless tightrope. You have to be pretty, but relatably so. You have to be confident, but never cocky. You can have opinions, but not strong ones. You have to be sexy, but not too sexy. And so on.

And, as the remarkable new Netflix documentary, Miss Americana, establishes, when you’re Taylor Swift, and you’ve grown up in the public eye, this tightrope is constantly swaying, as public expectations of you shift and change.

When she first broke through in the music industry at the age of 16, it really was enough for her to be pretty, nice, and talented—a “good girl.” But then she became so successful that a backlash was inevitable—in America, the only thing we love more than building someone up is knocking them down—and just like that, the very things that made her successful were now a detriment. She was too pretty. Too nice. She was obviously fake. Conceited. A backstabber. And what about her stubbornly neutral stance on all things political? Was she an airhead? Or, worse still, a secret Trump supporter? (Gasp!)

Lana Wilson’s documentary shows Swift coming to terms with all these paradoxes. At first, Swift admits, they were overwhelming. One minute she was the most beloved girl in the world, the next minute she was something of a pariah. Of course, she was still wildly popular—a teen idol, a multi-platinum recording artist—but suddenly everything she wore, everything she ate, and everyone she dated was a source of endless speculation, debate, and curiosity.

Miss Americana is clearly an authorized documentary. As such, we get incredible access—backstage, in the recording studio, on her tour airplane. There are also things we don’t get (Swift remains very tight-lipped about her private life). To me, it’s a fair tradeoff, particularly because Swift is so forthcoming, bordering on confessional. The star admits that she struggled with an eating disorder and bouts of self-loathing. She talks about her feelings of powerlessness during a sexual assault lawsuit (she won the case against a DJ who had violated her). Through it all, she comes across as not just a preternaturally talented musician, but also amazingly smart, witty, self-deprecating, and self-aware.

The film’s pivotal moment comes when Swift decides to endorse Phil Bredesen, a Democrat, over a Marsha Blackburn, an extreme conservative, in Tennessee’s 2018 midterm election.

Her team, including her father, frantically urge her to reconsider. She’ll be alienating half her fans, if not more—and for what? Better to stay pretty and blank, an avatar for everyone’s hopes and dreams. But she insists that she needs to do this—for herself if nobody else. There’s an incredible scene as she’s about to put out her first social media post endorsing Bredesen. Her finger hovers over her phone tremulously until she musters the courage to hit send. It feels like a “before and after” moment—and she waits, with equal parts exhilaration and fear.

Of course, that endorsement didn’t ruin her career. If anything, it gained her more fans (Blackburn, however, ended up winning the election). And it’s all part of Swift’s journey toward self-discovery. Toward the end of the film, Swift muses that celebrities get “frozen at the age they become famous.” Miss Americana is about her breaking free of that 16-year-old “good girl” she was and becoming the multi-dimensional 30-year-old woman she is today.

Alison Klayman’s The Brink starts with former White House chief strategist Steve Bannon talking about Nazis. But he’s not praising Nazis, as one might expect. He’s talking about the horrific paradox that Nazis were regular people who didn’t realize they were monsters. By day, they made plans for brutally efficient murder camps; by night, they went to parties and had dinner with their families.

Of course, this is a sly way to open a documentary on Steve Bannon, because in some ways his own analogy applies to him. No, Steve Bannon isn’t an actual Nazi, but he is certainly spreading a vile brand of far-right “populism” around the globe.

Oh, and here’s the other paradox: Bannon also happens to be a pretty charming guy.

As I watched the documentary, which follows Bannon after Trump cut ties with him in the aftermath of the Charlottesville “Unite the Right” rally, I found his charm positively disarming. He’s self-deprecating and affable; he has a winking, “c’mon, admit it—you’re having the time of your life” style of discourse that lures audiences into a kind of secret partnership with him. “It’s not that serious, it’s politics—and it’s fun,” seems to be his mantra, which is pretty damn cynical when you consider that what he’s advocating for is so dangerous.

And here’s something that will annoy you to no end (it certainly annoyed me): After he was fired by Trump and given the boot by Breitbart, the far-right website he edited, he didn’t miss a beat. He kept giving keynote speeches and jetting around the world in private planes, huddling with world leaders, and doing meet and greets with adoring fans.

Indeed, at one point in the film, he flies to Venice to promote yet another documentary about him, Errol Morris’s American Dharma, but doesn’t attend the film festival at which the film is premiering. Instead, he holes up in his posh hotel room, meeting with white nationalists and making plans to start a global anti-immigration movement.

Klayman humanizes Bannon—with his big belly (he swears he’s trying to lose it), pock-marked face, constant supply of Red Bulls, and unkempt appearance, it’s not that difficult. But she is also very clear-eyed about who he really is. There’s a telling moment late in the film where Bannon is talking to a reporter for The Guardian who accuses him of using anti-Semitic dog whistles when he describes George Soros as leading a globalist conspiracy.

“You don’t really think that’s anti-Semitic!” cracks Bannon, performatively shocked.

“Yes, I do,” says the reporter.

“C’mon, you don’t really,” Bannon tries again, but the reporter stands firm. In fact, he says, he’s offended that Bannon is joking about a subject so serious. He’s one of the first in the film who is not swayed by Bannon’s back-slapping bonhomie and it’s both cathartic and clarifying.

The film ends right after the 2018 midterms, when a diverse group of Democratic congresspeople­—many women of color—have won their districts. Bannon, who consulted for a few of the losing Republicans, is dismayed. It’s a blow for him and the movement he’s trying to lead—and in that sense a relatively optimistic note on which to end an otherwise depressing film. But if we’ve been paying close enough attention, we know the good vibes are temporary. There’s no kicking Bannon out of polite society because he’s so damn good at negotiating it. The moral of the film might very well be this: Beware of affable nationalists in rumpled shirts.

The Brink opens this Friday at the Charles Theatre

The latest chapter in the saga of the murder of Hae Min Lee and conviction of Adnan Syed for the crime came to a close last night with the finale of HBO’s The Case Against Adnan Syed, which director Amy Berg and her team worked on for three-and-a-half years.

Through interviews, research, and a team of private investigators and experts, Berg has constructed a solid argument for Syed getting a new trial, if not his innocence. Before the final episode, “Time is the Killer,” aired on HBO, the Landmark Theatre in Harbor East hosted a premiere of the finale featuring a panel discussion with Berg, attorney C. Justin Brown, and former Baltimore City prosecutor Ivan Bates, moderated by Marc Steiner.

For those attempting to keep track of the twists and turns of a case that has now stretched across 20 years, here’s some of the key points we learned from the finale and post-show panel. Many, many spoilers ahead.

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The fingerprints

Fingerprints left on Hae Min Lee’s car did not match Syed, or anyone else whose prints are in the system. This means whoever they belong to has never been booked by law enforcement.

The autopsy

Fulton County, Georgia, medical examiner Jan Gorniak examined the autopsy report and other details regarding Lee’s body and posited that she may have been somewhere other than Leakin Park for eight to 12 hours before she was buried. This change in the timeline is based primarily on a phenomenon called “lividity” during which blood settles in the body differently depending on how it is positioned.

Jay Wilds’ testimony

Wilds declined to be interviewed for The Case Against Adnan Syed, but according to Berg, when they spoke he discussed several points that contradict his previous statements (Wilds has contradicted himself many times before), including that the police coached him to say that he first saw Lee’s body in the parking lot of Best Buy and that Syed had asked him to provide 10 pounds of marijuana, which Syed then allegedly used to blackmail Wilds into helping bury Lee’s body.

Hae Min Lee’s car

Turf physiologist Erik Ervin’s testing and analysis of the grassy area where Lee’s car was parked was not conclusive. But Ervin did state that, based on the freshness of detritus on the tires and the turf below it, he believed the car had been there for a week at most. This hypothesis is supported by interviews private investigators hired by Berg conducted with a longtime resident of the area where the car was parked.

What comes next

The series ends with the March 8 ruling in the Maryland Court of Appeals that reinstated Syed’s conviction, meaning that his hopes for a new trial are on hold for the moment. But this is not the end of Syed’s legal fight.

“Other courts have found ineffective assistance of counsel when an attorney fails to contact an alibi witness who was neutral and who provided an alibi for the time of the murder. So it was absolutely stunning to us that Maryland is now the outlier on this issue. We did not see that coming,” said Justin Brown following the March 28 premiere at the Landmark.

When asked where completing the series has left her, Berg also stated her surprise over the ruling. “I mean, we expected to be in a different place tonight, so it’s hard to kind of imagine,” said Berg. “This turn kind of casts a dark light on the story. So, we’re not done obviously.”

The same day the finale premiered in Harbor East, the results of DNA tests mentioned in the film were also released. Several pieces of evidence previously went untested, partially due to concerns from the defense team that Syed’s DNA could be present Lee’s car or on her person because they had remained friends after their breakup. “If anyone has been holding it back, it has been me, because I have been concerned that it could potentially be misinterpreted,” said Brown. “But finally an opportunity arose to do it.” None of the recovered evidence contained DNA matching Syed’s.

Brown said that the team would go as far as the Supreme Court to try to get Syed his new trial and was met with a roar of applause from the packed theater, which included the filmmakers, Syed’s legal team, Rabia Chaudry, Syed’s friends and family, and many of those interviewed for the documentary series. Brown followed with another promise.

“If the Supreme Court doesn’t hear it, then we’ll try to go to federal court, and if the federal court doesn’t hear it, we’ll go back to Baltimore City Circuit Court, and we’ll keep going,” he said. “As long as we have support, as long as we believe in Adnan and we believe in his innocence, there’s no reason we’re going to stop.”

Could Led Zeppelin possibly have played the Wheaton Youth Center gym on their first U.S. tour on January 20, 1969—the night of Richard Nixon’s inauguration? The short answer: maybe.

Jeff Krulik, a former Discovery Channel producer and independent film director responsible for the cult classic Heavy Metal Parking Lot, brings his more recent documentary Led Zeppelin Played Here to the Parkway Theatre this Saturday, February 16, on the 50th anniversary of legendary band’s well-documented show a few weeks later at the Baltimore Civic Center.

We asked Krulik, 57, a Bowie-native with Baltimore roots, a few questions about his career and his documentary, which earned significant play on the festival circuit after its 2011 release. Krulik will be on hand Saturday for a Q&A after the 4 p.m. screening.

So, first, the Led Zeppelin Played Here screening this weekend is timed to coincide with the 50th anniversary of the band’s first appearance in Baltimore.
They played the Civic Center several times, 1970, 1972, 1973, but the first time was Feb. 16, 1969 when they opened for Vanilla Fudge. I’m hoping some people who were at that show come out Saturday.

We’ve got to ask about Heavy Metal Parking Lot, which for those who have not seen it (and everyone should), is a documentary short shot in the parking outside the old Capital Centre in Landover before a 1986 Judas Priest concert. What’s the reaction been like over the years from people who’ve seen it? What do fans say to you?
There are always people who say, ‘I was there.’ But they don’t necessarily mean that particular concert. They usually mean, they hung out in the Capital Centre parking lot for one show or another. Or some place similar during that period. ‘That was me’ kind of thing. Or ‘I knew those people.’ I also get ‘What happened to all those people?’ They all turned okay (laughs.) It’s kind of a cultural anthropology.

In Led Zeppelin Played Here, Baltimore also makes an appearance. You visit with the Globe Posters founders and, it turns out, one the world’s largest collections of Led Zep memorabilia is held by a local guy.
My mom is from South Baltimore and I still have family in Baltimore. I grew up going to Cross Street Market and Federal Hill.

We don’t want to give too much away, but essentially the mystery comes down to the fact there is no hard evidence Zeppelin played the Wheaton Youth Center gym. No surviving tickets, ads, concert posters, fliers, etc. Except, a handful of people claim it happened and say they were there—and that, surprisingly, the Wheaton Youth Center was booking some big, upcoming bands back in the day.
Nils Lofgren, Dr. John, Rare Earth, Rod Stewart and Faces—nobody questions them. They just question Led Zeppelin.

The premise is no one knew Led Zeppelin. Their album had just been released eight days before in the U.K. and only 40-50 people turned out.
We’ve reached out to people in the Led Zeppelin circle, but of course it would just be a blip to them. And we’ve never heard back. There’s just no conclusive evidence, which would be unheard of today, and that’s also what makes the whole thing interesting. Although I have learned more since and I’ll share some of that Saturday. It used to be listed on ledzeppelin.com as a date and then after our film it was changed to ‘unconfirmed rumour.’ Really kind of funny.

You believe the show happened.
Yes.

Last question—what was your first concert?
Bad Company. 1977 at the Capital Centre. Some of the girls in homeroom went to see Led Zeppelin two weeks before, but they didn’t ask me to go.

Visual Art

Monsters & Myths: Surrealism and War in the 1930s and 1940s
Constant conflict throughout Europe in the 1930s and 1940s shaped many of the great modern artists. This show focuses on the Surrealists—Salvador Dalí, Pablo Picasso, Max Ernst, and André Masson, among others—and how they interpreted the violence and destruction around them. View masterworks inspired by the Spanish Civil War and World War II in this exhibition of nearly 90 pieces. Opens Feb. 24; on view during museum hours through May 26. Baltimore Museum of Art, 10 Art Museum Dr.

David Driskell: Memories of Romare Bearden
Presented in conjunction with the exhibition Romare Bearden: Visionary Artist, join one of the leading authorities on African-American art for a discussion of Bearden and his impact. David Driskell will present not only his scholarly opinion, but his personal memories of Bearden as both a friend and artist. 1-3 p.m. Feb. 9. Reginald F. Lewis Museum, 830 E. Pratt St.

Music

Fourth Annual Charm City Django Jazz Fest
Celebrate the musical legacy of jazz legend Django Reinhardt over two days at the Creative Alliance. Enjoy workshops and performances from acts such as Baltimore gypsy jazz outfit Ultrafaux and Ellicott City teen guitar star Samuel Farthing, or stop in Saturday evening for a free lecture about the life of the man himself from Siv B. Lie. Times vary Feb. 22-23. Creative Alliance, 3134 Eastern Ave.

Theater

UnPresidented! A Political Variety Show
The most people usually do to celebrate President’s Day is buy a mattress at a discount. Spice up this holiday by heading to Single Carrot Theatre for a cabaret-style night of parody songs, political-themed strip tease, and artful renditions of presidential erotic poetry. Pro tip: Snag a VIP ticket for a front-row seat and open bar privileges. 8 p.m. Feb. 16. Single Carrot Theatre, 2600 N. Howard St.

Film

Docs from the Docks: Trash Dance
When most people see garbage trucks, they don’t think beauty—and that’s if they think of them at all. Choreographer Allison Orr wanted people to see these essential vehicles and the people who work on them in a new light, so she got to work. The result is Trash Dance, a Sundance- and AFI-lauded documentary about Austin’s sanitation workers, their lives, and the one night they came together to dance in front of thousands. Ahead of the screening, enjoy a live dance performed by Baltimore’s own Fluid Movement. Doors at 6:30 p.m., screening at 7 p.m., panel Q&A to follow, Feb. 21. Brown Advisory, 901 S. Bond St.

From Swastika to Jim Crow
Jewish academics who escaped Nazi Germany arrived in the United States to find that antisemitism was rampant on both sides of the Atlantic. Turned away by many major universities, these scholars began teaching at Historically Black Colleges and Universities throughout the South, where they bonded with their students through shared experiences of segregation and discrimination. From Swastika to Jim Crow explores this phenomenon and the ways it shaped both groups. 7-8:30 p.m. Feb. 27. Morgan State University Student Center Theater, 1700 E. Cold Spring Ln.

Dance

Lunar New Year Celebration
Ring in the Year of the Pig with this annual celebration at The Walters Art Museum. Let the kids try out art activities and a Chinese zodiac-themed scavenger hunt through the Arts of Asia, then secure your spot in the Sculpture Court for a performance by the Yong Han Lion Dance Troupe. The colorful dance featuring traditional lion costumes is a spectacle not to be missed. 11 a.m. to 4 p.m. Feb. 10. The Walters Art Museum, 600 N. Charles St.

Literature

Talking About Race: Steve Luxenberg and Judge Robert Bell
Author and Washington Post senior editor Steve Luxenberg will be joined by former chief judge of the Maryland Court of Appeals Robert Bell for this conversation about the lasting impact of Plessy v. Ferguson, the court case that established the “separate but equal” doctrine in the United States. Luxenberg’s new book, Separate: The Story of Plessy v. Ferguson, recounts the case through the eyes of its major figures using letters, diaries, and archives. Copies will be available for sale and signing following the discussion. 7-8:30 p.m. Feb. 13. Church of The Redeemer, 5603 N. Charles St.

News

True Vine Finds a New Home
The True Vine Record Shop has announced that the store will move to a new location in Station North. Golden West Cafe will take over the shop’s former Hampden home, and True Vine is scheduled to reopen in its new space at 1827 N. Charles Street sometime this spring. A GoFundMe to help cover relocation costs has raised nearly $3,000 since being launched Dec. 16.

Before Maya Arulpragasam became the genre-bending rapper M.I.A., she dreamed of being a documentary filmmaker and hoped to chronicle narratives she rarely saw, like those of her family, Tamil people, and other marginalized communities.

Now, viewers can get a glimpse of that world with new documentary Matangi/Maya/M.I.A. by director Stephen Loveridge, which premieres at the Parkway Theatre on Friday, October 19. The film offers new insights about the life, trials, and activism of an artist whose sound ruled the early 2000s.

In the film, we learn that her father was a Sri Lankan revolutionary, a founding member in the Tamil Resistance Movement, a collective who fought against the genocide of the Tamil people. In 1995, when Maya was 10 years old, she and her family were forced to flee Sri Lanka, and emigrate to an immigrant ghetto in Britain. While there, Maya was exposed to struggles of other peoples and found a particular connection to the African-American experience through hip-hop and by reading anti-colonial literature from scholars like Frantz Fanon.

One of the highlights of the documentary is its inclusion of behind the scene footage of M.I.A. traveling around the world to gather sounds for her second album, Kala. In an effort to produce a truly global sound, M.I.A. worked with musicians in Sri Lanka, Trinidad, Jamaica, Central Africa and Black America, with significant time spent in Baltimore. One thing that always drew me to the soundscapes M.I.A. produced on Kala was the bass and meter it sourced from Baltimore Club. It is no surprise that Philadelphia-bred producer Diplo was highly influenced by Baltimore Club and reached out to legendary Baltimore-based producer Blaqstarr to work on cuts for M.I.A.’s second album, Kala. Tracks written and produced by Blaqstarr include “The Turn” and “World Town,” which incorporated elements from Blaqstarr’s classic banger, “Hands Up Thumbs Down.”

Music aside, the film’s recurrent theme is that of conflict—M.I.A.’s struggle to find balance between the privilege and ambivalence of celebrity, and her self-imposed responsibility to, like her father, use her platform as a vehicle to address devastating civil injustices in Sri Lanka. Family photographs, found footage, and documentary video shot by Maya, intercut with more recent footage by Loveridge, a longtime friend and early art school classmate, reveal the artist’s eminent failure to leverage her celebrity for the freedom of Tamil people and also maintain her celebrity.

Every culture has a caste system, an “othered” population that usually has a darker complexion, follows a religious system other than Christianity or a belief that is outside of the Abrahamic religious structure, or is a different ethnic group or class than the nations ruling class. The documentary reveals that, despite these global inequities, people, especially those from so-called first world nations, quickly forget that we are implicated by our avoidance to combat systemic inequalities.

In 2010, around the release of Maya, an album notoriously reviled for its visceral music video “Born Free,” which depicted the violence of genocide by using white, red-haired victims in place of people of color, M.I.A. went on a media tour to call out the Sri Lankan governments participation in the genocide of Tamil people. The response was anything but favorable. Major media outlets including The New York Times and The Guardian, among others, quickly mocked and discredited her motives. In many ways Matangi/Maya/M.I.A. seems to try to shift the narrative away from that gas lighting, and the perception that M.I.A. was merely an airheaded, unintellectual persona, towards a more realized and historically nuanced reflection, in the artist’s own words, about her journey to become M.I.A. and her persistent support for the freedom and protection of Tamil people.

The documentary is a slow burn that leaves a lasting impression about how quickly one’s politics can make them fall out of favor with popular culture.

The Sara Spencer Washington Story, a short documentary from Baltimore-raised, New York-based filmmaker Royston Scott, is one of nearly 100 films from 16 countries screening this week at the Fifth Annual Baltimore International Black Film Festival. Scott offers a compelling glimpse into the vast accomplishments of his grandmother, Sara Spencer Washington, one of the first African-American millionaires.

In 1920, Sara Spencer Washington, notably recognized as “The Madame,” founded Apex News and Hair Company, a black-owned-and-operated beauty brand empire. Apex capitalized on the absurdity of American segregation by targeting consumers white beauty brands refused to acknowledge. Apex advertisements centered around black aesthetics and showcased the style and humanity of African-American culture.

Washington was able to increase the wealth and prestige of Apex across the eastern seaboard while innumerable businesses collapsed during the Great Depression. Those earnings allowed for an ambitious expansion of the Apex brand. In less than a decade, she brokered many lucrative endeavors: Apex Beauty Colleges, beachfront resort Hotel Brigantine, Apex Country Course in Atlantic City, and various philanthropic initiatives. Celebrities of the era like Joe Lewis and Marian Anderson regularly graced the cover of Apex News. By the mid-1950s, the brand had employed and educated thousands of African Americans.

We spoke briefly with director Royston Scott about the incredible and inspiring story of Sara Spencer Washington and The Apex News and Hair Company.

This is a powerful documentary. What inspired you to tell her story?
When my mother passed away, I found in the basement all of these boxes of Apex memorabilia and scrap books. My mother had compiled scrapbooks of newspaper articles, and clippings of graduates in their caps and gowns, hundreds of Black women in caps and gowns from the 1930s and 40s. One whole book was D.C., another Baltimore, another Atlanta, Atlantic City. I realized if all these women graduated in this year, and all of the scrapbooks were by year, I was trying to figure out how many women had actually graduated and how many lives were affected.

What struck you about this particular story?

I really had a moment that brought me to tears realizing that my family history was so important and influential in affecting the lives of so many black women. This story is really important. I dug deeper into the boxes and found magazine that had promotional items and equipment that you could use in salons. I realized the magnitude of the business, which is something I never looked into as a kid.

And why turn this story into a documentary?

It’s something I looked into when I went to study at NYU to go to film school and acting. I thought it would be a great project. This is my first documentary. It’s definitely been a labor of love. My mother’s health took a turn for the worst right before I was about to interview her. Within a year she passed away. I lost with her passing firsthand knowledge of Apex and growing up with Sara Spencer Washington. She grew up as the Apex heiress, debutant and the face of Apex after The Madame passed away in 1953. It was a life-changing event for me. I realized my family’s history was so important and I realized I had the opportunity to do something about it as a filmmaker and documentary filmmaker.

What has it been like to see your work come to fruition?

Things are really going great and this has been such a rewarding experience. My colleague Jacob Burckhardt, who is the assistant producer, [has been] instrumental in helping me along with this. It took seven years to make this. It’s been a great learning experience all around. I know it means a lot to the people who see it. I really want the youth of today to know about their role models. That’s the great thing about making documentary films—you learn about role models and your history. I believe that people should be aware of their history.

The Sara Spencer Washington Documentary will screen this Thursday, October 4, at 12:30 p.m. at The Charles Theatre.

HBO is teaming up with Sky for new documentary series The Case Against Adnan Syed, which will revisit the 1999 murder of Baltimore County teen Hae Min Lee and the trial of her ex-boyfriend, Adnan Syed. 

Whether or not Syed committed the crime has been a topic of public debate since Sarah Koenig launched the hit podcast Serial, which chronicled the story of the murder and trial, in 2014. Syed was convicted in 2000 and sentenced to life in prison. However, The Maryland Court of Special Appeals ruled in March that Syed’s attorney failed to call a key alibi witness and ordered that his conviction be thrown out. Prosecutors are now asking the Maryland Court of Appeals to reverse the lower court’s ruling, and it could be months before a decision is made as to whether the conviction will stand or Syed will receive a new trial.

Throughout his trial and during his imprisonment, attorney and family-friend Rabia Chaudry has remained a staunch supporter of Syed. It was Chaudry who originally brought the story to Koenig, and it seems she’s on board with director Amy Berg’s new look at the case.

“There are no coincidences: it was Amy Berg’s documentary West Of Memphis that I watched one night on Netflix, turned off the TV & got online to search for a reporter to investigate Adnan’s case,” Chaudry tweeted after the HBO announcement was made. “I found that reporter same night, Sarah Koenig. Now Amy is directing this series.”

Berg is also known for her 2006 documentary Deliver Us from Evil, about sex abuse cases in the Catholic Church, which was nominated for an Academy Award.

In production since 2015, the documentary series claims to present “new discoveries, as well as groundbreaking revelations that challenge the state’s case” and will feature exclusive access to Syed and his family, the defense team, friends and teachers of Syed and Lee, and Baltimore law enforcement per HBO. It will also feature original music from Nick Cave and Warren Ellis.

The series’ air date has not yet been released.

Most notably known as Detective Kima Greggs on HBO’s hit series The Wire, Sonja Sohn couldn’t leave Baltimore behind when the show ended in 2008. Her deep connection to the community led her to begin her nonprofit, reWIRED For Change in 2009 to help at risk youth and families and now she’s poised to debut her documentary Baltimore Rising on HBO on November 20.

The 90-minute documentary follows eight local figures—activists Kwame Rose, Dayvon Love, Adam Jackson, Makayla Gilliam-Price, community leader Genard “Shadow” Barr, Baltimore Police Commissioner Kevin Davis, Lt. Colonel Melvin Russell, and police detective Dawnyell Taylor—in the aftermath of the April 2015 riots following the death of Freddie Gray in police custody.   

Filming for Baltimore Rising began in September 2015 and chronicles everything from the first day of trials for the officers charged in Freddie Gray’s death to the release of the Department of Justice’s scathing report of the Baltimore Police Department a year later.

In April 2015, Sohn was in Los Angeles working on a project when she heard what was happening in Baltimore. She wasted no time getting back to the place that held a special place in her heart to help pick up the pieces in any way she could.

“I was moved just like everybody else in the middle of everything happening,” she said. “Any time I can find myself in a position to be useful, I try to do so.”

She met with a few local activists and began discussing the possibility of creating a documentary that would provide an in-depth look into the work being done in the community. Just four months later, Sohn pitched the idea to HBO, and the rest is history.

“I really wanted to highlight the indomitable spirit and intelligence of the Baltimore grassroots community,” Sohn told Baltimore. “You don’t really see all the work that goes into the change they are trying to make—I wanted to make sure the world could see that.”

Rose is a central figure of the documentary, which we got to preview in an advanced screener, following him from his first arrest through his trials and his relationship with his family. Viewers will also get to know young activist Gilliam-Price, who struggles with what her future should look like. Another memorable scene is Davis addressing a room full of community leaders to combat the recent violence as a result of the riots. (Noticeably absent in the documentary is any mention of former BPD Commissioner Anthony Batts). 

“There’s the artist activist, there’s the policy activist, there’s the protester, and there’s the police all trying to fight for change,” Sohn said. “That’s the story we wanted to tell—a more detailed story about how we got here. The Freddie Gray situation is a part of that, but we all understand that it was a part of something even bigger.”

The early 1980s was a tumultuous time in Baltimore—and paralleled what was happening in a lot of other American cities. Drugs were running rampant, the public health and school systems were failing, and Bethlehem Steel closed down, causing thousands of people to lose their jobs.

But there was a group of young men that found success on the hardwood court of Dunbar High School, and it wasn’t thanks to a big budget or even a proper training center. Despite all odds, they became the greatest high school basketball team of all time. On Tuesday night at 8 p.m., ESPN will air Baltimore Boys as part of its popular “30 for 30” series and chronicle the tale of the Dunbar Poets both on and off the court.

“The best documentaries lead you to an unexpected place,” says co-director and Park Heights native Sheldon Candis. “You think it’s about this great basketball story, which it is, but it also holds a mirror up to American society in the 1980s.”

Candis, 38, said that he’s been waiting a long time to tell this story. The film opens up showing the 1968 riots in Baltimore following the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and chronicles the triumphant journey of the Dunbar High School boys basketball team, who went undefeated for 59 straight games between 1981 and 1983. Even more impressive, 11 of the players joined a Division I program and four of those—David Wingate, Reggie Williams, Tyrone “Muggsy” Bogues, and Reggie Lewis—were drafted into the NBA.

“This is really my love letter to the city,” Candis said. “Growing up, we didn’t have to look to Michael Jordan. We had the Poets right in our own backyard.”

Wrangling up former players, family, and supporters of the team presented quite a few challenges, as did finding quality archive footage since the early ’80s was right on the cusp of the handheld video camera. Luckily, two other local filmmakers, Tommy Polley and David Manigault, made a Poets documentary a few years back and had already scoured East Coast news stations to find footage.

“There would be so many moments that people would describe to me or remember in their heads,” Candis said. “But trying to match up and find that footage was a challenging scavenger hunt.”

Shot over a five-month period last year, Baltimore Boys provides some behind the scenes moments from players like Bogues (“he reached genius on the hardwood,” Candis said) to Dunbar coach Bob Wade, who was instrumental in not only coaching, but nurturing his team. At one point, Wade reveals in the documentary that, because his team didn’t have a proper facility or weights, he drove around Baltimore City collecting bricks and had his team practice running with them.

“You better believe that’s why they were the most well-conditioned team in the fourth quarter,” Candis said. “One man’s junk became another man’s treasure.”

As a filmmaker, Candis admits that seeing Coach Wade get emotional during an interview was a highlight for him. The moment comes when he’s talking about having the Dunbar court dedicated to him and he started thinking about every player he coached, fathered, and protected during those years.

“It’s Bob Wade who is the unsung hero that everyone should really rally behind,” Candis said. “I am just some kid from Park Heights that has been lucky enough to share this story with a wider national audience. It’s about time.”

When Baltimore native and Broadway producer Amanda Lipitz set out to create a documentary about a local step team, she had no idea what the year 2015 would mean for the city.  

But her new film, Step, follows the lives of three girls at the Baltimore Leadership School for Young Women (BLSYW) in the aftermath of the Freddie Gray Uprising.

This inspirational story follows Blessin Giraldo, Cori Grainger, and Tayla Solomon during their senior year of high school. The audience is invited on their journey of familial, academic, and social stress—and what that could mean for their future.

The girls were in town for the premiere Monday night at the Parkway Theatre, so we sat down to with them to learn more about how the project emerged.

Amanda tells us that Blessin was the catalyst for the film.
Blessin Giraldo: Amanda has been involved in our school culture a lot; she’s the daughter of one of the founders. She does videos for us to help us raise money for our education. She loves girls that are first-generation students going to college, so I figured the worst thing she could say was “no,” so I asked her if she could film the step team, and now we have a movie. 

How did you get involved with step and when did the step team begin?
BG: My first time seeing step was at Morgan State University. I was in fifth grade transitioning into sixth grade—I fell in love. I went home, went on YouTube and taught myself how to do it. But I knew nothing about its rich culture, I learned that later on in life. I brought the idea to my sisters and the principal at BLSYW and they all trusted me to do a super cool step team. 

Cori Grainger: Step helped me to express myself in a way that I wasn’t comfortable doing before. I started when Blessin started it in the sixth grade. I am usually quiet, but when I step, I become a different person that is more confident.

Tayla Solomon: Cori is like a quiet storm. I started in the ninth grade.

There are 19 girls on the step team, but only three of you were chosen to be the focus of the film. How did that happen?
BG: A lot of us have similar stories. That’s how we relate to one another so much. I think Amanda picked one out of a group of girls with similar stories that was more open to sharing their story. 

TS: Some girls didn’t want their lives documented; it’s all about what you’re comfortable with. The first time watching the film, it wasn’t easy. Some parts we were embarrassed about, but few months later, I was no longer embarrassed because I learned from it, and grew, and progressed.

BG: It wasn’t exploitation; it was far from that. It was about being courageous and confident enough to be an example to other young men and women around the world who can relate to your story—being an example for your generation.

At one point it seemed like everyone was hanging out without Blessin. Was that an accurate portrayal?
BG: That was a specific moment in my life when I isolated myself. Even if there was a problem, the other girls would come to me after a practice and be like, ‘You good?’ It was never that type of vibe where it was just me and then the team. That was just a temporary phase that we went through, which is a part of our bigger story. We get over those things—I do love being with my team. That’s why at the end of the movie I say, ‘They don’t know how much they mean to me.’

There were some tough times for you all that year, moments of vulnerability. Was it difficult having your every move documented?

CG: I wouldn’t say it was that hard actually. Since it’s a documentary, you just have to be yourself and live your normal life. The hardest part was probably the fact that sometimes you don’t understand why the cameras have to be there at this specific scene or time, and you just want them gone. But it’s a part of your story and it’s something that you want the people to know. We put away our own feelings to actually think about what we want people to learn from this experience.

TS: It really felt like the cameras weren’t even there. We had a great camera crew, I love them, and they love us. We definitely created a bond with them; everything just flowed naturally.

BG: There was over 400 hours of footage, and the film is only 83 minutes. There are a lot of different layers to us, and this doc is just one layer.

What was something that didn’t make it in the film that you wish had?
BG: Prom. I also started a talk show for the education channel 77 here in Baltimore, “Teen Talk Speak Up.” I was the host for the entire year, they followed me there, I wrote stories about it for BLSYW. It was a huge accomplishment for me.

CG: For me, the documentary shows a lot of strength from our mothers and females in our lives who are there to be our role models. But a lot of us actually do have father figures in our lives, and I just wish my dad were represented more. My stepdad is in it a few times, but I also have a father who is amazing, and very supportive, and we’re very close.

TS: I would have liked for the scenes that we hang out outside of step to have been shown. We talk about sisterhood in the movie, but it’s not really shown. 

The film chronicles your senior year of high school. At the end of the film, you are all off to college, are you still where the film left off?
CG: Well I dropped out of school.

TS: Yea, pretty much.

BG: Yea, me too.

TS: After the documentary, it was like what’s the point.

CG: It’s like we’re famous now, so who cares.

BG: We’re kidding! [Laughs] I worked really hard to get there, why would I drop out?

CG: We’ll all be [college] sophomores in the fall.

The film opens nationwide on August 4. What do you want audiences to take from your story?
CG: We want people to see that we all go through things, but you have to set a goal and focus on what’s important to you. You have to find people who support you to accomplish those goals. Anything is possible.

TS: To take advantage of every opportunity that comes your way. To be a support system to someone, and have your own support system, because some people don’t understand that there are people that want you to be successful. You also have to be able to accept tough love and take the criticism; someone sees potential in you, and wants to help you become a better person.

BG: To be resilient, and to try no matter what the odds are. It’s about what you expect from yourself, that’s something that kept me going—envisioning who I wanted to be. I want people to know that no matter what you go through, there will be a light at the end of that journey. There will be rainbows after that storm; you just have to respect the process and the progress.

A year after leaving the prestigious Washington Ballet, Rebecca Houseknecht still dances. But the symphonic sounds of ballet have been replaced by the driving beats of the 14-time national champion Towson University dance team.

The Middle River native capped off her meteoric rise as a ballet student when she competed at the 2010 Youth America Grand Prix, the world’s largest ballet competition. The contest was chronicled in the recent film documentary First Position, and Houseknecht was one of seven dancers featured in the movie. Being a big part of the documentary was fun, she says, but the glare of the spotlight wasn’t really comfortable for her.

“The other kids in the movie were totally dedicated to ballet, but I think I was picked to be a part of it partly because I had a life outside of dance,” she says. “I think the other dancers were more comfortable than I was being followed by the cameras.”

After the Grand Prix, she was offered a position with The Washington Ballet’s studio company, which offers young dancers a taste of the ballet world. She eagerly accepted. But after just a few months, the reality of life as a professional dancer set in. The now 20-year-old sophomore quickly realized the total commitment that would be required to dance at that level.

“If you’re not willing to give up everything for it, it’s not for you,” she says. “I didn’t like it. It was too much like work.”

Now a health-care management major at Towson, she is having a ball with the university’s dance squad, which got to compete in a national competition in Daytona Beach, FL.

“It’s so different,” she says. “It was so cool to go on an outside stage in front of thousands of people and perform with your team. It was definitely a bigger adrenaline rush than ballet.”