How does a person who’s been blind since birth find social connection in the analog age? Rachael J. Morrison’s delightful documentary “Joybubbles” shows how one very special disabled person discovered the answer. Rent-seeking corporate types who usually profit from this desire for connection will hate any lionization of people such as this film’s subject. But as Hobbes the Tiger often says in riposte, they along with the nearest ableist can go soak their heads.
Josef (aka Joe) Carl Engressia was the son of a commercial photographer and a housewife mother. Born blind at birth in mid-20th century Florida, both Joe and his sister came into a world where there was no societal infrastructure available for people like them to live as independently as possible.
Left to his own devices, young Joe made the family’s analog-era telephone of the time the center of his curiosity. A device which allowed Joe the possibility of communicating with people who lived far away from his family sounded magical if he could unlock its secrets. However, the primitive state of the era’s long-distance calling technology and its expense made such a dream seem futile. But Engressia’s ability to whistle in perfect pitch would allow him to make phone calls around the world for free. What happened next, particularly after others learned about Engressia’s special ability, would change his life.
Period television footage of phone company representatives trying to equate Engressia’s whistling with wholesale theft sounds unintentionally funny in this day and age. Their anger at losing a lot of rent-collecting opportunities from their phone service sounds particularly ludicrous given Engressia’s actions were never motivated by either covetousness or sociopathy. While Engressia fortunately never served serious jail time, the telephone companies declined to make full use of his white hat phone phreaking skills. That collective action frustrated Engressia’s desire to be regularly employed in his dream job so he could live independently.
The film’s odd title relates to the second far happier phase of its subject’s life. Engressia legally changed his birth name to Joybubbles. The name’s roots came from a combination of Joy Dishwashing Liquid and “bubbles.” That new moniker reflected Engressia’s decision to radically embrace the 5-year-old child in himself. It would be a way of reclaiming a childhood lost to parental abuse.
An endearing moment in Morrison’s film recounts Joybubbles’ visit to a repository of every “Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood” episode ever created. The blind man may not have been able to see various episodes’ images. But his hearing of Fred Rogers’ voice proved to be a prototypical ASMR experience given the minister’s soothing and gentle tones. Rogers’ praise of connection to one’s neighbor also touched Joybubbles.
If Engressia could no longer use his whistling trick to connect to distant strangers, he successfully made use of existing technology such as telephone books to forge such connections. The delightful things Joybubbles did will not be spoiled here. The effectiveness of his tactics is reflected in the happy memories he left with those who encountered him over the telephone.
Given that Joybubbles’ story is not well known, Morrison lucked out by acquiring incredibly rare recordings of her film’s subject. Several of his friends, from phone phreaks back in the day to a woman who wanted to write a book about the blind man, also contribute their rich reminiscences. Joybubbles may never have been a trillionaire, but he’s a far better human being than those benighted folks who equate wealth accumulation with personal worth.
***
If Morrison’s documentary leaves viewers feeling hopeful about humanity, Mariana Rondon and Marite Ugas’ suspenseful drama “It Would Be Night In Caracas” will have the opposite effect. This adaptation of the Karina Sainz Borgo novel “The Spanish Woman’s Daughter” is a chilling portrait of life in a country that’s turning feral.
When the film opens in 2017, the Venezuelan socioeconomic crisis continued from the Chavez presidency has only worsened. Mass street protests in the Venezuelan capital of Caracas have been met by violent government repression.
Adelaida may be focused on next steps after burying her recently deceased mother. A rude wake up call arrives in the form of ruthless militant La Mariscala’s commandeering of her apartment. The now homeless Adelaida reluctantly takes shelter in neighbor Aurora’s apartment. She’s soon involuntarily joined by Santiago, a friend’s brother. If the only option is to escape from Venezuela, how can this task be accomplished?
Scenes of uninterrupted highway traffic and busy markets turn out to be window dressing for an increasingly untenable political situation. The burial ceremony for Adelaida’s mother can be described as “drop in the coffin, then run home.” A market visit proves sufficient time for Adelaida to be rendered homeless. Going through legal channels to leave Venezuela has devolved into a near-Kafkaesque nightmare. Evening hours on the street become a source of fear.
Despite Santiago’s preventing Adelaida’s arrest by the paramilitaries and his telling her how she can avoid the motorcycle-riding goons, she has little reason to tell him the truth about her situation. The last she’d heard of her friend Ana’s brother, he’d been arrested and put into prison. So why is Santiago with the paramilitaries when she encounters him again? And why won’t he contact Ana to tell her he’s still alive? Meanwhile, Adelaida’s legal options for escape slowly dry up. Is the possible escape opportunity that lands in her lap one she can live with?
The flashbacks to Adelaida’s past provide clues regarding her motives. It’s clear she wasn’t born an “every one for themselves” type of person. She is capable of altruism. But her significant personal losses can be likened to the snapping of powerful supports on a rope bridge.
“It Would Be Night In Caracas” ultimately refuses to pass judgment on Adelaida. That act must be done by the viewer who can see what she must endure.
***
Cristina Costantini’s (“Sally”) new short film “La Tierra del Valor (The Home Of The Brave)” demonstrates film subject Nezza is the real deal in public displays of bravery while Secretary of Defense Pete “DUI” Hegseth is by comparison a bad cosplayer.
“Nezza” is the professional stage name of Vanessa Hernandez. This American-born daughter of Guatemalan and Colombian immigrants developed from a very young age a love for music and performing. Strong support from her parents (e.g. very homebrew stage costumes) allows her star to steadily rise. An invitation to perform the national anthem before the June 14, 2025 Los Angeles Dodgers game seems the next step, except…
Context is important here. June 14, 2025 happened to be the day for the Orange Dementia Patient’s Putin-style birthday military parade. On the same day, the first No Kings protest took place. The ICE Gestapo’s ongoing terror campaign against Los Angeles’ undocumented immigrants made headlines. Despite having a 40% Latino fanbase, the Los Angeles Dodgers management opted to do their best clam impression.
Footage of ICE Gestapo agents seizing people who looked like Nezza’s parents and grandparents affected the singer. She wanted to use her performance to publicly say “This is my country and that of my parents too.” Her answer would be to sing “El Pendon Estrellado,” the U.S. State Department-commissioned Spanish language version of “The Star-Spangled Banner.” Dodgers management had remained silent on her decision up until the next to the last minute when a management representative passed along the “management wants the English version” message. However, when the moment of truth came, Nezza disobeyed.
Home video and footage shot by Nezza’s partner Keean gives the viewer a sufficiently intimate sense of Nezza’s story, particularly the June 14 performance day. Capturing Dodgers management’s crucial lack of courage on home video is the stuff of documentary filmmakers’ dreams. Heavy use of these sources help explain how “La Tierra del Valor” came together so quickly it could screen at the Sundance 2026 Film Festival.
Nezza’s admissions of fear of breaking the rules warring with a sense of needing to do the right thing at that crucial performance feel refreshingly honest. What happened after the young singer’s performance matters less than how her story shows that self-interest has been the kryptonite that saps the American body politic’s strength to fight the Mad Orange Man.
***
The titular divide in Alison Klayman’s mid-length documentary “Scenes From The Divide” happens to be between younger and older generations of Jewish Americans. Providing a focal point for articulating these different cohorts’ views of American Judaism is Zohran Mamdani’s NYC mayoral run. Is the Democratic Socialist the younger smiling face of anti-Jewish hatred? Or is he a man who gives substantive notice to important social and political concerns affecting his constituents? Klayman’s sympathies are with the younger generation, who have a positive view of Mamdani. But unlike Faux News and other right-wing media, political difference to the director provides a source of curiosity not demonization.
Mamdani campaigner Nicole serves as both the film’s primary representative of the younger generation and its emotional heart. Her determination to build bridges is evident from the opening scene, where she and other Mamdani activists try to correctly say in Russian “Mamdani is not an anti-Semite.” Still, literally speaking the same language opens the door to a potential Mamdani voter only so far. Nothing that Nicole and a fellow campaigner can say dissuades an elderly Russian-speaking passerby from loudly declaring the absurdly inaccurate racist demand that Mamdani return to the jungle he came from.
Other Mamdani opponents have less extreme reasons for opposing the Democratic Socialist candidate. Nicole’s parents, as Ukrainian Jewish emigrants, had first-hand experience of the hardships created by a purported socialist government and they have little desire for a repeat performance. A rabbi who happens to be the son of Nobel laureate and Holocaust survivor Elie Wiesel knows from his father’s experiences that complacency in the face of anti-Jewish sentiment is an ingredient in the recipe for the second coming of the Holocaust.
The magic of Klayman’s short comes from reminding viewers that the friction that comes from dealing with opposing ideas honestly presented is what makes Americans better citizens. Big Tech’s frictionless public discourse has created a populace whose ability to think and reason has atrophied. Public argument has been turned into an exercise in mass one-upmanship. Nicole’s conversations with her parents may be a process of questioning their assumptions. But it’s hoped that she can use these conversations to sharpen or abandon her own arguments too.
Klayman’s film can only be a snapshot of the current Jewish-American generational divide. If that split in thinking leads to Jews re-evaluating questions such as the purpose of Israel (i.e. a place where Jews’ existence doesn’t rely solely on neighbors’ goodwill vs. protection at the price of wholesale maiming and killing of non-combatants), so much the better.
***
“Dr. Clarence B. Jones tells the story of his life” serves as an adequate yet anodyne logline for Ben Proudfoot and Stephen Curry’s Sundance-winning short “The Baddest Speechwriter Of All.” But it doesn’t mention that Jones played a significant but unheralded role in the Civil Rights struggle.
This child of a chauffeur-gardener father and a maid-cook mother probably could not have foreseen that future. His mother’s urging young Jones to seek a career beyond manual labor provided one catalyst. Wiser men can argue over whether King’s recitation of a particular Langston Hughes poem was Jones’ other catalyst…or emotional blackmail.
Once in, Jones’ talents turned out to be best deployed behind the scenes of the Civil Rights movement. King hewed to Gandhi’s code of nonviolence, but Jones belonged to the ’ Gandhian school embodied by Buffy the Vampire Slayer. So the Black lawyer handled such things as helping King beat a bogus tax evasion prosecution and asking a Rockefeller bank for a monetary donation to cover arrested protesters’ bail. The amount involved in the latter task is likely to make a viewer’s eyes pop out.
Film, as a visual medium, requires more than a good raconteur. But no film footage exists of these moments recounted by the film’s subject. Fortunately, Brazilian artist Daniel Bruson produced over 3000 drawings which could be used to fill in these visual gaps via animation.
Jones relates his recollections with astonishing brio despite his age (93 at the time of recording). His account of his contribution to the “I Have A Dream” speech King gave at the March on Washington is simultaneously humbling and likely to fill a sympathetic viewer with awe. Jones’ musical training as a clarinetist would serve him in good stead for that historic occasion.
The film’s subject doesn’t question the tragedy of King’s assassination. Yet he also finds something positive instead of survivor’s guilt in living decades past King’s death.
***
Poh Si Teng’s documentary “American Doctor” may be a cinematic postcard from a present day colonialist hell. But there’s nothing tourist-like about the near-Sisyphean struggles of three American doctors to provide urgent medical care to injured Gazans during a lull in Israel’s current “The only good Palestinian is a dead Palestinian” military campaign. Israeli hostility, both military and passive-aggressive, does get encountered by the film’s subjects. That just makes their volunteer work more necessary.
***
Anna Fitch and Banker White’s documentary “Yo (Love Is A Rebellious Bird) is for Fitch a highly personal film. It’s a well-executed artistic processing of grief at the passing of Fitch’s friend Yolanda (aka Yo) Shae, now over a decade gone. Their 16-year friendship had several “Harold And Maude”-like aspects to it. The younger person – far older woman relationship is there, as is the old woman’s free-spirited nature. But Fitch is far from sharing Harold Chasen’s obsession with death.
The two women first met at a rummage sale. The then-73-year-old Yo told the then-24-year-old Fitch that she liked the latter’s wild hair. Pictures of a far younger Yo showed she also had wild hair.
Yo and Fitch would become friends despite a bit of imbalance in their relationship. The older woman came from an apparently privileged background and spoke French, German, and Italian in addition to English. In her youth Yo lived in a Swiss border town near Italy, went to school in Geneva, and later studied art. The younger monolingual woman from Bellingham, WA came from apparently humbler roots and studied entomology.
Yo’s lack of snobbery can be attributed to her having a personality that rejected such chains of propriety as mingling only with the social class she came from. As a teen, she had zero aspirations for any of the traditional women’s careers, even ones involving caring for babies. Getting booted from a church was preferable to her than answering a priest’s question about her sexual desires. The wake for her recently deceased mother saw her get stoned and make out with a boyfriend’s brother. In Yo’s decidedly unconventional way, she loved life even if she often lived it impulsively.
These anecdotes narrated by Yo are visually brought to life in part by the expected use of personal and period footage. Fitch and White’s creative editing and manipulation give such footage new life. A puppet of Yo which has strips of Fitch’s hair frequently pops up. Artistically modified recreations of places in Yo’s life, such as a church where Yo is rendered as a saint, make appearances. In particular, the wake for Yo’s mother Mimo uses insects (possibly locusts) to represent the “mourners.”
But the proverbial artistic crown jewel would have to be the scale model of the little home Yo lived in for decades. It’s both an incredibly detailed museum and a living shrine, something so visually hypnotic that seeing Fitch appear in the frame to add or adjust objects inside can be a disorienting sight.
Fitch admits in the film that the passage of years has not made acceptance of Yo’s death any easier. This documentary allows viewers to get a sense of this rebellious and impulsive old woman’s life. Its drug trip sequence in particular will set viewers’ heads spinning even if they haven’t ingested a recreational pharmaceutical beforehand.
(“It Would Be Night In Caracas” won the Cine Latino Spotlight Award.
(“Scenes From The Divide” won the Mid-Length Film Award.
(“The Baddest Speechwriter Of All” won the “Short Film Award – Bay Area.” It will also stream on Netflix later in the year.
(“American Doctor” will be distributed in the US by Watermelon Pictures.
(“Yo (Love Is A Rebellious Bird)” received an Honorable Mention in the Kirby White Documentary Award competition.)
