Rooted in Place: The Power of Where We Stand

In a world that moves everywhere, the stories we tell begin with where we are.

Me and my camera filming Recovery Boys in Preston County, West Virginia. (Photo by Rebecca Kiger).

Some think place matters less today.

In a world where 
people
things
thoughts
move from here to there
unburdened by geography

But here
we know 
that our bodies 
are only ever in one place

Above is how my documentary “King Coal” begins - with words spoken and written by yours truly. I am of the opinion that place matters. Place permeates everything I do, think, and experience. On the practical level, place influences access to quality of life, healthcare, water, food, education, and more. But it also permeates the soul - seeping into stories and nooks not seen, organized, or managed by institutions. Of course, place is not the only determining factor of life and livelihood, but for me, it’s inseparable from my experiences.

However, I suspect most of my filmmaking, and non-filmmaking, peers don’t feel this strong tether to a place in 2024. This suspicion is based on the alienated look I get when I ask a new colleague (most of whom live in New York City or Los Angeles): “Where are you from?” The exception is my Southern filmmaking community, who are very engaged in untangling these complicated ideas of place.

I’ll admit, it’s an odd question to ask people today. I am asking to find out where they were before NYC and LA. But people aren’t “from” anywhere, anymore. We are transient. The people before us, our ancestors, might have been from somewhere - but not us. We have evolved. We need not be “from” anywhere in a world where place doesn’t matter. Wendell Berry writes about this in “The Need To Be Whole.”

I remember when it was a part of manners to ask any stranger you met, ‘Where are you from?’ But that became pointless or even bad manners when the likely answer came to be ‘Nowhere’ or ‘Everywhere.’ We have become too ‘upwardly mobile’ or mobile or rootless or homeless or alone to start a conversation by asking ‘Where are you from?’ The ancient, sacred bond between land and people has been broken.

Wendell Berry

Berry goes on to write how when we’re not from a place we are put into more narrow categories, with the most obvious and divisive being: a political party. This is not just an urban issue, the rural landscape and its people have not escaped our modern estrangement. I see clearly that rural people too are separate from their place, and one another. Because the fact is, you don’t actually have to physically leave to be separate - you can still not know one another and be rooted in “a place.”

This is neither here, nor there, for most people. And likely you are thinking - who cares. But I woke at 4 am pondering this. Pondering if I am old school to be in-agreement with 89-year-old Berry. Pondering how vast and cold the universe feels if it is made up of non-local people - not committed to any community that they can actually see and feel the heartbeat of. Which led me to think.

We are rootless people
but a little pepper is nice.

Not too much
just enough to spice up the vanilla.

In American Symphony
Jon Batiste can be a little-bit New Orleans
-but not too much.

Too much, is too small
Jon must be big
he must be for all
for everyone
for global audience.
Therefore he must transcend - must overcome - the specificity of the place that formed him.

Place is seen as something to shed.
A trade we make:
specific, for generic
lucidity, for ambiguity
complicated, for narrow

no accents
…please, no accents.

Places carry our stories
they hold people
and put them into action
people of the coast - do this
people of the mountains - do this
people of the burbs - do what, exactly?

Pardon my bias, maybe the suburbs are a place. But they feel, as an outsider, to represent how generic, big-boxed, and disposable our lives have become - a place to consume, conform, and when you’re done with whatever recent version of the thing you have, you throw it away for the next. So there, I’ve stated my bias. Cities I find to be more complex, in terms of class structure and collision of cultures, identities, and experiences. My issue with cities is that they are often the home for the rootless people who come to film rooted people.

All too often these folks have a way of seeing that doesn’t allow them to learn. They are here to expose and solve “our problems.” They see that we are lacking something that they have in their placeless place. Our problems - which are very real - are diagnosed faraway with terms like “food deserts.” But if these placeless people stayed long enough they’d see the humble gardens in the summer and stocked cellars in the winter - not just the Dollar General on the corner.

We’re all actors in places. We can’t escape where we are, yet we pretend there are universal places and universal stories and those are the only ones we should listen to. There are certainly universal themes: life and death, come to mind. But when we say “what is a film about?” Sometimes our answer can be void of labels - our answer could be our shared humanity. And that’s enough.

I remember the phone call. The executive contemplating buying “King Coal” said the film was “too esoteric” for their audience. I wanted to ask her what is esoteric about global energy? What is esoteric about identity? How is any story, too specific? What is a story, without character, setting, details, and personal conflict? Coal is everyone’s problem, even if we pretend it’s not. There is no excusing yourself from the conversation of energy - especially if you take the time to understand how much of our green energy movement is fueled by the same raw materials we rail against, like coal and oil, and that "greener" raw materials are extracted with just as much, exploitative and destructive practices. This is not an argument against green energy, it is just a fact we have to face. As wiser people have said, there’s no such thing as solutions, there are only compromises when it comes to our insatiable need for energy.

In fact I think what she meant by “esoteric” is - she doesn’t care and she doesn’t see any reason why you should. And I can’t blame her. In my decade of being a filmmaker, I have come to determine we have a “regional” bias problem in our industry and society. It’s a blind spot. We have decided that some places are just as they are. There is no need to think differently about them. It’s far too complicated to learn something new, in fact, we will just choose the shorthand, the stereotypes, and deal with more important things, more important people, at hand. I do believe Appalachia is one of these places in America.

The Academy Awards recently announced their shortlists, for which “King Coal” was qualified for. For the record, I had no delusions of being part of the Oscar shortlist. I have been through this process before with “Heroin(e),” which was nominated in 2018. You need money, connections, visibility, and influence to make such lists - we had none of these things with “King Coal.” And as much as I like to think my bullish work ethic - and my team’s work ethic - can build mountains, this is not one of those cases. However, I am truly not bitter about this, as I immensely proud and satisfied with this film and how it is working in communities that need it. I am also super happy for all my friends who made the shortlist - all of which earned their place (speaking of, see the powerful film, A Still Small Voice). Also, on a practical level, we could have never afforded to get to the next step of campaigning. But the announcement brought some surprising messages to my inbox.

Four Academy voters (only one who I personally know) wrote me upon the announcement. They expressed their disappointment and encouraged me to continue making the films I am passionate about. I got the feeling that many of them worried I would be disheartened. One of them wrote:

I think there’s a regionalism that keeps too many voters from feeling, seeing, getting the power and brilliance of your film. 

Then on the podcast Doc Talk co-host John Ridley (12 Years A Slave) shocked our whole team when he expressed his disappointment:

“I do believe ‘King Coal’ was on another level…what is was about, its approach, this amazing blend of art and essence that was so meditative…feeling transported, being aware of my own biases, seeing a place, seeing people - IF you put this in any other place…if ‘King Coal’ had been set in Russia…in war-torn Libya…the reaction would have been different. Of the films that didn’t make the list, ‘King Coal’ is the film that I’d say is a hard, direct snub.”

I appreciate John’s candidness about how “King Coal” challenged his biases of place. It’s something we talked about when he shared that his reference points of Appalachia were more influenced by depictions like The Beverly Hillbillies than any nonfiction accounts prior to seeing the film. As a side note: I find it equally sad that some places are completely off the average American’s radar (and probably considered “esoteric” by executives) until they are war-torn; but that’s a whole separate train of thought maybe for another time.

At the end of the day, if you see place as a limiter, and determining factor of all a person or story can be, perhaps ask yourself why that is. If you see it as a starting point, a setting, where actions and characters come and go and complicated narratives continue to unfold - you’re on the right track.

Hats off to some of my fellow place-based filmmakers in Chile, Mexico, Iran, Scotland, Iceland, and so many other places who keep showing us new depths of their countries and communities. Proving that stories from all over - even the most specific ones - can teach us something of our shared humanity if we’re open to the challenge. I know I’m here for it.

If you care about this topic, I would recommend this book of essays.