17 Blocks

While many important stories have come to light as a result of the documentarians dedicated to “giving a voice to the voiceless,” that approach is often a patronizing cliché. The best documentaries understand that no one is voiceless. Davy Rothbart’s 17 Blocks began when he was young. He befriended another kid, a Black boy named Akil “Smurf” Sanford, and started filming him and his family. Eventually, the family picked up the camera themselves. 20 years later, 17 Blocks is the story of the Sanfords’ growth and grief, with their own agency at the center of it all.

Smurf, his younger brother Emmanuel, his sister Denice, and their mother Cheryl all participate, and the sides of themselves that they choose to film (and that Rothbart chooses to use) create real, flawed, vibrant characters. A weaker film or a less understanding viewer might have wanted Rothbart to zoom out a bit, to tell a bigger story of “Black plight” all at once, and Rothbart even gives into that at times. But on the whole, 17 Blocks resists those instincts. Its strength is in its specificity. As Cheryl struggles with addiction, and Smurf begins selling drugs to get by, they neither understate nor sensationalize their lives. It’s remarkable how innately inclined to storytelling they are — after bouts of violence, the video camera lands on a confused kitten making sense of the blood. They get shots of each other’s wringing hands during uncomfortable conversations. And after an unthinkable tragedy, it’s the camera that keeps the family together.

17 Blocks would have been even stronger if Rothbart had trusted the material just a little bit more. He opens the film with clips from the fallout of that trauma in a way that almost seem to shout, “This film gets deep!” It takes away from the genuine impact that footage could have had when he circles back to it later on. Similarly, the title references the distance the Sanford family lived from the U.S. Capitol building, a gesture that feels superficial when larger-scale politics are rarely discussed. Some moments, especially near the end, would have benefitted from a more nuanced and creative soundtrack rather than trite piano tracks that tell you how to feel. Still, even when the direction is heavy-handed, the Sanfords are just too compelling to ignore.