As ecclesiastical figures became fixtures in the lives of their devoted, a school of thought developed around the specific concept of how to write about the lives of saints. "Hagiography" was the noun cultivated for this specific medium. We’re veering dangerously close into, “Oxford Dictionary defines hagiography as…” territory, but savor the concept for a moment. Saints, their sacredness, their miracles, their piety, it deserved something beyond biography.
These days, the term is still tossed about, but as more of an eye-rolling indictment. If a film or book dares to approach its subject with breathless wonder, the commenterati will impugn the takes as inherently naive. No one is that good. No one remains unsullied by this life. No one is worthy of that kind of adulation. It speaks to a deeply ingrained cynicism. A certainty regularly reinforced by every supposed hero run up the flagpole only to be milkshake duck-ed within one refresh of the Twitter timeline.
The new documentary about cultural icon Mr. Rogers, Won’t You Be My Neighbor?, is a slice of pure hagiography. Where it is unabashed in its treatment of Fred Rogers—with varying degrees of success—it raises greater existential questions about our relationship with one another and, for lack of a better word, our heroes. Can someone be good? And if so, can they make the world better?
Admittedly, as a pure slice of documentary filmmaking, Won’t You Be My Neighbor? is not as successful as one would hope. It’s a bit poorly organized. Timelines are muddled, and for as much as it is about the ethos of Fred Rogers, I don’t feel like we get to know Fred Rogers. Though, perhaps that is just it—there was no real separation from the man and the television personality. The film does a nice job of fleshing out his vision: a man who was an ordained minister with a background in childhood education saw television as a potential tool. From that kernel grew Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood, a show that would run for a staggering 895 episodes.
Won’t You Be My Neighbor? does hand in several emotionally profound moments. The unquestioned strength of the film are the segments where you see this man, half persona and half human, reach out and transform the life right in front of him. But in tracking the larger narratives—the arc of the man himself, the impact of the anti-Rogers movement kicked off by conservative pundits, the foibles of Fred—we only skim the surface. These essential issues take on no real shape or weight, and it’s a missed opportunity. Trials often serve as the furnace and forge of growth, but the documentary seems intent on perpetuating the belief Mr. Rogers’ sneaker clad feet never touched the ground.
The documentary is most successful when the individuals around Mr. Rogers share their perspectives. It adds up to a revealing, funny, and heartfelt portrayal of the man as lived by those in his universe. Whether it is the tattooed, ass-showing stage manager, or his sister who is seemingly the basis for Lady Elaine Fairchilde, or Francois Clemmons the gay, black man asked to play the friendly neighborhood police officer; this is when the film’s beautiful beating heart shines through. The difference Fred Rogers made in their lives, the capacity of his love, the sincerity of his worldview—this is the legacy. It's a feeling is so pure it cascades out of the screen.
The documentary, as a film, is not perfectly executed. But those luminous moments, that sensation, it’s like a tincture of the kindness Mr. Roger’s dared to put into the world infused straight into your bones. And for a moment, if you let it, it might just ignite in you that child, cross-legged on the carpet, watching the familiar opening frames of Mister Rogers' Neighborhood, who believes the world is open. A reminder that you, yes you, have inherent worth exactly the way you are.
So does Won’t You Be My Neighbor? succeed?
It goes back to this bifurcated notion of hagiography. Just how exactly do you capture someone so hopeful, so earnest, so ingrained in our vernacular that they seem beyond human? The cynic in me wants every subject, no matter who, atomized down to their rawest bits. But what this film recognizes is that Mr. Rogers’ most important self is an avatar. A symbol, a prompt, an icon of our collective, potential good.
—Monte Monreal
These days, the term is still tossed about, but as more of an eye-rolling indictment. If a film or book dares to approach its subject with breathless wonder, the commenterati will impugn the takes as inherently naive. No one is that good. No one remains unsullied by this life. No one is worthy of that kind of adulation. It speaks to a deeply ingrained cynicism. A certainty regularly reinforced by every supposed hero run up the flagpole only to be milkshake duck-ed within one refresh of the Twitter timeline.
The new documentary about cultural icon Mr. Rogers, Won’t You Be My Neighbor?, is a slice of pure hagiography. Where it is unabashed in its treatment of Fred Rogers—with varying degrees of success—it raises greater existential questions about our relationship with one another and, for lack of a better word, our heroes. Can someone be good? And if so, can they make the world better?
Admittedly, as a pure slice of documentary filmmaking, Won’t You Be My Neighbor? is not as successful as one would hope. It’s a bit poorly organized. Timelines are muddled, and for as much as it is about the ethos of Fred Rogers, I don’t feel like we get to know Fred Rogers. Though, perhaps that is just it—there was no real separation from the man and the television personality. The film does a nice job of fleshing out his vision: a man who was an ordained minister with a background in childhood education saw television as a potential tool. From that kernel grew Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood, a show that would run for a staggering 895 episodes.
Won’t You Be My Neighbor? does hand in several emotionally profound moments. The unquestioned strength of the film are the segments where you see this man, half persona and half human, reach out and transform the life right in front of him. But in tracking the larger narratives—the arc of the man himself, the impact of the anti-Rogers movement kicked off by conservative pundits, the foibles of Fred—we only skim the surface. These essential issues take on no real shape or weight, and it’s a missed opportunity. Trials often serve as the furnace and forge of growth, but the documentary seems intent on perpetuating the belief Mr. Rogers’ sneaker clad feet never touched the ground.
The documentary is most successful when the individuals around Mr. Rogers share their perspectives. It adds up to a revealing, funny, and heartfelt portrayal of the man as lived by those in his universe. Whether it is the tattooed, ass-showing stage manager, or his sister who is seemingly the basis for Lady Elaine Fairchilde, or Francois Clemmons the gay, black man asked to play the friendly neighborhood police officer; this is when the film’s beautiful beating heart shines through. The difference Fred Rogers made in their lives, the capacity of his love, the sincerity of his worldview—this is the legacy. It's a feeling is so pure it cascades out of the screen.
The documentary, as a film, is not perfectly executed. But those luminous moments, that sensation, it’s like a tincture of the kindness Mr. Roger’s dared to put into the world infused straight into your bones. And for a moment, if you let it, it might just ignite in you that child, cross-legged on the carpet, watching the familiar opening frames of Mister Rogers' Neighborhood, who believes the world is open. A reminder that you, yes you, have inherent worth exactly the way you are.
So does Won’t You Be My Neighbor? succeed?
It goes back to this bifurcated notion of hagiography. Just how exactly do you capture someone so hopeful, so earnest, so ingrained in our vernacular that they seem beyond human? The cynic in me wants every subject, no matter who, atomized down to their rawest bits. But what this film recognizes is that Mr. Rogers’ most important self is an avatar. A symbol, a prompt, an icon of our collective, potential good.
—Monte Monreal
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