Linda Hattendorf first noticed Jimmy Mirikitani on the first day of 2001; It was freezing cold in the streets of Manhattan’s Soho, and he was sleeping under many layers of clothing, in front of a grocery store. She went back to see him during the day, and agreed to “buy” one his drawings in exchange for taking a photograph of him, which was the payment he requested; thus began a strange, intimate relationship between an Ohio-born, New York film editor and an 80-year-old, homeless, Japanese-American man. Starting with that first encounter, when she brought her video camera to take the promised picture of Mirikitani, Hattendorf documented their relationship and, eventually, his life. The resulting film, The Cats of Mirikitani, is a treasure of personal filmmaking, created on a shoe-string budget and completely devoid of pretensions or aspirations beyond simple, intimate, storytelling.

As is quickly revealed by an examination of his art, Mirikitani was held in a Japanese internment camp during World War II. Though he communicates only grudgingly, and in English so heavily-accented as to require subtitles, Mirikitani is unable to suppress his rage at his internment, an experience that devoured three-and-a-half years of his young life, and severely derailed his artistic dreams. “Stupid government,” he rages, over and over again, filled with indignation at the injustice of what was done to him and the over 18,000 others who occupied the Tule Lake camp. His US citizenship -- Mirikitani was born in Sacramento and returned to Japan when was three -- makes him even more incredulous about the internment, and the fact that he was aggressively asked to renounce that citizenship while in the camp (something he, along with 70% of his camp-mates, did) leaves him with an understandable disgust of most thing related to the American government.

To make matters worse, when he and his family returned to Japan in 1923, they made their home in Hiroshima, a city Mirikitani knew and clearly adored until he made his way once again to the States at the age of 18. He carries with him a photograph of the famous Hiroshima dome, reduced to a skeleton by the American bomb, and features that same image in a chilling piece of art that depicts the dome, engulfed in flame. His life and family essentially destroyed by war and its fallout, it’s no surprise that one of the words Mirikitani uses most often is “peace"; at times, it becomes almost a plea for understanding, as if a little part of him believes that, if people could only understand the consequences of hatred and violence, both would cease to exist.

The relevance of Mirikitani’s experiences is thrown into shocking relief when, about nine months after Hattendorf met him and began recording his history, the events of 9/11 take place. That evening, Hattendorf finds her friend alone in the toxic cloud that had taken over Lower Manhattan, and asks him to come home with her. Mirikitani, who to that point has refused virtually all assistance, agrees, and the two settle into what appears on screen to be a surprisingly comfortable existence. When Hattendorf leaves for work in the morning, Mirikitani begins his own work, drawing all day, every day, periodically demanding more pens, or needing more paper. Like any roommates, they occasionally drive one another to distraction, but also obviously develop a great, unspoken affection that the film reveals in small, subtle ways.

Though most of what we see on screen is Mirikitani talking, or listening to Hattendorf’s questions, at one point he tells her one of his drawings -- worth several hundred-thousand dollars, he says -- should go to her “Ohio family,” betraying an easy familiarity with her history that, perhaps, runs as deep as hers with his. Later, when she comes home late at night, he’s as furious as a protective father, repeating “So worried! So worried!,” and reminding her that she is a single woman, and there are “bad people out there.”

Despite the inescapable tragedies of Mirikitani’s life, the film provides hope, first in the simple facts of his survival and perseverance, and his dogged refusal to give up life as an artist. Later, with Hattendorf’s help, Mirikitani begins to build a life for himself, achieving stability for the first time in years, and even, eventually, reaching peace with his internment experience. It’s a privilege to watch The Cats of Mirikitani, and to spend its short running time in the company of such an immensely resilient, determined man. And, to Hattendorf’s credit, despite her own involvement and presence on screen, she keeps the focus firmly on her friend, and allows him to bloom before us.