Oswald's Ghost is the rare film whose power increases with distance. As I sat in the historic Texas Theatre last week, where Lee Harvey Oswald was arrested on the day President Kennedy was assassinated, and watched a special screening of the documentary, the suggestive rhythm of the editing and the understated urgency of the musical accompaniment lulled me into a false sense of security. I was deceived into thinking that I knew what kind of film it was and so, based on that assumption, I allowed the shaped narrative to lead me down a certain path, only to discover at the end that I had arrived at a very different destination than I expected.

Filmmaker Robert Stone says that he was initially inspired by the furor that erupted after the release of Oliver Stone's JFK in 1991. Why were people so wrapped up emotionally in what had happened so many years before? How had that pivotal event changed the nation? Ten years later, he saw parallels in how the nation responded to 9/11 and started what he calls his own "journey" to discover why America has remained obsessed with the JFK assassination, to the point that he calls it a "theology."

That being said, Stone does not take the approach I had anticipated. After an opening fusillade of opinions issued by experts, he dives right into the events leading up to November 22, 1963, laying them out one by one in distinct, logical order as though he had an organized sheaf of papers he was slapping down on a table. The drama is inherently captivating; no matter how many times you've seen news footage and photographs from the days in question, it still feels like you're dragged against your will into a nightmare.

When I first stepped foot onto Dealey Plaza in Dallas years ago, I had an instant feeling of deja vu, similar to what most of us feel when we visit a place in person that we've previously seen only in photographs, on film or on television. It was a beautiful, sunny day; I walked around the plaza for a long, long time, picturing in my mind the motorcade that carried President John F. Kennedy on his fateful trip, checking out all the angles, tromping around the grassy knoll, staring up at the former Texas School Book Depository. That building has been converted into The Sixth Floor Museum, where you can gaze down through the window where Lee Harvey Oswald reportedly fired his assassin's rifle at 12:30 p.m. on November 22, 1963.

The Warren Commission concluded that Oswald escaped from the building, rode a city bus for two blocks, traveled several miles by taxi, stopped by the rooming house where he was staying, and then shot and killed a police officer about half a mile away. He slipped into the nearby Texas Theatre without paying, and briefly watched War is Hell (second billed to Van Heflin in Cry of Battle). He was apprehended by a flock of police officers at approximately 1:45 p.m.

I'd never thought of the Texas Theatre except as an anonymous footnote to a tragedy. I ended up attending the re-opening of the building last week as a result of my assignment to review Robert Stone's documentary Oswald's Ghost, which opens in New York on Friday, November 30, and discovered quite accidentally that the Texas Theatre has a fascinating history of its own.

Election Day is not a federal holiday in America (yet), and it doesn't call for any exploitation by Hallmark. Each year it even results in a lot of unhappiness. But the first Tuesday after the first Monday in November is a day for celebration, because it is a day to recognize the right to vote as much as it is a day to exercise that right. When I think of Election Day festivities, I envision the "Election Day bonfire" described by Harpo Marx in his autobiography "Harpo Speaks." This was a biennial tradition in the Tammany-era New York City that the Marx Brothers grew up in, and I can only imagine what a delight it was to have such an observance on this day. For me, festivities are as simple as renting a political-themed film, particularly one about democracy, such as Mr. Smith Goes to Washington or Manderlay. This year, I decided to choose a non-fiction title, but with so many political documentaries coming out these days, it was hard to pick just one.

This year alone has seen a number of election-related docs released, including one nominated for an Oscar (Street Fight). There is a yet-to-be-released film on the political career of Arnold Schwarzenegger, who is up for re-election today. There is a doc about voting machines called Hacking Democracy which premiered on HBO last Thursday and which will be airing again today (unfortunately, I don't have cable). And of course, An Inconvenient Truth will be released on DVD later this month. It isn't directly about an election or voting, but it is sort of marked by the reminder of Gore's loss in the 2000 election.

So, with all the choices out there for me and you for doc-watching on Election Day, I've narrowed down a list of seven that are worth checking out for different reasons. They aren't all great, they aren't all liked by me and there's one I haven't actually seen (I'll give you a hint: it just recently came out on DVD and isn't available yet from Netflix).

Though there's some debate as to its legitimacy, there's a Quicktime file of the Zapruder film making the rounds, and I'm having a hard time taking my eyes of it. I certainly don't understand the technology involved, but someone's ostensibly taken the footage – shot on a home movie camera by an innocent bystander to the JFK assasination, and the key to a conspiracy theory made infamous by Oliver Stone's JFK – and digitally stabilized and sharpened it. It runs in a loop at the link, and even slowed down, the meat of the thing goes by so quickly that, if you're anywhere near as morbidly fascinated in this kind of stuff as I am, you might have a hard time clicking away. Safe for work, but definitely graphic.

[via Boing Boing]