PREMIERE.COM'S REVIEW (posted 6/17/03)

Most home movies evoke an embarrassed chuckle or a wistful tear. Those taken by the Friedman family, a mom and dad and three boys living in the Long Island suburb of Great Neck in the '70s and '80s, elicit feelings of shock and awe.

In Capturing the Friedmans, the documentary Grand Jury Prize winner at this year's Sundance Film Festival, the homemade footage of this family's domestic nightmare, shot before and after father and son are accused of molesting dozens of local boys, is often painful to watch, the filter of time only sharpening the sense of horror and injustice.

It's certainly a story worthy of the big screen, where documentaries are rarely seen today — let alone TV. But the issues examined in Capturing the Friedmans — homophobia, sexual abuse, pedophilia, and most important, community hysteria and lynch-mob prosecutions — are as scandalous and relevant to a wide audience as any made-for-TV movie.

Director Andrew Jarecki didn't know just how scandalous and relevant when he launched the project. He was shooting a film about a popular clown in New York City who entertained at kids' parties and had been written up in The New Yorker. The clown's name was David Friedman. Jarecki didn't realize that the tragic details of Friedman's family history would make a much more interesting film than the one he'd set out to do. Then he discovered the home movies.

The Friedmans seemed wholesome enough at first. David's dad, Arnold, was a beloved public school science teacher who taught computer classes at home to local children. Arnold doted on his three sons (David was the oldest, followed by Seth and Jesse), and if their mom, Elaine, felt somewhat excluded from all the male bonding, it was merely a symptom of a less-than-happy marriage. The Friedmans were so obsessive about filming themselves as the boys grew up, it appeared as if they had nothing to hide. And when in 1987 the police came and arrested Arnold for having a stash of child porn, the cameras kept rolling as the family tore itself apart.

This was the era of day-care sexual-abuse scandals, and Arnold Friedman was quickly demonized by the community. Government officials went after him with zeal. He admitted to his attraction to underage boys, though he denied having sex with his sons or any of his students. Indeed, none of the children Arnold had taught had ever complained of abuse — and no physical evidence of such abuse was ever produced — but investigators relentlessly pursued the boys who took Arnold's computer classes until they started fessing up to wild stories of rape and molestation. Also implicated was 19-year-old Jesse Friedman, who had helped his father teach. The techniques used by investigators, pressuring young witnesses with leading questions and "finding" memories through hypnosis, have been thoroughly reputed today. But in 1988, seeing no viable alternative, Arnold and Jesse pleaded guilty, hoping for leniency and not receiving it. Both went to jail. Arnold died there; Jesse, only recently released, is now tagged a sex offender for life.

Jarecki does a remarkable job with this easily exploitable material. Present-day interviews with David and Elaine Friedman are skillfully edited with the treasure trove of found footage. Offering no conclusive proof of guilt or innocence, the movie avoids judgment, exploring differing points-of-view from within the family and without. It's the flip side of a lurid news story.

— Howard Karren