BRATTLEBORO — Filmmaker Suzanne Crocker makes a confession in the first scene of her exquisitely filmed documentary All the Time in the World.
“I always envisioned myself as being one of those moms who would have fresh-baked cookies and a glass of milk ready for their kids when they walked in the door after,” she says.
And like most of us mothers who scramble after this unattainable ideal, she comes to realize that “there wasn't enough time for the things that really counted.”
But unlike most of us, she's going to do something about this.
Finding herself just one year away from the same age her mother was when she died, the former family physician writes herself a prescription that could be filled only by what looks on the surface like a punishing regime: nine months in the Canadian backwoods in a friend's one-room cabin without electricity, phones, the Internet, or Wi-Fi.
But far from punishing, this regime instead turns out to be an inner odyssey for herself and her family: partner Gerard Parsons and their extraordinarily photogenic, articulate children, Sam, 10; Kate, 8; and Tess, 4.
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In her feature documentary directorial debut, Crocker captures scenes so intimate and powerful that you'll be scrambling to find a pen to jot down the wisdom that flows with increasing effortlessness from each member of the family as the weeks in the wild turn to months.
While packing up the essentials they'll need to survive the winter without benefit of a grocery store - the nearest one is several days' journey by boat - the family consciously decides to leave all clocks, watches, and things that “keep” time behind, setting the stage for their life outside the conventional boundaries of the 24-hour day.
As the glorious autumn provides a picture-postcard backdrop, the family prepares for the coming winter. With minimal tools - only one chainsaw, an ax, shovels and other hand tools - they create a bear-proof food cache on 20-foot log stilts made from trees Parsons fells himself; an outhouse; a “safety” tent (a walled tent complete with wood stove that they will repair to in case their cabin burns down in the middle of the winter); a boat ramp; and more.
In fact, the preparations for winter are so frenetic that Crocker muses, “Are we just trading one set of distractions for another?”
The answer is no, for once winter arrives, the intimacy she craved is in full flower, and she captures every heartbreakingly lovely moment as only a camera operator who really knows her subject matter can.
This is what they came here for - this connectivity that was so lacking in their lives before. Whether it's reading Little House on the Prairie while snuggled up in the family bed in front of the crackling woodstove - all five of them, plus two cats and a dog - or making one another Christmas presents, the emotional intimacy unfolds authentically without being forced.
As time is forgotten and the family aligns their lives with the demands of the season, the film's drama is driven by nature, which throws a series of challenges at the family.
But the real action is among the five humans: how they respond to, and how successive challenges allow them to more fully know, one another.
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The film is also a celebration of paying attention. Away from the distractions of jobs, of things that beep and glow, the parents notice for the first time that their middle child, Kate, has trouble reading and writing.
“When you take out that structure of time, you can actually be present in the moment,” Crocker observes.
All the Time in the World's unheralded star is nature. No one ever has to say, “Wow, look at that!” - the camera does it for them. Crocker's camera lens loves the wild - the beaver slapping the pond with his tail, the moose delicately picking his way through the wetlands, the owl hooting in the dark, the golden moon hanging between the pines in a purple hammock.
Parents who ache to be closer to their children will come away from All the Time in the World inspired. And children will be enthralled with the possibility of living like Sam, Kate, and Tess, with the great outdoors as their personal playground and never-ending source of magical moments.
Who knows? They might even be moved put down their gadgets and be fully present.