The turn of the 20th century was a time of big changes and innovations in North America, particularly as the population of settlers in the western United States began to grow. Amid that burgeoning of growth, a young man named Frank S. Matsura immigrated to Washington State and changed its occupants forever, though it was not through prospecting or building, but by his camera. His story is what director Beth Harrington sets out to capture with Our Mr. Matsura, a documentary about a remarkable young man whose life was cut short but also has left a legacy for countless people, told through interviews with both historians and descendants of the people who knew him.
The film tells a linear story of the life of the photographer, who it is said (from conflicting accounts) that he’s descended from samurai. He is baptized and, through his Christian affiliations and schooling, learns English, and eventually leaves his familial responsibilities to start a new life in the states. One historian pointed out that many Japanese traveled to the Pacific Northwest to learn new skills and perform trade work. He spent a little time in Seattle and then Alaska before making his home in Washington State, where he lived in Conconully, a town in Okanogan County. There, he captured the various activities, people, and landscapes as they changed over the years. Some of his first photos from that time feature a lot of people at work: fishing, digging, mining, farming, shopkeeping, and railroad building. They serve as a record of what they did, proof of prosperity to send to their families back east, and as “civic propaganda” (similar to Canada’s “Last Best West” campaign) to lure more settlers to come out and live there.
Most touching is the reverence with which the townsfolk speak of Mr. Matsura. He took countless pictures of Okanogan residents, both Indigenous and not, and what’s striking is the frequency with which he inserts himself in many of the photos. There’s a familiar ease between he and his subjects; by many accounts he was “chummy” with both men and women, and this shines through in his use of props and sense of fun with silly faces. In a poignant move, the descendants of Okanogans past pose with pictures of their ancestors and even on a couple of occasions recreate the photos at the same locations they were taken.
Our Mr. Matsura spends its run time answering succinctly, and with informative historical context, the question posed by one of the interviewees at its outset: “Why did a samurai-rooted Japanese photographer came to America and devote his craft to documenting Indigenous people at the turn of the century in the old west?” Harrington has assembled an engaging and beautiful tribute to a beloved man whose contributions to the photography artform and Indigenous history should never be forgotten. Five stars. Would recommend.
What academic subjects or media education courses would benefit from this biographical documentary?
This documentary is a treasure trove of class discussion and project materials for the DVD collections of academic librarians. There’s something to offer the largest classrooms teaching indigenous history to the smallest seminar groups on photography. The film could also be part of larger discussions involving Asian studies, settler colonialism in the old west, art history, and even art mediums due to Matsura’s unique innovations with his multiplane camera.
Which library audiences should see Our Mr. Matsura?
Public librarians would benefit from having this film in their DVD collections for both regular circulation and community screenings. As someone who acted as a human bridge between groups of people, Frank Matsura’s life and body of work are so interesting and unique that the film would appeal to audiences interested in history just as much as photography and older forms of communication and record keeping. Historical notes and facts of photography are woven throughout the documentary, which expertly draws the line between its popularity and multiple levels of importance with Matsura’s use of it.
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