onsider the story of Hurricane Katrina. Instantaneously and thoroughly documented, the storm evoked a vehement public response toward the incomprehensibly mismanaged relief effort. Few recent topics have instigated broader dialogue and inquiry as reporters, bloggers, and probably even your neighbors traded theories and arcane tidbits of information regarding the disaster. Indeed, after several weeks of saturating coverage across all forms of media, who would have predicted that a documentary would even be necessary, let alone that Katrina would occasion one of the most relevant and powerful films of 2006?

Spike Lee clearly did not undertake this project to provide us with his take on the situation. The man does not insert himself into the material much at all: none of the film's four acts have titles, and the images and interviews are unaccompanied by narration. When the Levees Broke includes footage of the storm and its aftermath, as well as interviews with local politicians, hurricane experts, and a handful of celebrities. However, the bulk of the four-hour miniseries, originally broadcast on HBO this past August, consists of subjects directly relating their stories to the camera.

Immediately after the hurricane, of course, we were treated to many firsthand accounts of the disaster. But those interviewed often seemed weirdly inhuman, either due to the nature of sound byte editing or to the extreme duress they were evidently under. From a setting of unimaginable catastrophe, these interviews seemed like transmissions from another planet, almost incomprehensible to us, the comfortably unaffected. We did not get to know these people; we did not understand them as anything other than distraught victims.


Lee allows time for the survivors—by turns angry, sad, bewildered, and stubborn—to relate their whole story to us, digressions and all, and to do so with some distance from the immediate experience of the storm. Many of the New Orleanians interviewed for the film begin their tales several days after the hurricane, establishing themselves as human beings and not just as victims. Each account becomes its own memorable saga, with individual storytellers emphasizing different, particularly painful details.

Both in the personal stories and in the scenes shot around the city, Lee illustrates the remarkably deep connections existing between the individuals, their families, and their neighborhoods, now nothing more than row upon row of demolished buildings. These connections spur the realization that we do not detachedly gaze at the awful set of some disaster movie, but instead witness the sites of countless and unique struggles against nature and apathetic politicians.

During some of the darkest moments of When the Levees Broke, the only reminder of hope is the jazz score, supervised by Terence Blanchard (New Orleans resident, leader of the Hot 8 Brass Band, and frequent Spike Lee collaborator). The contrast between the horrific images and Blanchard’s comparatively buoyant soundtrack aurally conveys the pluck and wry writ so often demonstrated by the interviewees throughout the ordeal. As described by Wynton Marsalis, the tradition of the jazz funeral (solemn to the grave, celebratory on the return), suggests the resilience of New Orleanians, weeping for and then triumphing over this tragedy.

When the Levees Broke does contain a great deal of aggregated information about the criminal incompetence of both the Army Corps of Engineers and the various local, state, and federal agencies before, during, and after the storm. It's also a stirring call for change and for action against those in power. But Spike Lee's work is truly necessary because it disassembles the hysterical, spectacle-driven media portrait of the worst natural disaster in U.S. history. The documentary humanely reconstructs Hurricane Katrina as what the tragedy ultimately and most meaningfully represents: an unending series of individual, ongoing, and difficult life stories.

When the Levees Broke is now available on DVD.