How do we plan on being mindful with a camera in Uzbekistan?

Documentary filmmaking has evolved considerably since the days of Robert Flaherty's Nanook of the North (1922), when Western directors unapologetically staged "authentic" scenes through the colonizing lens of exoticism. The gravitas-laden narration from films like "The Silent World" (1956) reveals how readily Western documentarians positioned themselves as authoritative interpreters of distant cultures, acting in self-appointed roles as enlightened translators of the unfamiliar. Remote villages, untranslated whispers captured by directional microphones, and ritualistic practices framed as spectacle rather than lived experience—these elements combined to mesmerize Western audiences seeking vicarious cultural immersion without contextual understanding. Now, a century after Nanook of the North, studios find themselves in a precarious position. Responding to global funding sources and increasing calls for ethical representation, documentary filmmakers have been pressured to abandon the most egregious forms of cultural voyeurism. Yet in making these concessions, some documentaries have found a way to represent without much depth. 

As self-produced travel content becomes more accessible on platforms like YouTube, videos regarding foreign, less-visited countries often capitalize on the unfamiliarity of the destinations, changing the arrangement of clips and sequences of events to create a sense of awe. These videos focus on architectural differences that are aesthetic, gastronomic differences that use “strange ingredients,” and cultural differences that are exotic. Instead of learning, the videos repackage curated differences into entertainment. 

On the other hand, we have feature documentaries. Although to a lesser degree when compared to fictional feature films, most made-for-quick-distribution documentaries still follow a formula for commercial success. A surprising but “inclusive” thesis that portrays a culture, location, or problem is often presented. It feels different, it makes you think that you have learned something that changes your perspective, but it is never something that is too unpalatable that requires someone to give it more than a few minutes of thought. This narrative thesis is often determined before the crew even departs, making the production a process of confirmation bias. That, in turn, will mean the translation, editing, and voice-over of the final product might be working together in a specific way of interpreting the events.

So, how do we plan on approaching our journey across Uzbekistan? We realize that we have little experience compared to those who have done this professionally as a career. As a result, much of the planning process has been a balancing act: We have an understanding of the region’s historical context, from the legendary rule of Amir Timur (Tamerlane) to the period of time under Soviet rule. We have an idea of the country’s current trajectory, the promising work that has taken place economically and socially. Yet, we acknowledge that we do not understand enough to develop a thesis before spending time in the country. The nature of our project is exploratory. We are arriving with the mindset of learning and the aim to gather a comprehensive and diverse perspective of the people of Uzbekistan. As a result, we settled on the focus of education. Students are the next generation, the future of the country. We believe that our background and age situates us in a beneficial position to understand the daily experience of the Uzbek youth. For the past few months, we have been focused on establishing local contacts who are willing to share their learning journeys, their connection with the international community, and where they aspire to be in the future.  

We are all exposed to the culture and cinema, and imitation is often times subconscious. One of the most visually striking features of many travel and ethnographic documentaries is their use of sweeping cinematography to romanticize distant landscapes while minimizing the presence and agency of their inhabitants. Even well-made documentaries like Human Planet (BBC, 2011) can fall into the same trap, where indigenous communities are filmed performing traditional practices—hunting, building, or celebrating—against expansive backdrops. Like Lawrence of Arabia’s Aqaba sequence, documentaries have a tendency to transform human experience into aesthetic spectacle, reinforcing the Western gaze that views the non-Western world as “a place of romance, exotic beings, haunting memories and landscapes, remarkable experiences” (Said 2). Such portrayals privilege visual awe over narrative depth, reducing real people to symbolic figures in a mythologized landscape. Uzbekistan is a beautiful country: the crossover of architectural styles in the capital region of Tashkent, the preserved historical landmarks of the Silk Road in Samarkand, and the rugged landscape of Karakalpakstan. I recognize it is easy to fall into the trap of Orientalism, of positioning the camera in a way that satisfies the pre-existing notion of Central Asia. Some shots will inevitably juxtapose the small human in front of the grand nature. But our team pledges to use the camera to capture what we see, not what we thought. People are our focal point. The backdrop of the landscape is a representation of the past context that brought us to this point. We need to understand it, and we will capture it. Nonetheless, the purpose of the project is to look forward, to get a glimpse into the future of this rising country in Central Asia. And humans are at the center of that.

---

WORK CITED:

Said, Edward W. Orientalism. 25. anniversary edition with a new preface by the author, Vintage Books Edition, 2014.