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Netflix revisits ‘The Trials of Gabriel Fernandez’ in harrowing but essential docuseries

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Image courtesy of Netflix

The name of Gabriel Fernandez still hangs heavy over the City of Los Angeles.

From the day the 8-year-old was found by Fire Department personnel on the floor of his Palmdale home after they responded to a 911 call from his mother, his story loomed large in the daily news. The paramedics had found Gabriel badly bruised and unresponsive, with profound injuries – broken ribs, a cracked skull, missing teeth, burnt skin, and BB bullets imbedded in his lungs and groin – that didn’t fit with the explanation they had been given for his condition. His mother, Pearl Sinthia Fernandez, and her boyfriend, Isauro Aguirre, claimed the boy had been injured by falling over a dresser and hitting his head. Gabriel was pronounced brain dead at the hospital on that same day, May 22, 2013; he was taken off life support and passed away two days later.

That tragic incident was the beginning of a seven-year ordeal for Gabriel’s family, his community, and the city itself. The child had been the victim of horrific and systematic abuse, perpetrated by his mother and Aguirre and allegedly motivated at least partly by Aguirre’s belief that the boy was gay; worse yet, other family members, as well as Gabriel’s teacher, had notified Children and Family Services multiple times over concerns that he was being mistreated, yet social workers had found, in every case but one, that their reports were unfounded – despite what seemed in retrospect to be clear indications to the contrary.

Fernandez and Aguirre were charged with first-degree murder in the death of Gabriel, with a special circumstance for torture, and in an unprecedented move, county prosecutors also charged four county social workers with one felony count each of child abuse and falsifying records.

The case dominated headlines as the ensuing investigation and court proceedings revealed ever more disturbing details about Gabriel’s short life and cruel death. The prosecution sought the death penalty for both of the perpetrators, who admitted to killing the child but claimed it had not been a pre-meditated act. Finally, in 2018, Aguirre was found guilty of the first degree changes and sentenced to death; Fernandez avoided the death penalty by agreeing to plead guilty.

In January of 2020, the charges against the four social workers were thrown out by a three-justice panel of the 2nd District Court of Appeal.

Now, Netflix is set to unveil “The Trials of Gabriel Fernandez,” a six-part docuseries which examines the case as it was laid out by LA County prosecutors, as well as chronicling journalistic efforts to track the weaknesses within the government agencies devoted to children’s welfare that permitted such a heartbreaking act to take place. Directed by documentarian Brian Knappenberger (“Nobody Speak: Trials of the Free Press”), it’s a gripping (and grim) deep dive into the case that may well be the most intense and upsetting true crime series the streaming network has produced so far.

Casting lead prosecutor Jon Hatami in the role of avenging hero, Knappenberger’s chronicle of the court case carefully avoids straying into sensationalism without shying away from the gruesome facts of Gabriel’s life. Through trial footage, interviews, and footage shot specifically for the show, we are given as comprehensive a look at the story as is possible in six hours of television, with the benefit and clarity of hindsight to assist in offering an overarching view of not only what happened, but of the systemic problems that led to a failure by those charged with protecting at-risk children to prevent the worst from happening to Gabriel. Perhaps most effectively, it repeatedly reminds us, through photos, footage, and the words of those who knew him, that Gabriel was a kind, loving, and gentle child who deserved much better treatment at the hands of those who should have been his caretakers.

As for the assertion that homophobia was a factor in Aguirre’s brutal beating and killing of his de-facto stepson, it doesn’t offer a lot of detail – prosecutors chose not to pursue a hate crime charge for strategic reasons, so that angle was only supplemental in proving a case for pre-meditation based solely on factual evidence – but it makes sure we hear about it in both through Hatami’s court statements and from the mouths of family members, who assert that Gabriel had been taken by the couple from his uncle and same-sex partner (previously given custody when his mother “didn’t want him” at birth) because they didn’t approve of a child being raised by gay parents. By all reports, Gabriel experienced the happiest and most supportive environment of his short life when he lived with them.

The Netflix series spends considerable time hammering home the shocking reality of the violence suffered by little Gabriel (described by Los Angeles Judge George G. Lomeli at Aguirre’s sentencing as “horrendous, inhumane and nothing short of evil”), and rightly so; to do anything less would be a disservice to his memory. Once it has done that, however, it sets its sights on the deeply shrouded county bureaucracy of Child and Family Services, the uniquely autonomous and powerful agency that oversees child welfare, and paints perhaps an even more disturbing picture of an organization overworked, understaffed, hamstrung by the financial priorities of privatization, and cloistered in a stubborn veil of secrecy that resisted not just inquiries from the press but from prosecutors as well. It also makes clear that law enforcement officials were well aware of the prior history of reported abuse in the Fernandez home before that fateful day when Gabriel’s life came to an end.

At the same time, Knappenberger takes care to offer a balanced view of the more complex ethical issues at the core of the case. His coverage of the four accused social workers, singled out in the minds of many as scapegoats by county officials looking for a means of damage control, is fair and compassionate, offering a glimpse at the daunting pressure and moral quandaries that face such civil servants; that it never quite lets them off the hook for the choices they made in handling Gabriel’s situation before it was too late is more testament to the journalistic integrity to which the series aspires.

Though the case of Gabriel Fernandez made the news nationwide, many outside of Los Angeles itself will likely only have passing familiarity with what happened. With “The Trials of Gabriel Fernandez,” Netflix is ensuring that Gabriel’s heartbreaking story will be known by millions – and while some may be hesitant to watch due to the disturbing nature of its conflict, it’s a show that demands to be seen. It reminds us, in no uncertain terms, that there are monsters in the world; but it also reminds us that for every Isauro Aguirre or Pearl Fernandez, there is also a Jon Hatami – someone who will stand up to fight for justice in the name of those who have suffered at their hands. Perhaps most important, it reminds us there is still much work to be done in perfecting the systems we have in place to serve our children – and that unrelenting, powerful journalism is still the best tool we have for holding those systems accountable.

“The Trials of Gabriel Fernandez” premieres on Wednesday, February 26, on Netflix. You can watch the trailer below.

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Movies

‘The Stranger’ queers an existentialist classic

‘Gay male gaze’ anchors film’s visual aesthetic

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Benjamin Voisin and Rebecca Marder in ‘The Stranger.’ (Photo courtesy Gaumont Music Box Films)

When Albert Camus published “L’etranger” (“The Stranger”) in 1942, he was living in Nazi-occupied France, so it’s no surprise that it became one of the most celebrated “existential” novels of all time. A fascist regime is great for inspiring thoughts of an indifferent and meaningless universe.

It wasn’t his first experience with authoritarianism. Born to a working-class white European family in then-French Algeria, he grew up observing the harsh treatment of the native North Africans by the colonists who governed them. It was this personal history, amplified by the spread of European fascism, that found its voice in “The Stranger.” Short, terse, and shrouded in a cloak of ennui, it was his first novel – novella, really – but its impact was seismic.

Naturally, its influence has run through the world of cinema, and, it has been translated to the screen three times — most recently by French filmmaker François Ozon, whose screen version won acclaim at last year’s Venice Film Festival, and is now available for on-demand streaming in the U.S.

Ozon’s vision is captured in gleaming black-and-white, blending the luster of modern-day faux-vintage fashion photography with the nostalgic flavor of classic era “arthouse” and European cinema, and it maintains a largely faithful connection to Camus’s novel, at least in terms of plot. It’s the story of Meursault (Benjamin Voisin), a French settler living in the capital city of Algiers, who receives word that his mother has died. He takes time off from work, traveling to the nursing home – where he had sent her three years before – in order to attend her funeral, but remains seemingly emotionless throughout, prompting members of the staff and other residents to mark his apparent lack of customary grief.

When he returns to Algiers, he encounters Marie (Rebecca Marder), a former co-worker, and after spending the day together, the two become romantically involved. Their relationship continues over the next few weeks, while they also associate with Meursault’s neighbor Raymond (Pierre Lottin) – a suspected pimp who, after beating his Arab mistress, is being followed and harassed by her brother (Abderrahmane Dehkani) and his friends. After a skirmish with the Arabs, Meursault encounters the brother alone during a walk on the beach, and shoots the young man dead with a pistol given to him for protection by Raymond. On trial for murder, he offers no defense and expresses no remorse. He is convicted and sentenced to death, facing it all with emotional detachment, and seeming to find liberation from the recognition that none of it matters, anyway.

Though it’s a tale that includes romance, murder, and courtroom drama, it feels like a story in which nothing really happens – which is, of course, the perfect effect to emphasize the point of Camus’s philosophical viewpoint; but while that might satisfy the kind of viewers who might be drawn to any film of a Camus novel, Ozon’s movie probably won’t hold much appeal for audiences seeking action, suspense, feel-good sentiment, or easy answers to the moral dilemmas that come hand-in-hand with being alive. Camus was interested in the opposite effect, a confrontation with existence which leaves no room for comfortable denials, and Ozon’s inflection on the original’s themes makes no effort to soften the blow. 

What it does, however, is introduce – without having to adjust the narrative provided by Camus – an element of queerness that lends the whole story a new layer of subtext through what can only be described as the “gay male gaze” that anchors the film’s visual aesthetic.

It’s in the way the camera – aimed by Ozon and cinematographer Manu Dacosse – remains fixated on its star, the exquisitely beautiful Voisin, lingering on his face, his frame, or his body in swim trunks. There’s a sensuality in the way the director shows us female beauty, too, but it’s never framed as the “object” of desire; and in the narrative’s key scene – the killing by the sea – there’s an inescapable element of repressed homoeroticism, born perhaps by associations with mid-20th-century queer aesthetic of writers like Jean Genet or artists like George Quaintance, or pretentiously artsy commercials for high-end men’s cologne, or just from real-life memories of cruising on the beach. On the surface, Meursault gives no sign of queerness; but the emphasis that Ozon brings to the story – almost purely through visual suggestion – lends the character, already an outsider to the world of “normal” human experience in the first place, an even deeper sense of “otherness.”

As to that, Voisin’s performance is effective for reasons beyond his model-esque physical perfection; there’s a vast inner life happening under that pretty face, and the actor conveys it with a “less-is-more” approach that aligns perfectly with the character’s dissociation from conventional humanity. He’s compelling enough to engage us, and intelligent enough in his expression of Camus’ ideas to help us grasp them even as he makes us feel them – and frankly, that’s saying a lot.

The rest of the cast is effective, as well, though most of them serve primarily as a foil to reflect Voisin and his character. Marder brings a relatably savvy-yet-romantic presence as Marie, and Lottin gives Raymond a kind of louche charisma that evokes a certain brand of appealing-but-toxic masculinity. Swann Arlaud also stands out as the prison priest who attempts to convert Meursault on the eve of his execution, bearing the full brunt of Camus’ existentialist arguments in a scene that somehow taps into transgressive homoerotic fantasies even as its characters discuss impending death.

Camus, for his part, did not see himself as an existentialist; instead, he embraced and promoted a viewpoint in which human life is defined by its relationship with what he called “The Absurd” – the gap between reality and our assumed expectations about it, where our circumstances and behavior become obviously ridiculous – and believed that, in a meaningless universe, we are free to find our own meaning. An essay he published around the same time (“The Myth of Sisyphus”) posited that finding happiness in the struggle was perhaps the most logical response to facing an unfeeling world, and the Absurdist movement he helped to define used humor – albeit often the dark and sardonic variety – as a means to expose the madness of trying to impose sense on a nonsensical world. In the end, his writings reveal him as a deeply humanistic thinker, whose acceptance of objective reality served only to deepen his dedication to the ideal of a better mankind.

Whether or not any of that comes across in Ozon’s artful film, which emphasizes the immediacy of experience – the beach, the sea, the sun, the visceral responses we get from sex or violence – over the intellectual arguments that Camus would elucidate throughout his life, probably depends on one’s own grasp of Existentialist thinking and its offshoots. In any case, while Ozon’s “The Stranger” might fall short in the challenge to convey its philosophical arguments, it more than succeeds as a stylish piece of international art cinema, and it just might – hopefully – inspire audiences to go on a deeper dive into the mind of Albert Camus.

And even if it doesn’t, it’s still pretty to look at.

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Theater

Cedric Neal on his juicy narrator role in ‘Pippin’

A rash of terrific reviews for a part he’s longed to play

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Cedric Neal in ‘Pippin.’ (Photo by Christopher Mueller)

‘Pippin’
Through July 26
Signature Theatre
4200 Campbell Ave.
Arlington, Va.
$47-$153
Sigtheatre.org

As Leading Player in Signature Theatre’s revival of “Pippin,” Cedric Neal portrays the manipulative narrator who guides the title character, a young medieval prince, on a quest for meaning. Neal is also receiving a rash of terrific reviews for a part he’s longed to play for some time.

Recently, after the first “Pippin” preview performance, Neal shared his thoughts. “Last night was exciting, mystic and exotic. It was magical. Words are overused, but it was all those things.”

With a powerful, rich tenor voice, Neal is best known as a charismatic West End and Broadway star (“Back to the Future,” “Hadestown,” “Guys & Dolls”) as well as for his memorable semifinalist win on the “The Voice UK” in 2019.

And now Stephen Shwartz’s “Pippin” marks Neal’s second show at Signature Theatre, a place he dearly loves. His first was as Jimmy Early in “Dreamgirls” in 2012, a raucous role that won him a Helen Hayes Award. During that production, Neal forged deep friendships with actor Nova Y. Payton and director Matthew Gardiner. What’s more, while rehearsing the show, he met his husband.

“He likes to say we met on Match.com but I remember it differently,” says Neal. “It was something called Adam4Adam. It might have been a hookup, but instead we met for coffee in Shirlington Village where we talked and talked for hours. Two years later we married.”

BLADE: Your triumphant return to town sounds pretty great. 

NEAL: I’m having the time of my life. Takes me a half hour to come down after the show ends. It’s explosive. 

BLADE: Is Leading Player a part you’ve wanted to do?

NEAL: Very much, and just this way. Rather than leaning on its circus troupe aspect, our director Matthew [Gardiner] explores the darkness of the story and the risk of falling prey to cultish ideology. 

BLADE: Just how nefarious is Leading Player?

NEAL: I’m not judging my character. I believe at some point that Leading Player has good intentions. Somewhere along the line, ego becomes involved. The promise becomes warped.

BLADE: When doing “Pippin,” is it possible to separate the iconic Bob Fosse choreography and Ben Vereens’s sexy portrayal of Leading Player from the original production? 

NEAL: Not entirely, but in our production Matthew [Gardiner] and Rachel Leigh Dolan have meticulously honored the choreography and storytelling of Fosse’s work without it being a carbon copy. I think it’s amazing. 

BLADE: Was your participation in the “The Voice UK” a strategic career move?

NEAL: It was. At the time, I had just gotten a BIG NO on a West End show where the casting director told me the part should have been mine but using a then-unknown American would have created an uproar. 

Then when “Voice UK” scouted me, my agent said this would be the perfect opportunity to boost my profile. Ultimately, I was given a global scale opportunity to go onstage and sing as Cedric. 

BLADE: Your thrilling, original rendition of Stevie Wonder’s “Higher Ground” made the audience and judges like Jennifer Holliday and Sir Tom Jones just go crazy (in a good way). In musical theater, do you make beloved, well-known songs like “Join Us” and “Glory” in “Pippin,” your own in that same way?

NEAL: I couldn’t always, but I can now. When I talk to younger performers, I tell them about the song in “Gypsy” where the experienced strippers talk about getting a gimmick if you want to be a star.

I come from a gospel, R&B, and serious classical background and have always retained my gospel, soulful flair on things. When I entered the world of musical theater, I’d put my twist on a song and the musical director would ask that I tone it down. 

Ten years into my career, I became known for putting my flair on musicals, and that became my gimmick. To “Cedricfy” a song is a legitimate term in musical theater. And you’ll see me bring that to “Pippin.” 

BLADE: Reading about you, it seems you’ve made bold choices and surround yourself with supportive friends and family, blood and chosen. 

NEAL: Yes, and it’s not an accident. I come from a bloodline of revolutionaries and pioneers whose shoulders I stand on. My ancestors are all fighters and refuse to let their fight be in vain. Also, I will always step up to the plate and represent all the marginalized communities that I’m a part of: Black, gay, biracial relationships, liberals. 

BLADE: Are you and your husband still living in the windmill? 

NEAL: We left the windmill but we’re still in the U.K.  Try to imagine our story: A Black boy from the hood in Dallas, Texas, meets a fifth-generation cattle rancher from Alberta, Canada, and they move to the UK, adopt a labradoodle, and live in an actual windmill. Isn’t that the gayest shit you’ve ever heard?

BLADE: It’s like a fairytale. 

NEAL: It was. It still is.

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Out & About

‘How to Survive a Plague’ screens June 5

Commemorating 45th anniversary of first report of AIDS

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(Image via IMDB)

June 5 marks the 45th anniversary of the first report of AIDS. To commemorate the occasion, Whitman-Walker Health is sponsoring a screening of the film “How to Survive a Plague” on June 5 at 5:30 p.m. at GWU Lisner Auditorium (730 21st St., N.W.). 

The screening is free and you can register on Eventbrite. Other partners involved in the screening are the Center for Black Equity, Food & Friends, HIPS, and Us Helping Us.

After the film, attendees will head to Dupont Circle for a candlelight vigil at sunset.

The film reflects on lessons from the community-led response to the plague while honoring those lost to HIV and AIDS. It tells the story of activism and innovation about AIDS survival. Culled from a trove of archival footage, the film is epic and intimate, tracking a small group of people, most of them HIV-positive, in their nine-year-long battle to save their own lives, according to a statement from Whitman-Walker.

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