Lost Child? Wherever You Are Is Where Here Is (review)

Frequently, first-person documentaries about one’s family focus so narrowly on intrafamilial dynamics that there is little room to explicate the larger issues at play within and without the family structure. On the other hand, social-issue films often struggle to find a personal way to explore what is at stake and thus fail to offer the audience a way to feel what is happening while also intellectually grasping the larger issues. Ruzzin’s film Lost Child? about his sister Alyssa manages—rather amazingly—to tread this line between family, personal feeling, and social issue so adroitly that we can feel for his subject’s struggle while understanding the challenges she faces within the family and within society at large. The filmmaker reveals his sister’s personality and their affection for one another as they explore and expose the way society addresses (and/or ignores) people who are considered “different” from some idealized norm. Alyssa’s self-conscious engagement with what is variously called a learning disability, a learning disorder, and a learning struggle is revealed gently and gradually throughout the film. It is never didactically thrust upon the audience, and I found myself as uncomfortable with the language as the interviewees themselves. What do we call Alyssa and people like her who are somewhat different from ourselves? How do we address their differences so as not to insult them? It is clear that many thoughtless individuals (many of whom were children) hurt Alyssa by using derogatory language about her that caused her to withdraw from activities and from their presence. Ruzzin’s film reveals the perhaps unintentional emotional and psychological scars that our misuse of language can leave on people like Alyssa. Ruzzin reminds us in the end that Alyssa is a person first and that respect for her is more important than what we say about how or what she learns.

Ruzzin wisely avoids adding the familial backstory until later in the film, that is, until we are firmly aware of Alyssa as an adult individual. It is only then that her mother and father are introduced, revealing the physiological issues and events of Alyssa’s childhood struggles with school and medications. It is clear that Alyssa is present at these interviews. In fact Ruzzin carefully reveals an intentional transparency throughout the film. Alyssa clearly understands that her mother and father will see (and hear) her version of her story. We never feel that there is any question of the filmmaker’s ethics in this regard, and Ruzzin’s sensitivity to his sister (despite the scene of the messy clothes in the bedroom, which is playfully included) is apparent throughout. Ruzzin also includes Alyssa’s agitation with him (her brother) during the process, a further testament to the filmmaker’s attention to transparency.

Alyssa’s strength and determination are awe-inspiring, and Ruzzin manages to convey his respect for her and for how she manages her life. By the end of the film, I realized that I have become fond of Alyssa and her quirky sense of humor and that I admire her personal philosophy. Of course, like any good storyteller, Ruzzin leaves the powerful story of Alyssa’s abusive sexual encounter to the end of the film. I can only imagine how painful that moment must have been for both the brother and the sister to share so honestly on camera. Neither shies from his or her true feelings, and we hear Ruzzin encouraging Alyssa to consider the possibility of healing even this transgression against her body and soul, for her own sake.

It is difficult to overestimate this film’s importance with regard to the educational and social issues with which it engages. We as a society need to be reminded of what others who are not like us may go through in their 3,000 steps in life to get from one place to another—steps we frequently take for granted. Ruzzin has created...