We are proud to see 18 of our films streaming on Kanopy, a platform that brings thoughtful, independent storytelling to public and academic libraries across the U.S. and beyond. These titles—now available to students, educators, and the general public—represent over two decades of documentary work exploring history, music, race, art, exile, resistance, and identity.

Documentary Film Fund invites you to discover a curated selection of my documentary films, now available to stream for free with your public library card or university login at Kanopy.com

Artificial intelligence, used responsibly, becomes not a shortcut but a legitimate creative tool. And there is historical precedent for this kind of intervention.

I want to take a moment to shine a spotlight on the incredible work of my talented friend, Eduardo Galliani, particularly his contributions to the world of Book Arts and Publishing through Antares Portfolio.

Documentaries can serve as cinematic expressions that explore social practices, traditions, and the shared experiences of specific groups.

What happened next remains uncertain. One version says that relatives and their daughters dug their graves before getting shot—buried in a mass grave still waiting to be discovered. Another account suggests they were deported to Treblinka and never returned. Either way, this photograph is the last image of the great-aunts I never had the chance to meet.

Last night’s tribute was more than fitting. It was a reminder that the arts don’t flourish without stewards—those who believe, quietly and persistently, in the transformative power of culture and community. Joe Erdman is one of them. And we’re all the better for it.

When I first started researching George Frederick Bristow, I expected the usual: a 19th-century American composer influenced mostly by European traditions. And sure enough, Bristow fits that mold—born in Brooklyn in 1825, the son of an English-born violinist, passionate about creating a national musical identity.

Notes on documentaries by Eduardo Montes-Bradley on Latin American writers produced between 1998 and 2005

It promises to be an intense weekend of peaceful narratives, music, and friendship. More to come on the rebound. And if you happen to be in the neighborhood, don’t hesitate to cross my path on the road.

We’re pleased to share that Daniel Chester French: An American Sculptor is now available for worldwide academic and public access through Alexander Street, a ProQuest platform and one of the most powerful engines for curated scholarly streaming media.

More than 80 years after arriving in Argentina, a collection of Nazi propaganda materials has been uncovered in a surprising and deeply symbolic location: the archives of the country’s Supreme Court.

El Eternauta signals something new for Argentine cinema. For the first time, we are seeing a production that stands on its own without imitating the tropes of international (especially American) storytelling. It’s not about achieving universality through abstraction—it’s about being unapologetically Argentine, and in doing so, achieving something truly universal.

Amy Marcy Cheney Beach (1867–1944) was not just a gifted composer and pianist; she was a force of nature in a world unprepared for women with serious musical ambitions. Born in the quiet town of Henniker, New Hampshire, Beach entered the world with an uncanny musical sensibility. Stories from her earliest years border on myth: by the age of one, she could reportedly sing over 40 songs; by four, she was composing her own music.

We have taken an important resolution: to progressively embrace the iPhone as a tool for documentary filmmaking. This decision is the natural evolution of a journey that began decades ago — a journey rooted in the need and choice to adapt to technology, while always keeping subject and story at the heart of it all.

In the rich and often under-explored history of American classical music, three composers—Amy Beach, Margaret Ruthven Lang, and Helen Hopekirk—stand out not just for their talent, but for their perseverance and presence in a field still finding its voice in the 19th century.

Soon, we’ll begin training an Ai model with those characteristics in mind. In the meantime, I’m absorbing Bristow’s music, reading the scores, and listening with care — trying to get under the skin of a man who dared to compose in an era that didn’t yet know how to listen. And above all, hearing from you, the reader who will comment on this post with opinions and ideas as to How did Mr. Bristow may have sounded like?

My primary medium for decades has been documentary film. That’s where I’ve told most of my stories, behind moving images, sound, and a carefully constructed edit. But recently, I’ve returned—almost instinctively—to still photography. Not digital, but analog: 35mm film, the kind I experimented with in a parallel universe during the late 1970s and early ’80s, when I was just beginning to find my way into filmmaking.

For the last two months, I’ve been returning to analog photography. Not for interviews or narrative-heavy sequences (that would be impractical), but for transitions, establishing shots, and the poetic moments that so often pair well with the precision of the FX3.

The future of documentary filmmaking hinges on a filmmaker’s ability to adapt to the ever-evolving funding landscape.