Director Steve James (right) with his title subject, Stevie Fielding

Though Steve James' new documentary, Stevie, is being touted as the "long awaited follow-up" to his 1994 film, Hoop Dreams, the past nine years have not been idle ones. After the triumphant success of Hoop Dreams, he went on to direct three feature films—all athlete biopics—Passing Glory, Prefontaine and Joe & Max. This spring he makes his return to the documentary genre with the very personal Stevie. Returning to the rural Southern Illinois landscape James knew as a college student, the film originated as a short feature on how the life of 20-something Stevie Fielding had changed in the years since James served as his Big Brother.

Premiering at the 2002 Toronto Film Festival, Stevie went on to win the Best Documentary Cinematography award at Sundance, and which will be released by Lions Gate on March 28th. Here, James speaks about the differences between documentary and feature filmmaking, the personal nature of his stories and the balancing act he had to perform in making Stevie.

Jennifer Wood (MM): Even in the feature films you've made, you've chosen to concentrate on biopics. Why does non-fiction hold such an interest for you as a moviemaker?

Steve James (SJ): It's true that I've always been attracted to true stories. It probably goes back to my undergraduate days as a radio reporter for the university NPR station. The old adage, "truth is stranger than fiction" seems to get more true with each passing day, to the point where satire—much less fiction—is nearly obsolete.

But I haven't chosen to concentrate on biopics; it's been chosen for me. Hollywood tends to pigeonhole filmmakers and so, because of my documentary background, I get offered biopics with a sports theme. Don't get me wrong. I've been very passionate about the features I've done, but biopics are extremely hard to make. I think they're the hardest genre to pull off because it's hard to resist the temptation to try and tell a subject's whole life. But to tell a whole life in two hours is nearly impossible. Maybe that's why my documentaries are, shall we say, epic in scope. The added length and scope gives me the chance at capturing lives in a fuller and deeper way.

And really, that's at the heart of my passion for true stories. I love trying to figure out people, trying to understand them, trying to tell their story. My feature biopics have all been about famous people. My documentaries have all been about unknown, everyday people. I ultimately get the most satisfaction from telling the stories of people viewers never thought they'd care about, and trying to make them care deeply.

MM: How can you ever be reasonably sure you've found a story that will have wide audience appeal?

SJ: Maybe I'm some kind of knee-jerk humanist, but I believe that if you spend enough time with a subject and you really are, as a filmmaker, genuinely interested in them, you will make a film that has wide appeal. I'm not talking blockbuster appeal, but if people come into the theater to see the film, they'll be hooked until the end.

Usually, during the making of a documentary, I have some kind of personal "epiphany" where I realize what the film is really about. And those epiphanies have to do with universal themes that everyone can relate to. On Hoop Dreams, it was realizing that the film wasn't about basketball, but really about the American Dream for African American families in the inner city and how they want the same things for their children parents everywhere want. On Stevie, it was realizing that Stevie's family, despite profound troubles, never gives up trying to be a family. They may (and often do) fail, but they never give up. Just like most every other family in the world.

MM: Had you ever envisioned making a film in which you (and your family) would play such an integral—and visible—part of the story?

SJ: Frankly, no. I expected to be in the film briefly myself at the beginning and then step aside and be a personal but decidedly off-screen presence for the rest of the film. All that changed when Stevie was charged with the crime and I got caught in the middle of the turmoil within his family. It was then that I realized that I didn't want to maintain a pretense of being an observer in his life; that I needed to try and help. But if I was going to help and continue to make this film, then I had to deal with myself (and my family) as honestly as I could within the film.

I've never been a fan of the diary film form where the filmmaker is subject. But in this case, it felt like the only honest way to make the film. Still, I didn't want my presence to overwhelm the story of Stevie and his family. It became a delicate balancing act.

MM: How do you maintain the role of "moviemaker"—or "outside observer"—when dealing with such a personal topic? Particularly with moments like the scene in the post office, when you learned how much Stevie would look forward to any correspondence from you?

SJ: As I said before, I gave up trying to pretend to be an outside observer. In none of the films I've made have I ever truly been an outside observer. You can't gain people's trust over years of filming without committing yourself to them as more than just a filmmaker/observer. But there were moments—like the one in the post office—where it became powerfully clear how important I was to Stevie as a person, not as a filmmaker.

Though he was flattered by my making a film, he really didn't care much about the film compared to his memories of our time together when he was younger. In a way, that's what the gift of making the film was for me: it helped me realize how cherished that time we had together was for him. While I wrestled with how good a Big Brother I was and whether any of it mattered, he saw somebody come into his life and do things with him that he wanted to do. That was plenty good for him.

MM: How is your preparation been different on a documentary like Hoop Dreams or Stevie from a feature like Prefontaine?

SJ: Put most simply—perhaps too simply—features are about creating a story that's been preplanned and scripted in advance. Documentaries like Hoop Dreams and Stevie are about discovering the story as it unfolds. You have to be willing to let the story take you where it will and cast aside your preconceived notions of who and what your characters (subjects) really are. On a feature, much of that process of discovery must happen in advance.

Because Prefontainte is a biopic, I read everything I could find on him and talked to everyone I could that knew him before sitting down to write the script. And then, through the actors on the set, I tried to make it richer and more complex in its realization. In a documentary, I need to open my mind to the complexity that all people possess within them and make them comfortable enough to express it. Features are more like writing a novel. Documentaries are more like living inside them. You finally write them in the editing.

MM: Who do you feel are the most important collaborators to have as a non-fiction moviemaker? Who were the most important collaborators for you on Stevie, and what did they contribute to the final film?

SJ: First and foremost, really, your subjects are your collaborators. This kind of documentary filmmaking is a collaboration between subjects and filmmakers. Without their courage, honesty and heart—not to mention time—you'd have nothing. Beyond that, the crew is absolutely crucial. Though Stevie is the most personal film I have ever made, it could not have been made without the creative input of producers Adam Singer and Gordon Quinn (who served as cinematographer and sound recordist, respectively), cinematographers Dana Kupper and Peter Gilbert, and co-editor Bill Haugse.

And Kartemquin Films, where we made the film, is a collaborator, too. Their tradition of documentary filmmaking going back to 1967 informs everything I do.

All their collective contributions were especially crucial because Stevie was so personal an experience for me. They not only helped me capture the unfolding story, they also helped me decide when I should be in the film or not, when I wasn't being honest with myself as well as when I was being too hard on myself. In short, they provided perspective as well as doing the important work of helping me make the film.

MM: I know that much of Stevie was shot on 16mm. If you were to start shooting the film today, would you opt for the same format? Digital seems to be the format of choice for so many non-fiction moviemakers. Why was/is film the choice for you?

SJ: Good question. We might have gone Hi Def video if we had the option. We could have shot Stevie on video like we did Hoop Dreams, but I wanted to capture something of the beauty of the setting of rural Southern Illinois, contrasted with the rather tortured story that was unfolding. And given that Stevie covers terrain and people that have most often been relegated to TV talk show video, shooting on film lent some "aesthetic nobility" and importance to the story. It was a subtle way of saying, "These people's lives deserve to be told on film just as much as anybody else's."

MM: How is the editing process different for you on a film like Stevie versus a feature film like Joe & Max? How do you work with your co-editor: do you sit side by side the entire time, or do you take time to do a first pass on all the footage?

SJ: First of all, on Joe & Max, I wasn't an editor at all. When I first started doing features, I worried that it would be hard for me to work with an editor because I'd always edited my own films. (I was a co-editor on Hoop Dreams.) I feared that I would want to push the editor aside and take over. Well, it took me about 10 minutes on Prefontaine to conclude that I liked it just fine to sit in the back of the room with my feet up and watch somebody else work.

I've been blessed with really fine editors on all three features I've done. On Joe & Max, the editor Norman Buckley was deservedly nominated for the ACE Eddy Award. He and I worked very well together. I think we both have a good sense of story and so it was easy for us to refine the film and find solutions. On features, the hard part is having to find a new story structure limited by the footage and scenes you've shot. On a documentary, where you have lots of footage and many more scenes than you can possibly include, it's more about discovering the essential story you want to tell within the footage.

On Stevie, I did about a year of editing on the film before involving Bill Haugse, the co-editor. (On a feature, you couldn't possibly do that.) If "writing is rewriting," in verite documentaries, "filmmaking is re-editing." In all our Kartemquin documentaries, we try and spend as much time as we can in the editing room. Bill entered the process after I had a three-and-a-half hour cut. The first thing he said to me was "I want to go back to the dailies and see what choices you made." I reluctantly agreed and now I'm so glad I did. He made all kinds of discoveries—things I'd overlooked or had a failure of will to include—and helped the film take a big leap forward. Unlike on features, he would work alone and then show me stuff. Then on weekends, I'd get my hands on it.

MM: Do you find that you discover more about yourself in the process of making a film like Stevie, and investing so much of your time in someone else's life and struggles?

SJ: I absolutely discover more about myself. My wife is a counselor who has great insight into people. I too like thinking about what makes others do what they do. Any time you focus on human psychology, which is at the heart of the storytelling process, you learn something about yourself.

But focusing on others' stories is also a great way to get out of yourself, too. (I tend to be a self-reflective type. Too much so at times.) So making documentaries is a great way to open your eyes to the world around you. The legendary DP Bill Butler has shot two of my features and I always marvel at how he has never lost his ability to really look at the world around him. No matter how familiar it may be, he really looks and that's the secret to his great eye for composition.

MM: What was the most important thing you learned making Stevie?

SJ: Stevie taught me to try and see people for just how complex they are, and to preserve as much of that in the film as possible. I really like people, even people that I don't particularly agree with or whom others find unlikable. The famous quote from Jean Renoir's Rules of the Game makes for a great mission statement for documentary film: "Everyone has their reasons." When you get right down to it, that's what making documentaries is all about.