The personal diary film assumes particular relevance in “My Kidnapper,” a fascinating docu about the search for closure. In 2003, British filmmaker Mark Henderson, among eight unlucky tourists in Colombia, was taken by left-wing guerrillas and held for 101 days before being released. His decision to eventually return, with three other abductees, to the scene of the crime, followed a five-year exchange of emails begun by one of his kidnappers. Mentally and physically retracing their traumatic trek through spectacular junglescapes, the former hostages debate post-colonial geopolitics. Docu is skedded for extended fest and global tube play.
Only three of the original hostages accept Henderson’s invitation to accompany him back to Colombia under heavily armed escort: Israeli men Erez Eltawil and Ido Guy, and the sole captive woman, a German named Reinihilt Weigel (herself emailed by a co-kidnapper, the girlfriend of Henderson’s correspondent). Upon arriving, their ordeal comes flooding back: Incoherent gestures and the shakiness of a handheld camera replicate their initial confusion, while glimpses of their army escort visually suggest the coercion they endured under similarly armed guerrillas.
Three of the former hostages kept journals during their forced confinement, and their present-day recollections are layered by these overlapping accounts (or, in Weigel’s case, drawings). Densely interpersonal exchanges among the former hostages are counterpointed by lone individual musings, voiced over a stark tableaux of mountains or treetops obscured by swirling mist.
Even the Colombian guerrillas’ rationale is represented via interview footage taken by Henderson in his meeting, late in the film, with former kidnapper Antonio (shown in profile, only half visibly, against a black backdrop as he speaks).
Increasingly, as the story is rehashed, the main conflict arises not between captives and captors, but between the two Israelis and the two Europeans over their radically oppositional worldviews. Henderson and Weigel had cooperated with and engaged the guerrillas, attempting to make their abductors see them as human beings. Once they discovered they were being held not for money, but to pressure governments to investigate human-rights abuses by paramilitaries, they began to sympathize somewhat, or at least hope their detainment served a purpose. Eltawil and Guy, meanwhile, had done everything possible to impede their former captors, dismissing their ideological beliefs.
As a news story, the pic (co-helmed by Henderson and Kate Horne) lacks coherence, given that the sequence of events is often unclear and several narrative threads are left hanging. But as a chronicle of different reactions to the trauma of abduction, and the culture shock experienced by inhabitants of developed countries thrust into a decades-long, three-way civil war where nothing registers as morally straightforward, “My Kidnapper” succeeds brilliantly.