Documenting Death in The Bridge

In a time of live TV, webcams and picture messaging, society’s age of voyeurism is expansive. While the fascination of prying into the depths of human secrecy has its allure, sometimes the prospect of staring so intently into a stranger’s life seems unnecessarily invasive. This was how I felt about The Bridge, a documentary charged with paying tribute to the hundreds of souls who chose the grandiose arches of San Francisco’s Golden Gate Bridge as the backdrop for their suicide.

Understandably, the purpose of a documentary film is to record events as they happen and then transport this knowledge to a larger audience. Though the genre is constantly evolving, typically these films attempt to enlighten viewers regarding a little known or intricately complex topic. However, in The Bridge, no such call to action existed. Instead, the audience simply watched stupefied as families poured their pain onto the screen to no evident avail.

The opening scene for this film is a jaw-dropping portrayal of a person who is enveloped among throngs of people. With effortless and ceaseless pacing, he breaks from the crowd, climbs over the gigantic gold railing and discretely dives off the cluttered walkway into the bay beneath. Business as usual, the people continue to mill about their daily lives, heading to and fro with such mindless determination that they almost fail to notice the suicide that occurred before their eyes.