Director Kirby Dick and producing partner/co-director Amy Ziering have spent the better part of the last decade deeply involved in exposing areas of American society where sexual assault runs rampant. They have the mechanics of the rape culture procedural doc down to a science, yet nothing in their films feels formulaic. Dick and Ziering’s latest foray into the field, “On the Record,” takes a more personal angle than their previous documentaries “The Invisible War” and “The Hunting Ground.” Rather than spotlighting individual stories as evidence of institutional failure, they follow one woman from the music industry and explore the cultural contexts undergirding her journey from survivor to warrior.
That woman is the extraordinary Drew Dixon, who went on the record to The New York Times in December 2017 (along with two other women) to accuse music mogul Russell Simmons of sexually assaulting her. Dixon rose quickly as an executive at Simmons’ Def Jam Recordings by virtue of her talent and zeal – and largely in spite of the predatory “boys’ club” culture. In her recollections, Dixon likens the working environment to a club more than an office. And though she held a senior position at the label, that did not stop Simmons from tricking her into a situation where he could abuse her.
“On the Record” is more personal profile than investigative journalism; after all, the Times piece already exists to do the fact-checked retelling of events. The film might have benefitted from showing more behind-the-scenes and explaining how the documentary came to be since Dick and Ziering’s footage predates Dixon’s involvement with the Grey Lady. The two projects overlap heavily but diverge in some key ways as the film reflects more of an activist bent, and a Times staffer expresses his discomfort about having a preliminary phone conversation with Dixon recorded for the documentary. While the focus of any work about sexual violence should be on the survivors rather than the reporters, the directors could have made their case even more airtight with a little more transparency into their own subjective positions.
In contrast to their more deductively reasoned prior documentaries on the topic, Dick and Ziering take a more inductive approach with “On the Record.” Dixon’s story becomes a springboard into which they can probe broader topics in the conversation around sexual assault. The documentary takes the directors into a more intersectional territory, too, as they confront head-on the undeniable overtones of race and class in this particular incident. From its opening moments, the film foregrounds this story as one of a Black woman speaking up with accusations against a Black man. It’s a necessary acknowledgment and one that enhances the film’s potency.
From the first days of #MeToo when Alyssa Milano received praise for a phrase coined by Black activist Tarana Burke years prior, there has been tension over whether this movement to hold abusers accountable would become just another white feminist advancement. Though Dick and Ziering are both white, they prioritized the voices of women of color from the talking heads to the editing room. A key sequence in “On the Record,” reportedly to assuage the concerns of former executive producer Oprah Winfrey, contextualizes the misogyny and colorism in rap music in the ‘80s and ‘90s. Black women interviewees mention their discomfort with parsing the objectionable attitudes in the music because they feared the backlash they would face if they were perceived as pushing negative stereotypes about Black men. This point is important because it ladders up to a bigger issue that shames too many women of color from coming forward with their stories about abusive Black men: they fear doing so makes them agents of white supremacy.
It’s not always perfect in joining these larger conversations; a metaphor involving the transatlantic slave trade never gets fully unpacked, for example. But by lending their platform and ceding the floor to voices who are too often marginalized, Dick and Ziering do what the best of documentary activism can – reframe the conversation. “On the Record” does not ask us to reassess our relationship with the art made by “canceled” men. Instead, it asks us to mourn the art we lost by gifted women who never got to make their masterpiece because they were driven out of the business by lecherous victimizers.
The film never reduces Dixon to merely her trauma. Dick and Ziering go to great lengths to depict her creative process, both past and present, as she collaborates with musicians on their songs. For Dixon, rap represents more than just a passion or a job. It’s deeply connected with her sense of mission and activism. To watch her integral role in bringing together Method Man and Mary J. Blige’s 1995 duet “I’ll Be There For You/You’re All I Need To Get By” is to observe melodic magic. To see Dixon, nearly a quarter-century later, finally reconnecting with her old ways is to feel a hard-fought hope that this movement of accountability will lead to the construction of something glorious and new, not merely the destruction of the backward and old. [B+]
“On the Record” is available now on HBO Max.