Finding Vivian Maier

When Vivian Maier died at the age of 83 in the spring of 2009, those who had known the woman remembered her as a nanny with a humorously stiff gait and a penchant for taking photographs. In the short time since Maier’s death, her narrative has been radically rewritten, her striking street photography celebrated in exhibitions from Los Angeles to London.
That such a private, peculiar woman could retroactively be recognized as one of the best photographers of the last 50 years is a testament to the untold great art being made under our collective nose. It’s an enticing story, and it’s breezily told in Finding Vivian Maier, a documentary that examines her path to the posthumous spotlight.
Directed by John Maloof and Charlie Siskel, the film begins with Maloof explaining how he purchased a box of old negatives in 2007 for a book project but never ended up using them. Years later, he became obsessed with the photos—arresting, unassuming street scenes from the 1950s and ’60s in Chicago and New York—and was curious who had taken them. His journey led him to a woman named Vivian Maier, who made her living principally as a caretaker of young children. Finding Vivian Maier interviews the now-grown kids she nannied, as well as their parents and others who were friends of the reclusive woman.
Finding Vivian Maier is in a tradition that includes Stone Reader and Searching for Sugar Man: documentaries whose makers are trying to track down forgotten or obscure artists whose work has deeply impacted them. So what we have here is a detective story, with Maloof and Siskel looking for clues into Maier’s personality and thought process. (For instance, she shot more than 100,000 photographs but never had them developed. Could she not afford it, or did she not want her work seen by the public? What drove her to so obsessively chronicle her world but never enjoy the fruits of her labor?)
In its early stretches, Finding Vivian Maier quietly marvels at the potentially rich secret lives of those around us: The filmmakers’ interview subjects are uniformly astonished that the woman they thought they knew was some sort of great artist. A bit of a hoarder and not someone who liked physical contact, Maier comes across in these first-hand accounts as a lovable loon: a less-magical Mary Poppins who enjoyed taking her wards on photographic expeditions but didn’t dispense a lot of spoonful-of-sugar sage advice.