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Marco Williams is an immensely talented documentary director and a tireless, undidactic advocate for social change. One of the things I most respect about him is the modest courage he displays in his search for answers to difficult, mysterious questions about racism in America. (More on the topic of courageous documentary making in a moment).

In The Two Towns of Jasper, Williams' last film (which was a collaboration with Whitney Dow), the filmmakers wanted to find out why James Byrd, an African American man, was chained to a pickup truck and dragged to his death in a quiet town in Texas that (from the outside) seemed no more racist than any other small town in America. To explore the aftermath of this gory tragedy, Williams and Dow sent a white crew to talk to the white citizens in Jasper, and a black crew to interview the black citizens. The resulting film played on the award-winning PBS series POV, included a nationally televised "interactive" town meeting (ah, how we conceived of "interactivity" prior to blogging and social networking--), and initiated a spirited discussion throughout the country that raised the bar on the guarded dialog typically found on the rare occasions where race is the subject of conversations.

Let's face it: talking honestly and openly about race in America is challenging, and seldom done well. Whether it be in the corners of politically correct liberal arts colleges, or anti-intellectual 24-hour "news" programming, or daytime talk show shockfests, none of it is very rewarding or terribly illuminating. Given that, The Two Towns of Jasper was a rare achievement.

In another film about race and history premiering this week at the festival (and later this year on HBO), Steven Okazaki talks to Hiroshima victims left out of WW2 history. In describing how he came to make White Light/Black Rain, he described his film subjects as people who really wanted to tell their story. In contrast, Williams' documentaries (especially The Two Towns of Jasper, and now with Banished) feature somewhat more...let's just say "reluctant" subjects.

In Banished, Williams is daring enough to confront his subjects who (as a filmmaker) with people about a different kind of invisible history. Banished tells the story of three American cities, which were "part of many communities that violently forced African American families to flee in post-reconstruction America." So you can see why today's elderly white citizens might be a tad reluctant.

To see for yourself what I mean, take a look after the jump.

Beyond his daring --going where few filmmakers go today-- Williams possesses a gift for finding the story in these complex everyday tragedies. His work also asks us to think about history as part of the present-day story; how these historical narratives dictate who we are as Americans today; tragedies that demonstrate a side of Americans that no one is proud of, and few wish to explore.

As an African American man in an openly racist community, and as a documentary filmmaker, Williams is clearly self-aware. But instead of playing the traditional cinema verité director's role of "fly-on-the-wall," he (bravely) embraces his the position as conspicuous interloper.

Why does he choose to confront these people?

I asked him.