Photo by Vivian Maier, the subject of John Maloof and Charlie Siskel's documentary "Finding Vivian Maier."

The first 20-odd seconds of John Maloof and Charlie Siskel’s “Finding Vivian Maier” feature a number of middle-aged and elderly interviewees in their homes staring bemusedly into the camera. The question that caused such a reaction:  “What would Vivian Maier think about all this?” The eventual flurry of contradictory responses (“She would have loved it,” “She would have never let it happen”) establish a confusion that pervades the entirety of the documentary. Siskel and Maloof brilliantly capture a woman who, even after the film meant to illuminate her life, remains remarkably nebulous. The directors embrace all of her battling identities and are impressively unbiased in their portrayal. They let the fascinating story compel the viewer and only flex their stylistic muscles on occasion (even if the flamboyant beginning indicates otherwise). The only weakness in the piece is its focus on the present—Maloof, who discovered Maier, spends too much time talking to the camera and showcasing his role in Maier’s rise. That being said, he and Siskel imbue “Finding Vivian Maier” with a stripped-down aesthetic that allows the dynamism of its protagonist to shine through.

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Maier, who spent countless hours finding the right shot and mounting paper, never made any effort to have her photographs displayed. Her personal life is just as odd: a nanny throughout her life, she comes off as both a loving caregiver and an abusive and borderline evil demagogue. Born in New York, she fashioned a fake French accent and played up her false foreign birth. She was a compulsive hoarder, who collected so many newspapers that the floors of her rooms would droop. Seemingly asexual, she often recoiled when men attempted to touch her. Maloof and several of his interviewees suggest that Maier’s oddities point to some sort of undefined underlying abuse. Maloof acknowledges and discusses at length the potential ramifications of his discovery and further probing into Maier’s life. Maloof’s choice to examine the ethics of his pursuit lends the film a sense of subjectivity and transparency that is usually lacking in historical documentaries. The film is both about Maier and about how to present her, which allows it to entirely avoid any Ken Burns dryness and ask important questions about the cynicism of post-mortem examinations.

Maloof is a moral if not especially captivating narrator. His insights about history are on point but are muted by his lack of emotional presence. He discusses his auction-house discovery of the negatives (the initial set of which he bought for a paltry $380), his increasing obsession with their worth, and his eventual decision to devote himself to their restoration and Maier’s reputation. He captures much of this process on film and narrates the entire movie. While a full-blown biographical sketch would have been a completely inappropriate digression, a further exploration of Maloof’s background would have given his search much more gravity. It’s clear that he cares a lot about Maier’s work and story, but his dogged pursuit of information appears almost robotic. Perhaps a Michael Moore-like confrontation with an interviewee could have spiced things up, though likely to tacky results. There is no clear solution to Maloof’s unsatisfying persona—he is a fundamental part of the story, after all. His choice to remain a relatively anonymous chronicler, while probably the classiest way to keep the spotlight on Maier, still fosters an unfortunately detached tone.

This distance is never clearer than when Maloof describes Maier’s journey towards artistic recognition. He peppers anecdotes by those who knew Maier—almost exclusively the parents and children whom she nannied for—with information about exhibitions, viral social media conflagrations, and new techniques for developing her portraits. Famed experts like Joel Meyerowitz and Mary Ellen Mark offer lofty comparisons of Maier to the legends of 20th-century photographers. These scenes appear slightly defensive, almost as if they are a justification of the film’s existence as opposed to a legitimate discussion about the best way forward with Maier’s work and her place in the photographical canon.

The work and biography is presented so intricately, however, that it mostly drowns out the inconsistency and self-aggrandizement of the present-day discussion. The photos, which are shown liberally, are often beautiful and grotesque. Typically focusing on urban street life and practices, they show everything ranging from desperate drunks to lascivious couples. Maier’s distinctive Rolleiflex camera, which shot facing upwards to create a certain hugeness in the subject, is mesmerizing. Maloof and Siskel’s research is so extensive that they often have the backstory behind particular shots. An especially fascinating tale comes in the form of a child who was taken to the stockyards for a shoot with Maier and had her first confrontation with death. The loss of innocence present in many of the recollections drives home the central point of Maier’s layered past: the macabre is never far from the gorgeous.

—Staff writer David J. Kurlander can be reached at david.kurlander@thecrimson.com.