If you have never thought much about the relationship between our natural resources and the impact of commercial real estate development, the documentary The Unforeseen may be a bit of an eye-opener for you. If you are fervent about the beleaguered plight of Mother Earth and involve yourself in the political process on her behalf, The Unforeseen will be both inspiring and infuriatingly disheartening.

If, however—like me—you are sympathetic to that cause yet are highly skeptical of any film that smacks of contrived propaganda, this film will make you angry because it does not make its case honestly; and if Earth-Firsters nauseate you, you’ll be headed for the exits not long after sitting down.

The Unforeseen tells the story—in a rather meandering and fractured, impressionistic fashion—of the ways in which commercial real estate development around Austin, Texas, has ruined both the natural beauty and spiritual resonance of the place. It marshals the first-hand recollections of disillusioned developer Gary Bradley—the film’s central “character”—and former childhood resident (and co-producer) Robert Redford, as well as the reflections of local activists, farmers, suburbanites, and children. It documents the legal developments that first tipped the scales in favor of local developers, then granted a major populist victory to Austin’s activists, then took that victory away in a lopsided legislated landslide that opened the floodgates to largely unregulated international developers.

The film also manages a fairly balanced presentation of the issues involved: the historical heritage of the Texas Republic and private land-ownership rights; the sudden disappearance of the farming ethic; the unforgiving pressures of uncontrollable weather patterns; the amazing ways in which Nature regulates itself; the economic pressures of boom cycles and recessions; and the basic human urges for restorative communion with nature, social engagement, and free speech.

But the film totally betrays itself as polemic by repeatedly and dogmatically juxtaposing a lobbyist’s narration with close-ups of his model fighter jet; by using long lenses to convey the impression that earthmovers are working within feet of a farmer’s field; by using graphics to indicate that something is in a downward spiral without tying those graphics to any data at all, much less any meaningful data (honestly, it’s just a downward moving red line against a black background); and by employing a sinister theme on the soundtrack to accompany scenes featuring the “bad guys” in the story.

The Unforeseen is not content with presenting us the facts of the situation and allowing us to draw our own conclusions; it is instead more interested in waxing nostalgic and tragic while telling us what to think.

At a narrative level, the film is also fairly unfocused. The first half—the drier, less interesting but more satisfying half—follows an actual narrative thread centered around Austin’s natural haven Barton Springs and Bradley’s Circle C Ranch development. The second half, though, which takes on the larger story of Texas State politics and national economic policies, comes off a disjointed exercise in scare-tactic non sequiturs. It’s a historical fact, of course, that as Governor of Texas, George Bush presided over policies that brought Austin’s less-than-fortunate transformation to fruition; but in the absence of any real smoking gun, Bush and Rove (and oil derricks, which don’t enter into the story at all) are used in the film simply as cheap symbolic means of summoning up anger and cynicism. And frankly, the film’s arty poetic interludes that are meant to underscore the subject matter’s poignancy—while attractive enough in their own right—don’t serve the film’s structure well at all; they feel like they belong in an entirely different film.

At the end of the day, The Unforeseen does not amount to anything new or helpful when it comes to solutions for the delicate balance between caring for our planet and the perceived needs and rights of its human residents. Instead, it’s just the latest in a line of documentaries—An Inconvenient Truth, Artic Tale, The 11^th Hour—that preach to the choir while paying mere lip service to integrity and truth.

The Unforeseen is unrated; but at one point my wife, with whom I screened the film, blurted out, “How did they manage to make an R-rated documentary?” There’s a surprising amount of 4-letter language in the film considering its subject matter. I doubt that high-schoolers would be offended; but their more sensitive parents and siblings might be, given the type of film they might be expecting.

Courtesy of the film’s producers, Greg viewed a promotional screener of The Unforeseen.