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“… The Visual Approach of the Documentary is Deeply Influenced by Amish and Mennonite Norms”: Elaine Epstein on her SXSW-Premiering Arrest the Midwife
Arrest the Midwife As its nonsensical title might imply, Elaine Epstein’s Arrest the Midwife centers on the plight of three certified professional midwives who, after the death of a newborn (ironically, at a hospital one of the midwives rushed her client to the minute she noticed complications), find themselves in the crosshairs of their local authorities in upstate New York, one of only 11 states where midwifery is either illegal or highly restricted. (NYC midwives might consider moving to progressive Alabama.) And while the tale is quite harrowing, it’s also unexpectedly empowering. For what the (male) police and prosecutors didn’t quite bargain for was a “radical uprising” from the rural community the trio of conservative birthing providers serve – Amish and Mennonite women willing to fight for their right not to engage with the medical industrial complex of the outside world. (Onward, Christian soldiers!)
To learn all about the film – including how a Brooklyn-based, gay, Jewish, South African documentarian even got access to this cloistered community – Filmmaker caught up with the award-winning director (State of Denial, Nothing Without Us: The Women Who Will End Aids) the day before the doc’s March 9th SXSW debut.
Filmmaker: You came to this story around the time of planning for your second child, when you discovered that your own midwifery practice (along with most midwife-led birthing centers at NYC hospitals) had closed and decided to investigate. But how did you go from reading about Elizabeth Catlin’s arrest to filming with Liz and the other women? I can’t imagine these insular communities in upstate New York would have been jumping at the chance to appear in a documentary.
Epstein: When I first read about Liz’s arrest, I knew instantly that her story had the power to shine a light on so many complex issues: bodily autonomy, birthing choices, legal overreach, and the criminalization of midwifery. With the steady rollback of reproductive rights in this country, the implications were huge.
When Liz and I first connected we talked about my interest in filming, but at that point her grand jury hearing hadn’t even happened. She was onboard with the project – which was exciting – but to be honest, I fully expected the case to be dismissed. I figured that would be the end of it.
Then about a month later, just as I was packing for a family vacation, Liz called. The grand jury had convened and indicted her on 95 felony charges. I was stunned. But I also knew, at that moment, I needed to start filming. So I scrapped my vacation, pulled a team together, and we hit the road.
From the beginning I understood that this documentary couldn’t be told without the participation of the Amish and Mennonite communities Liz serves. But for most Amish and Mennonites being photographed — let alone filmed — pushes the boundaries of their faith, and they rarely allow access. So to start, I asked Liz and her daughter Grace to arrange an informal sit-down with a group of Mennonite women to gauge their willingness to participate and figure out if and how we could work together in a way that honored their traditions.
I expected resistance. What I didn’t expect was how many of them said yes. Their deep frustration over the case, the stripping away of their rights, and their unwavering loyalty to Liz overrode their discomfort with being on camera. Some agreed outright to be filmed. Others preferred more discretion, asking us to show only the backs of their heads or just their hands.
As filming progressed I developed a strong bond with three of the most outspoken women — Alma, Kathleen and Doris. They became more than participants; they were my guides into this world. Their insights shaped the film, both in content and style. Because of the cultural sensitivities, the visual approach of the documentary is deeply influenced by Amish and Mennonite norms. Every shot, every frame, had to respect that.
Filmmaker: While I’m guessing that your all-female team might have been a plus in gaining access, the fact that you’re a gay, Jewish, South African based in Brooklyn seems like it might have raised some eyebrows. So how exactly did you go about building trust with your characters and their community?
Epstein: Even though I knew we were stepping into a separatist, deeply religious community, I built my crew the way I always do — based on talent, trust and chemistry, not on how we’d “fit in.” So my team was a mix of gay, straight, tattooed, and probably a few other things that made for some raised eyebrows. But what I’ve learned over the years of making films is that the surface differences don’t matter as much as people think. What connects us are shared values.
And that’s exactly what happened here. I quickly bonded with a number of Mennonite women — not just over our shared belief in home birth (my son was born at home during the making of this film) but over simple things: Being parents. Trying to raise happy, healthy kids in a world where the onslaught of technology doesn’t always make that easy. And while we were fascinated by their way of life, they were just as curious about the filmmaking process. That mutual curiosity made for some unexpected and deeply enjoyable conversations.
From the beginning, I wanted this film to feel collaborative, not extractive. So, we made sure to involve the Amish and Mennonite participants in the filmmaking process itself. Those who agreed to be filmed weren’t just subjects; they had a say in how they were portrayed. I encouraged participants to sit in the director’s chair, helping frame their own shots. This was essential to ensure we honored their beliefs and didn’t cross any lines when it came to upholding their traditions. It wasn’t just about telling their story, it was about making sure they had agency in how it was told.
Keeping the crew small and consistent also played a huge role. No rotating faces, no sudden changes — just the same core team, shoot after shoot. That continuity reinforced the trust we built, making the entire process feel less like an intrusion and more like a collaboration.
Filmmaker: The film centers around the three women arrested, only one of whom is Mennonite, and also includes their lawyers as well as two other surprisingly vocal Mennonite community members. Which made me wonder if there were others who didn’t make the final cut. Were these the only folks who agreed to go on camera?
Epstein: Our key participants were a self-selecting group from the start — the women who were comfortable stepping forward and speaking their minds. But that didn’t happen overnight. It was a gradual process, unfolding naturally as filming progressed and I spent more time within the community. The more people I met, the more trust was built. Slowly these women emerged, ready to share their perspectives. In many ways, they drove the heart of the film.
That’s not to say we didn’t speak with others. We did a few additional interviews, including interviews with Liz’s family (especially her daughter Grace who was a huge help to me in so many ways); and one with an informally elected Mennonite leader — a richly insightful interview, but sadly it didn’t find a place in the film.
That’s always one of the toughest parts of documentary filmmaking. You shoot hours of incredible material, but at the end of the day the story dictates what stays and what goes. Even if a scene doesn’t make the final cut, the conversations and connections still shape the film in ways that aren’t always obvious onscreen.
Filmmaker: I’m also curious to hear what was off limits or what boundaries were set. While we get to know the women, their loved ones and the Mennonite community at large mostly remain offscreen.
Epstein: Penn Yan and the surrounding Finger Lakes are undeniably beautiful — rolling fields, rustic barns, and horses and buggies jogging down breathtakingly scenic roads. It was the kind of landscape that begged to be filmed, and it was very tempting to want to capture everything.
But as enticing as those images were, the last thing we wanted was to create a montage of picturesque and gratuitous shots that reinforced a sense of “otherness” in a community that already exists somewhat apart from the modern world. Instead we worked closely with a small group of Mennonite and Amish families — families who generously welcomed us into their homes. Our goal was to provide a perspective from the inside, to craft a narrative that felt lived-in and real, not just observed from a distance.
Because of that trust we were able to capture some incredible, intimate moments of daily life — scenes that might have otherwise gone unseen. The peach canning scene, in particular, stands out to me. There was something so simple yet profound about it — a rhythm, a warmth, a connection to tradition that spoke volumes. Those were the moments that mattered most.
Also, before rolling a single frame we went through a rigorous permission process. No shortcuts, no assumptions —ever. And even when we got the green light, there were times when it was painfully clear that our presence wasn’t welcome — or that the camera was changing the dynamic in a way that felt wrong. The moment I or anyone on my team sensed that we shut the camera off. There was no “just one more shot.” Even if it meant losing the perfect scene. Respecting the community was paramount.
Early on in the project I had a moment with Lissa that really stuck with me. I was filming a scene, completely caught up in trying to document everything as it unfolded. And I overstepped. I felt it immediately, and I felt terrible. It really made me reevaluate how I went about filming this community. Thankfully, Lissa and I talked it through and we were able to move forward. But from that moment on I changed my approach. I only filmed Lissa when it was absolutely necessary and when I was certain she was comfortable with it.
In the end that meant we didn’t film with her as often as I originally thought we would — which created a whole new set of challenges in the edit. (Huge props to my editor Rachel Shuman, who managed to do so much with so little footage.) But honestly, I wouldn’t have done it any other way.
Filmmaker: Finally, what does your impact campaign look like? Are any of the film’s participants involved?
Epstein: Yes, we are actively developing a robust impact campaign, with our premiere serving as the launchpad. There are many incredible organizations working to defend reproductive rights, improve maternal and infant health outcomes in the U.S., and shape policies to address the maternal health crisis. We see Arrest the Midwife as a powerful tool to support and complement these efforts.
One of the biggest challenges in reproductive justice conversations is that they often center on abortion access, which can alienate conservative or religious communities. Our film has the potential to bridge that gap, bringing conservative and religious women into the broader reproductive rights conversation through the activism of our Amish and Mennonite protagonists.
Our goal is to ensure that while audiences first experience Arrest the Midwife as a film, it ultimately becomes a catalyst for meaningful change. Our participants will play a vital role in these efforts. And we’re already seeing overwhelming interest from diverse audiences across the country who want to engage with the film.
