Filmmaker Beth Harrington’s serendipitous encounter with the works of Edward S. Curtis and his contemporaries at Washington State’s History Museum in 2002 ignited a passion that would span decades. Among the striking portraits, the photographs of Frank Matsura, a Japanese immigrant, "just leapt out," Harrington recalled, noting their distinct and compelling character. Matsura’s black-and-white images, imbued with a palpable charisma and a profound connection to his subjects, captured the essence of life in Okanogan, Washington, and the nearby Colville Indian Reservation between 1903 and 1913. His subjects were a diverse tapestry of early white settlers and Indigenous peoples, individuals he knew intimately and often posed with, sometimes in playful, informal settings. Tragically, Matsura succumbed to tuberculosis at the young age of 39, leaving behind a vast archive of thousands of images but a scant personal history. Yet, over a century later, the communities he documented continue to hold his memory dear.

Harrington, who moved to the Northwest from Boston in the early 2000s, found herself drawn to Matsura’s enigmatic legacy, a pursuit that culminated in the feature-length documentary Our Mr. Matsura, completed in 2025. "Frank Matsura is just somebody that you fall in love with," Harrington explained, elaborating on the film’s title. "The idea behind the title is that everybody has a point of entry. Everyone thinks they have a little window into who he is. And there’s a collective sense of who he is because of those little impressions." The film aims to weave together these collective impressions, offering a multifaceted portrait of the photographer and the world he inhabited.

The enduring appeal of Matsura’s work is evident in the community’s continued engagement with his photography. Douglas Woodrow, a lifelong resident of Okanogan, shared his childhood fascination with Matsura’s images, which frequently graced the pages of the local newspaper. As a boy in the late 1950s, Woodrow would bike to the locations depicted in these historical photographs, marveling at the transformations time had wrought. He vividly recalled imagining the grandeur of the Bureau Hotel, a three-story edifice that once graced the town and burned down in 1924, believing it lent an air of elegance to what was otherwise a modest settlement.

Woodrow’s reconnection with Matsura’s legacy intensified when, as a volunteer with the Okanogan County Historical Society, he discovered a "literal shoebox" filled with unprocessed photographs. These images, when sequenced, chronicled the construction of the Conconully Dam in 1910, an early project by the Bureau of Reclamation on Salmon Creek. This discovery "just lit me up," Woodrow stated, leading him to present these photographs to community groups, marking his initial foray into preserving Matsura’s work. His dedication extended to a journey to Tokyo, Matsura’s birthplace, accompanied by Tetsuo Kurihara, a Japanese photographer he met during Kurihara’s own research trip to Okanogan. Back home, Woodrow spearheaded efforts to honor Matsura’s memory, including the creation of an interpretive site near his former studio and the inauguration of a walking tour featuring mural-sized reproductions of his photographs.

Woodrow highlighted Matsura’s remarkable social integration: "His social mobility was extraordinary." Matsura photographed individuals from all walks of life in Okanogan, including tribal members, newly arrived white businessmen, miners, and saloon patrons, indicating his presence and inclusion in virtually all significant local events. This ability to bridge social divides and capture the spectrum of community life is a hallmark of his photographic output.

Among those featured in Our Mr. Matsura are descendants of Matsura’s subjects, such as Randy Lewis, a Wenatchi elder and member of the Confederated Tribes of the Colville Reservation. Lewis has been instrumental in organizing regional screenings of the film, including a notable "barn screening" in Winthrop, Washington, which was followed by a traditional salmon bake. His family history exemplifies the continuity of the world Matsura documented. The film includes a poignant photograph of Lewis’s great-uncle, Sam George, with his family in a buckboard wagon, an image Lewis described as the "F-250 of the time." This photograph held significant personal meaning for George, who, in his final years, would gaze at it, using it to recall the names and birthdays of everyone depicted.

Sam George lived a remarkable 108 years, his birth in 1860 predating the official establishment of the Colville Indian Reservation in 1872. His long life spanned profound historical shifts, including the reservation’s reduction, the allotment era, and the influx of prospectors and homesteaders. He and his family, like Lewis, maintained traditional seasonal fishing practices, including a platform at Celilo Falls, a vital fishing ground on the Columbia River, until its inundation by The Dalles Dam in 1957.

Lewis observed that Matsura arrived in the region during a period of significant cultural transition. "Both cultures," Native and settler, were evolving, he noted. "We were into a new century, and he was capturing that. It wasn’t the death toll of the Indians. It was life going on." Matsura’s lens captured not a people in decline, but a community actively engaged in the present and looking toward the future.

Harrington’s documentary extends beyond Matsura’s personal story to encompass the broader context of Okanogan County itself. The film portrays the enduring, rugged beauty of a landscape that has remained largely unchanged since Matsura’s time. Jean Berney, a longtime rancher and farmer near Conconully, described the area as "off the beaten track for a lot of people." Berney, an enrolled member of the Colville Confederated Tribes who married into a cattle-ranching family and built her own successful herd, is a testament to the enduring spirit of the region. Her land once hosted the Conconully Naturpathy Institute, known locally as Casselmann’s Sanitarium, which, beginning in 1906, treated tuberculosis patients. It is speculated that Matsura may have been a patient, drawn to the area’s dry climate, a factor that may have contributed to his decision to settle there.

Berney often contemplates Matsura’s life and experiences in the rugged terrain. "Did he ever talk to Dr. Casselmann about his condition? How long was he sick? We wonder about Frank and everything that happened a long time ago, and we can’t ask," she mused, highlighting the poignant mysteries that remain about his life.

Our Mr. Matsura joins a growing body of work dedicated to the photographer. Volunteers at the Okanogan County Historical Society have diligently preserved his archive, while Michael Holloman, a tenured art professor at Washington State University and an enrolled member of the Confederated Tribes of the Colville Reservation, has been a significant contributor. Holloman co-curated a 2023 exhibition of Matsura’s work at Spokane’s Northwest Museum of Arts and Culture and, in 2025, published the book Frank S. Matsura: Iconoclast Photographer of the American West.

Holloman sees a contemporary relevance in Matsura’s approach: "We need people to be like Frank right now, to engage multiple communities and be able to find life, vibrancy, in a world that is in transformation and change." His words resonate with the challenges of our current era, emphasizing the importance of connection and resilience.

The planned wide release of Our Mr. Matsura on PBS’s The American Experience was unfortunately impacted by federal funding cuts to the long-running series last summer. Despite this setback, Harrington remains optimistic about the film’s prospects, believing it will find its audience through film festivals, streaming platforms, and continued special screenings like the one held in Omak. The path forward may be more challenging, but the importance of sharing such stories remains paramount. "There’s a lot of worthy things that we can’t put a dollar value to," Harrington stated, adding, "These stories… we’re poorer for them when we don’t have them."

During the screening in Omak, Harrington was lauded for "mirroring" the trust Matsura had cultivated with his subjects a century prior. However, she was quick to deflect the praise, emphasizing that the narrative belongs not only to Matsura but also to the community. "The story is not just about Frank and his charisma and his incredible body of work," she concluded. "It’s about the way people uphold his memory and still talk about him 112 years after his death." This enduring legacy, carried forward by the descendants and admirers of Frank Matsura, ensures that his unique vision of the American West continues to inform and inspire.