Filmmaker Beth Harrington’s discovery of photographer Frank Matsura’s work at the Washington State History Museum in 2002 ignited a passion that would span decades, culminating in her feature-length documentary, Our Mr. Matsura. Harrington was on a road trip when she encountered an exhibit featuring photographers from the era of Edward S. Curtis, but it was Matsura’s distinct style and the palpable connection evident in his images that truly captivated her. His black-and-white photographs, imbued with a unique charisma and a deep understanding of his subjects, portrayed a varied community in Okanogan, Washington, comprising both white settlers and Indigenous people from the nearby Colville Indian Reservation. Matsura, a Japanese immigrant, not only documented the lives of those he knew but often included himself playfully within his compositions, a testament to his integrated presence in the community.

Matsura lived and worked in Okanogan County from 1903 until his death from tuberculosis at the young age of 39 in 1913. Despite the thousands of images he produced, extensive biographical details of his life remain elusive, a mystery that has fueled the enduring affection he holds in the communities he so vividly chronicled. Harrington, who moved to the Pacific Northwest from Boston in the early 2000s, found Matsura’s enigmatic legacy a compelling subject, dedicating nearly twenty years to bringing his story to the screen. The documentary, completed in 2025, explores the profound impact Matsura had, suggesting that “everyone has a point of entry” into understanding his life and work, a collective sense built from the “little impressions” he left behind.

The film resonated deeply with individuals like Douglas Woodrow, a lifelong resident of Okanogan. Woodrow, who attended a screening at the restored Omak Theater, recalled seeing Matsura’s photographs in the local newspaper during his childhood in the late 1950s. He was struck by the historical context these images provided, cycling to the locations depicted to witness firsthand the changes wrought by time. Woodrow described imagining the grandeur of the now-vanished Bureau Hotel, which he remembered as a symbol of “elegance in an otherwise dusty little town.” His connection to Matsura’s work deepened when, as a volunteer with the Okanogan County Historical Society, he unearthed a collection of unprocessed photographs. Sequencing these images revealed the construction of the Conconully Dam, an early Bureau of Reclamation project, sparking what he described as a revelation. Presenting these newly organized photos to community groups became his initial endeavor to honor Matsura’s legacy.

Woodrow’s commitment extended to a journey to Tokyo, Japan, to visit Matsura’s birthplace, accompanied by Tetsuo Kurihara, a Japanese photographer he met through his research in Okanogan. Back in Washington, Woodrow championed Matsura’s memory by establishing an interpretive site near the photographer’s former studio and initiating a walking tour featuring mural-sized reproductions of his work. He emphasized Matsura’s remarkable social mobility, noting how the photographer was “included in just about everything that happened in town, by all the social strata”—from tribal members to burgeoning businessmen, miners, and saloon patrons.

Randy Lewis, an elder of the Wenatchi (P’Squosa) people and a member of the Confederated Tribes of the Colville Reservation, represents the many descendants of Matsura’s subjects who are featured in Our Mr. Matsura. Lewis has been instrumental in organizing regional screenings of the film, including a memorable "barn screening" in Winthrop, Washington, followed by a traditional salmon bake. His family’s story exemplifies the enduring connection to the world Matsura captured. The documentary includes a photograph of Lewis’s great-uncle, Sam George, and his family traveling in a buckboard wagon, a vehicle Lewis wryly compared to the “F-250 of the time.” He shared that this photograph hung in his family home during his time as caretaker for George in his final years. George, who lived to be 108, was born before the establishment of the Colville Indian Reservation in 1872 and lived through significant historical shifts, including its reduction, the allotment era, and the influx of prospectors and homesteaders. Lewis’s family, like many others, maintained traditional seasonal fishing practices, including a platform at Celilo Falls, which was eventually submerged by the construction of The Dalles Dam, a profound loss to one of the continent’s most vital fishing grounds.

Matsura arrived in the region during a period of significant cultural transition, as Lewis explained, a time when “both cultures,” Native and settler, were undergoing transformation. “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.” Harrington’s documentary, therefore, is as much a portrait of Okanogan County and its evolving landscape as it is about Matsura himself, highlighting the enduring, rugged beauty of a region that has remained largely unchanged since his arrival.

Jean Berney, a third-generation rancher and farmer near Conconully, describes her home as “off the beaten track for a lot of people.” A member of the Colville Confederated Tribes, Berney married into a non-Native cattle-ranching family and has since built her own successful herd, earning national recognition as a conservation-focused rancher dedicated to the 4-H program. Her land was once the site of The Conconully Naturpathy Institute, known locally as Casselmann’s Sanitarium, where Dr. Casselmann, a German immigrant, treated tuberculosis patients starting in 1906. It is widely believed that Matsura himself was a patient, with the dry climate potentially being a draw for his relocation. Berney often contemplates Matsura’s experiences in the rugged terrain, musing, “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.”

Our Mr. Matsura contributes to a growing body of work dedicated to the photographer. This includes the persistent efforts of volunteers at the Okanogan County Historical Society and the academic contributions of Michael Holloman, a tenured art professor at Washington State University. Holloman, an enrolled member of the Confederated Tribes of the Colville Indian Reservation, co-curated an exhibition of Matsura’s work at Spokane’s Northwest Museum of Arts and Culture in 2023 and published the book Frank S. Matsura: Iconoclast Photographer of the American West in 2025. Holloman advocates for the spirit of connection and engagement embodied by Matsura, stating, “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.”

The planned wide release of Our Mr. Matsura on The American Experience was unfortunately impacted by federal funding cuts that led to the cessation of the long-running PBS series last summer. Nevertheless, Harrington remains optimistic that the film will find its audience through film festivals, streaming platforms, and continued special screenings, echoing the success of the Omak event. She acknowledges that this path will be more challenging but emphasizes the intrinsic value of such stories, asserting, “There’s a lot of worthy things that we can’t put a dollar value to. These stories… we’re poorer for them when we don’t have them.”

During the screening in Omak, Harrington was praised for mirroring the trust Matsura had cultivated with his subjects over a century ago. However, she was quick to deflect the sole credit, stating, “The story is not just about Frank and his charisma and his incredible body of work. It’s about the way people uphold his memory and still talk about him 112 years after his death.” This enduring legacy, nurtured by the descendants and communities Matsura documented, ensures that his vision of the American West continues to inform and inspire.