In 2002, filmmaker Beth Harrington’s chance encounter with an exhibition of Edward S. Curtis’s photographs at the Washington State History Museum in Tacoma proved transformative. Among the works by Curtis’s contemporaries, the striking images of Frank Matsura "just leapt out" at her, possessing a "completely different character." Matsura, a Japanese immigrant who lived and worked in Okanogan County, Washington, from 1903 until his death at age 39 in 1913, captured the life of this frontier region with an intimacy and warmth that resonated deeply. His black-and-white photography, characterized by a profound connection to his subjects and an undeniable charisma, depicted a diverse community comprising white settlers and Indigenous peoples of the Colville Reservation. Despite the scant documentation of his life beyond his prolific output of thousands of images, Matsura’s legacy endures, remembered fondly by the communities he so vividly portrayed.

Harrington, who moved to the Northwest from Boston in the early 2000s, spent nearly two decades delving into Matsura’s enigmatic life before completing her feature-length documentary, Our Mr. Matsura, in 2025. The title itself speaks to the deeply personal connection many feel to the photographer. "The idea behind the title is that everybody has a point of entry," Harrington explained. "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." This collective memory was palpable when, in September, approximately 300 people gathered at the restored Omak Theater for a screening of her film.

Among them was Douglas Woodrow, who grew up in Okanogan and recalled the local newspaper frequently publishing historical photographs, many by Matsura. As a child in the late 1950s, Woodrow would bike to the locations depicted in these old images, marveling at the changes and imagining the grandeur of the three-story Bureau Hotel, a building that once added "a bit of elegance in an otherwise dusty little town" before its destruction by fire in 1924. Returning to Okanogan decades later, Woodrow rekindled his connection to "Frank," as his admirers affectionately called him. While volunteering with the Okanogan County Historical Society, he unearthed a forgotten "literal shoebox" filled with unprocessed Matsura photographs. These images, when sequenced, chronicled the 1910 construction of the Conconully Dam, an early project of the Bureau of Reclamation on Salmon Creek. This discovery "lit me up," Woodrow stated, leading him to present these historical photographs to community groups, marking his initial engagement with Matsura’s work.

Woodrow’s deep dive into Matsura’s story eventually led him to Tokyo, where he visited the photographer’s birthplace with Tetsuo Kurihara, a Japanese photographer he had met in Okanogan during Kurihara’s research trip. Back in Washington, Woodrow became a tireless advocate for preserving Matsura’s legacy, spearheading efforts to erect an interpretive site near Matsura’s former studio and organizing a walking tour featuring mural-sized reproductions of his photographs. Woodrow noted Matsura’s "extraordinary" social mobility, highlighting how he was "included in just about everything that happened in town, by all the social strata"—from tribal members to newly arrived businessmen, miners, and saloon patrons.

Randy Lewis, a Wenatchi (P’Squosa) elder and member of the Confederated Tribes of the Colville Reservation, is one of many descendants of Matsura’s subjects 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 salmon bake. His family’s story exemplifies the enduring connection to the world Matsura captured. The film includes a photograph of Lewis’s great-uncle, Sam George, with his family in a buckboard wagon, which Lewis affectionately calls "the F-250 of the time." During his tenure as caretaker in George’s final years, Lewis observed his great-uncle often gazing at the photograph, finding it a powerful tool to recall the names and birthdays of everyone in the wagon, a testament to the photograph’s role in preserving family history.

Sam George, who lived to be 108, was born in 1860, predating the 1872 establishment of the Colville Indian Reservation. His exceptionally long life spanned profound changes, including the reservation’s reduction, the allotment era, and the influx of prospectors and homesteaders. Lewis and his family, like George, continued to follow traditional seasonal fishing practices, maintaining a platform at Celilo Falls until its inundation by The Dalles Dam in 1957, which submerged one of the continent’s most significant fishing grounds. Matsura’s arrival in the region coincided with a significant cultural transition. As Lewis observed, "both cultures," Native and settler, were in flux. "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."

Our Mr. Matsura also serves as a compelling portrait of Okanogan County itself, illustrating the isolated, rugged beauty of a landscape that has remained remarkably similar to how it was when Matsura first arrived. Jean Berney, a longtime rancher and farmer near Conconully, describes her home as "off the beaten track for a lot of people." An enrolled member of the Colville Confederated Tribes, Berney married into a non-Native cattle-ranching family, built her own successful herd, and gained national recognition as a conservation-minded rancher dedicated to the 4-H program. Her ranch was once the site of the Conconully Naturpathy Institute, known locally as Casselmann’s Sanitarium, established in 1906 by German immigrant Dr. Casselmann to treat tuberculosis patients. It is widely believed that Matsura himself may have been a patient, drawn to the region’s dry climate. Berney often contemplates Matsura’s journeys across 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."

Harrington’s documentary adds to a growing body of work dedicated to Matsura. Volunteers at the Okanogan County Historical Society have diligently preserved his archive, and 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 leading scholar. In 2023, Holloman co-curated an exhibition of Matsura’s work at Spokane’s Northwest Museum of Arts and Culture, followed by the 2025 publication of his 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."

The wide release of Our Mr. Matsura was initially slated for The American Experience on PBS, but federal funding cuts to the long-running program last summer altered those plans. Despite this setback, Harrington remains optimistic that the film will find its audience through film festivals, streaming platforms, and special screenings like the one held in Omak. "There’s a lot of worthy things that we can’t put a dollar value to," she remarked, emphasizing, "These stories… we’re poorer for them when we don’t have them."

At the Omak screening, Harrington was lauded for "mirroring" the trust Matsura had cultivated with his subjects over a century prior. However, the filmmaker was quick to share the credit. "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." The enduring affection for Matsura, coupled with the ongoing efforts to preserve and share his work, underscores the profound impact one individual can have on a community, creating a visual legacy that continues to inform and inspire.