Filmmaker Beth Harrington’s discovery of Frank Matsura’s photographs at the Washington State History Museum in 2002 marked the beginning of a decades-long fascination with the enigmatic Japanese immigrant photographer whose work captured the soul of Okanogan County, Washington. Unlike the prevailing styles of his contemporaries, Matsura’s black-and-white images possessed a distinct character, radiating a profound connection with his subjects, a diverse tapestry of white settlers and Indigenous people from the Colville Indian Reservation. Harrington, who moved to the Northwest from Boston in the early 2000s, found herself drawn to Matsura’s ability to forge genuine relationships, often posing playfully alongside the very people he photographed between 1903 and 1913. Though Matsura died tragically young at age 39 from tuberculosis, leaving behind thousands of images, his life remains largely undocumented, yet his memory is cherished by the communities he so vividly portrayed.

Harrington’s dedication culminated in the feature-length documentary Our Mr. Matsura, released in 2025, which delves into the photographer’s enduring legacy. The film’s title reflects the idea that each viewer can find their own unique connection to Matsura through his intimate portraits. Douglas Woodrow, a lifelong resident of Okanogan, experienced this firsthand. He recalls encountering Matsura’s photographs in the local newspaper during his childhood in the late 1950s, which inspired him to visit the actual locations, marveling at the changes over time and imagining the grandeur of the now-vanished Bureau Hotel.

Woodrow’s re-engagement with Matsura’s work began decades later while volunteering with the Okanogan County Historical Society. He unearthed a trove of unprocessed photographs that chronicled the 1910 construction of the Conconully Dam, an early Bureau of Reclamation project. This discovery ignited his passion, leading him to present these images to community groups and later to embark on a pilgrimage to Matsura’s birthplace in Tokyo with his friend and fellow enthusiast, Tetsuo Kurihara, a Japanese photographer he had met during Kurihara’s research trip to Okanogan. Back in Washington, Woodrow championed Matsura’s legacy by establishing an interpretive site near his former studio and organizing a walking tour featuring mural-sized reproductions of his photographs.

Woodrow emphasizes Matsura’s remarkable social integration, noting that he "photographed everyone in town," bridging all social strata, from tribal members to newly arrived businessmen, miners, and saloon patrons. This broad engagement allowed Matsura to become an integral part of the community’s narrative.

Randy Lewis, a Wenatchi elder and member of the Confederated Tribes of the Colville Reservation, is a descendant of one of Matsura’s subjects and features prominently in Harrington’s documentary. Lewis has been instrumental in bringing Our Mr. Matsura to regional audiences, including a memorable screening in Winthrop, Washington, followed by a traditional salmon bake. His family’s story, as captured by Matsura, exemplifies the continuity of life in the region. The film showcases a photograph of Lewis’s great-uncle, Sam George, with his family in a buckboard wagon, which Lewis describes as "the F-250 of the time." This photograph hung in his family home, serving as a touchstone for Sam George in his final years, helping him recall the names and birthdays of everyone depicted.

Sam George, who lived to be 108, was born in 1860, predating the establishment of the Colville Indian Reservation in 1872. His exceptionally long life spanned immense societal and environmental transformations, including the reservation’s reduction, the allotment era, and the influx of prospectors and settlers. His family, like many Indigenous families, maintained traditional seasonal fishing practices, including a platform at Celilo Falls, which was ultimately submerged by the construction of The Dalles Dam in 1957, a devastating loss to one of the continent’s richest fishing grounds.

Matsura’s arrival in the reservation coincided with a period of significant cultural evolution. Lewis observes that "both cultures," Native and settler, were in flux, and Matsura was there to "capture that." He emphasizes that Matsura’s work documented "life going on," rather than focusing solely on the historical hardships faced by Indigenous peoples.

Our Mr. Matsura also serves as a poignant exploration of Okanogan County itself, highlighting its isolated and rugged beauty, a landscape that has remained remarkably consistent since Matsura’s time. Jean Berney, a rancher and farmer near Conconully and an enrolled member of the Colville Confederated Tribes, describes the area as "off the beaten track." Her family’s ranch was once the site of the Conconully Naturpathy Institute, also known as Casselmann’s Sanitarium, which, beginning in 1906, treated tuberculosis patients. It is widely believed that Matsura himself may have been a patient, drawn to the region’s dry climate, a common remedy for the disease.

Berney reflects on Matsura’s potential experiences in the area, wondering if he ever spoke with Dr. Casselmann about his illness or how long he suffered. These unanswered questions, she notes, underscore the poignant distance of history.

Harrington’s documentary joins a growing body of work dedicated to preserving Matsura’s legacy. Volunteers at the Okanogan County Historical Society have tirelessly worked to catalog and preserve his photographs, while Michael Holloman, a professor of art at Washington State University and an enrolled member of the Colville Confederated Tribes, has been a leading voice in celebrating Matsura’s artistry. In 2023, Holloman co-curated a significant exhibition of Matsura’s work at Spokane’s Northwest Museum of Arts and Culture, and in 2025, he published the definitive book, Frank S. Matsura: Iconoclast Photographer of the American West.

Holloman draws a parallel between Matsura’s inclusive approach and the needs of the present day, 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 PBS’s The American Experience was unfortunately impacted by federal funding cuts to the long-running series. Despite this setback, Harrington remains optimistic that the film will reach its intended audience through film festivals, streaming platforms, and continued special screenings, acknowledging the increased challenges ahead.

"There’s a lot of worthy things that we can’t put a dollar value to," Harrington reflects, emphasizing that "these stories… we’re poorer for them when we don’t have them."

During a screening in Omak, Harrington was deeply moved to be thanked for "mirroring" the trust Matsura had cultivated with his subjects over a century prior. However, she quickly deflected the praise, asserting that the film’s true power lies not just in Matsura’s charisma and remarkable body of work, but in "the way people uphold his memory and still talk about him 112 years after his death." The enduring appreciation for Matsura within Okanogan County serves as a testament to his profound impact and the vibrant human connections he so masterfully preserved through his lens.