Filmmaker Beth Harrington’s discovery of photographer Frank Matsura’s work in 2002 at the Washington State History Museum proved to be a pivotal moment, igniting a passion that would culminate in her feature-length documentary, Our Mr. Matsura. Harrington, who had recently relocated to the Northwest, was struck by the unique character and profound connection evident in Matsura’s black-and-white images, which diverged significantly from those of his contemporaries. Matsura, a Japanese immigrant who lived and worked in Okanogan County, Washington, from 1903 to 1913, captured the essence of the region and its people with a distinctive warmth and intimacy. His subjects, a diverse array of white settlers and Indigenous individuals from the Colville Indian Reservation, were often photographed with a playful spontaneity, sometimes even including himself in the frame. Despite his prolific output of thousands of images, Matsura’s personal life remains largely undocumented, with his premature death from tuberculosis at the age of 39 leaving many questions unanswered. However, over a century later, his artistic contributions and his deep engagement with the community are still vividly remembered and celebrated.

The title of Harrington’s documentary, Our Mr. Matsura, reflects the collective affection and personal connection that many in Okanogan County feel towards the photographer, whom they affectionately refer to by his first name. “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,” Harrington explained, highlighting how individual encounters with Matsura’s photographs have coalesced into a shared understanding of his character and his place in local history. This sentiment was palpable at a recent screening of the film at the restored Omak Theater, where an audience of approximately 300 gathered to honor his memory.

Douglas Woodrow, a lifelong resident of Okanogan, shared his early encounters with Matsura’s photography through the local newspaper, which frequently featured his images in historical retrospectives. As a child in the late 1950s, Woodrow would cycle to the locations depicted in these photographs, marveling at the transformations over time and envisioning the grandeur of lost landmarks like the majestic three-story Bureau Hotel, which succumbed to fire in 1924, once lending a touch of elegance to the otherwise modest town. Woodrow’s reconnection with Matsura’s legacy began in earnest when he volunteered with the Okanogan County Historical Society. There, he stumbled upon a “literal shoebox” filled with unprocessed photographs that, when meticulously sequenced, chronicled the construction of the Conconully Dam in 1910, an early project of the Bureau of Reclamation. This discovery ignited his enthusiasm, leading him to present these images to community groups and sparking his deep commitment to preserving Matsura’s work.

Woodrow’s dedication extended beyond local efforts; his fascination with Matsura led him to Japan, where he visited the photographer’s birthplace with his friend and fellow enthusiast, Tetsuo Kurihara, a Japanese photographer who had initially met Woodrow in Okanogan during his own research. Back in Washington, Woodrow spearheaded initiatives to honor Matsura, including the creation of an interpretive site near the photographer’s former studio and the development of a walking tour featuring mural-sized reproductions of his photographs. Woodrow emphasized Matsura’s remarkable social mobility and his ability to transcend social strata, noting that 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 a member of the Confederated Tribes of the Colville Reservation, is among the descendants of Matsura’s subjects featured in Our Mr. Matsura. Lewis has actively participated in community screenings of the film, including a unique “barn screening” in Winthrop, Washington, followed by a traditional salmon bake. His family’s narrative vividly illustrates the enduring connection to the past that Matsura’s photographs represent. The documentary showcases a photograph of Lewis’s great-uncle, Sam George, with his family in a buckboard wagon—described by Lewis as the “F-250 of the time.” Lewis recalled that this photograph hung in his family home during his years as caretaker for George in his final years. “He’d be sitting there staring at that picture,” Lewis recounted, explaining how the image helped George recall the names and birthdays of everyone depicted, a testament to the photographs’ power to preserve memory and family history.

Sam George, who died at the age of 108, was born in 1860, predating the establishment of the Colville Indian Reservation in 1872. His long life spanned significant historical periods, including the reservation’s reduction, the allotment era, and the influx of prospectors and homesteaders. Like many of his generation, George and his family maintained traditional seasonal fishing practices, including a platform at Celilo Falls, which was tragically inundated by the construction of The Dalles Dam in 1957, submerging one of the continent’s most bountiful fishing grounds. Matsura arrived in the region during a period of profound cultural transition. Lewis observed that Matsura was present during a time when “both cultures,” Native and settler, were in flux, noting, “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, Our Mr. Matsura, extends beyond a portrait of the photographer to become a vibrant depiction of Okanogan County itself, highlighting its isolated, rugged beauty that has remained remarkably consistent since Matsura’s time. Jean Berney, a seasoned rancher and farmer residing near Conconully, a community she describes as “off the beaten track for a lot of people,” shared her perspective on the enduring appeal of this landscape. An enrolled member of the Colville Confederated Tribes, Berney married into a non-Native cattle-ranching family and subsequently developed her own successful herd, earning national recognition as a conservation-minded rancher with a strong commitment to the 4-H program. Her land once hosted 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 may have been a patient, and the region’s dry climate might have drawn him there. Berney often contemplates Matsura’s experiences traversing this challenging 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 scholarship and public appreciation for Matsura’s work. This includes the diligent 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 a significant exhibition of Matsura’s photographs at Spokane’s Northwest Museum of Arts and Culture in 2023 and authored the book Frank S. Matsura: Iconoclast Photographer of the American West in 2025. Holloman advocates for a spirit of engagement and adaptability, 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 regrettably affected by federal funding cuts that led to the discontinuation of the long-running series last summer. Nevertheless, Harrington remains optimistic that the film will reach its intended audience through film festivals, streaming platforms, and dedicated screenings, such as the one held in Omak. She acknowledges the challenging path ahead but underscores 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 Omak screening, Harrington was not only thanked for mirroring the trust Matsura cultivated with his subjects but also graciously deflected praise, emphasizing, “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.”