Filmmaker Beth Harrington’s discovery of photographer Frank Matsura’s work in 2002 at the Washington State History Museum marked the beginning of a decades-long fascination with an artist whose images offered a uniquely intimate glimpse into a rapidly changing frontier. Among the lesser-known contemporaries of Edward S. Curtis, Matsura’s photographs "just leapt out," Harrington recalled, possessing a "completely different character" that captured her attention. His compelling portraits, imbued with a palpable charisma and a profound connection to his subjects, illuminate a period of significant transition in Okanogan County, Washington. As a Japanese immigrant, Matsura forged deep relationships within the community, photographing both the diverse mix of white settlers and the Indigenous peoples of the Colville Indian Reservation. His black-and-white images often depicted individuals he knew intimately, even featuring himself playfully alongside them, offering a dynamic and humanistic record of life in the region.

Matsura lived and worked in Okanogan County from 1903 until his death at the young age of 39 from tuberculosis in 1913. Despite the thousands of images he left behind, much of his personal life remains undocumented. Yet, over a century later, the communities he so vividly captured continue to hold his memory in high regard. "Frank Matsura is just somebody that you fall in love with," Harrington stated, reflecting on the enduring appeal of the photographer. After moving to the Northwest from Boston in the early 2000s, Harrington dedicated nearly two decades to unraveling Matsura’s enigmatic legacy, culminating in her feature-length documentary, Our Mr. Matsura, completed in 2025.

The title of Harrington’s film, Our Mr. Matsura, signifies the 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 appreciation was evident in September, when approximately 300 people gathered at the restored Omak Theater for a screening of the documentary.

Douglas Woodrow, a lifelong resident of Okanogan, was among those in attendance. "I grew up in Okanogan," Woodrow shared, "and the local newspaper would post pictures of the past, usually by Frank Matsura." As a child in the late 1950s, Woodrow would bike to the locations depicted in these old photographs, marveling at the transformations over time. He vividly imagined the grandeur of the three-story Bureau Hotel, which tragically burned down in 1924, believing it had once provided "a bit of elegance in an otherwise dusty little town."

Returning to Okanogan decades later, Woodrow reconnected with "Frank," as he is affectionately known by his contemporary admirers. While volunteering with the Okanogan County Historical Society, Woodrow stumbled upon a "literal shoebox" filled with unprocessed Matsura photographs. These images, when sequenced, documented the 1910 construction of the Conconully Dam, an early project undertaken by the Bureau of Reclamation on Salmon Creek. "That just lit me up," he exclaimed, leading to his first Matsura project: presenting these newly discovered photographs to community groups.

His burgeoning fascination led Woodrow to Tokyo, where he visited Matsura’s birthplace accompanied by his friend and fellow enthusiast, Tetsuo Kurihara, a Japanese photographer who had initially met Woodrow in Okanogan during a research trip. Back in Washington, Woodrow committed himself to preserving Matsura’s legacy, spearheading initiatives such as erecting an interpretive site near Matsura’s former studio and organizing a walking tour featuring mural-sized reproductions of 21 of his photographs. "His social mobility was extraordinary," Woodrow observed, highlighting Matsura’s ability to be included in virtually every facet of town life, transcending social strata. He photographed tribal members, newly arrived white businessmen, miners, and saloon patrons alike, truly capturing the diverse tapestry of Okanogan society.

Randy Lewis, a Wenatchi (P’Squosa) elder and a member of the Confederated Tribes of the Colville Reservation, is one of the many descendants of Matsura’s subjects featured in Our Mr. Matsura. Lewis has actively participated in community efforts to screen the film regionally, even co-hosting a "barn screening" in Winthrop, Washington, which was followed by a traditional salmon bake. His family’s story exemplifies the enduring impact of the world Matsura so skillfully documented. The film includes 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 recounted that this photograph hung in his family home during his time as caretaker for George in his final years. "He’d be sitting there staring at that picture," Lewis said, explaining that George used the photograph to recall the names and birthdays of everyone in the wagon, keeping his mind sharp.

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 immense changes, including the reservation’s reduction, the allotment era, and the influx of gold-seekers and homesteaders. He and his family, including Lewis, continued to observe traditional seasonal fishing practices, maintaining a platform at Celilo Falls until its inundation in 1957 by the construction of The Dalles Dam, which submerged one of the continent’s most vital fishing grounds. Matsura arrived in the region during a profound cultural shift, a period when, as Lewis noted, "both cultures," Native and settler, were undergoing rapid evolution. "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," Lewis reflected.

Our Mr. Matsura serves not only as a portrait of the photographer but also as a vivid depiction of Okanogan County itself. Harrington skillfully portrays the isolated, rugged beauty of a landscape that has remained remarkably consistent since Matsura’s time. Jean Berney, a seasoned rancher and farmer residing 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 and subsequently built her own successful herd, earning national recognition as a conservation-minded rancher deeply involved in the 4-H program. Her land once hosted The Conconully Naturpathy Institute, locally known as Casselmann’s Sanitarium, founded by German immigrant Dr. Casselmann, who treated tuberculosis patients beginning in 1906. It is widely believed that Matsura himself was a patient, and the region’s dry climate may have been a significant draw.

Berney often contemplates Matsura’s journeys across this challenging 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 unanswered questions surrounding his life.

Harrington’s documentary joins a growing body of work dedicated to Matsura, including the diligent efforts of volunteers at the Okanogan County Historical Society and the scholarly contributions of Michael Holloman, a tenured art professor at Washington State University. In 2023, Holloman co-curated a significant exhibition of Matsura’s work for Spokane’s Northwest Museum of Arts and Culture. His 2025 book, Frank S. Matsura: Iconoclast Photographer of the American West, further solidifies Matsura’s place in photographic history. "We need people to be like Frank right now," stated Holloman, who is an enrolled member of the Confederated Tribes of the Colville Indian Reservation. He urged audiences 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 that led to the show’s cancellation last summer. Despite this setback, Harrington remains optimistic that the film will find its audience through film festivals, streaming platforms, and special screenings, echoing the success of the Omak premiere. "There’s a lot of worthy things that we can’t put a dollar value to," she emphasized, "These stories… we’re poorer for them when we don’t have them."

During the screening in Omak, Harrington was profoundly thanked for "mirroring" the trust that Matsura had cultivated with his subjects over a century prior. However, the filmmaker was quick to reciprocate the sentiment. "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 connection between the photographer, his subjects, and the present-day community underscores the powerful and lasting impact of Frank Matsura’s artistic vision.