Filmmaker Beth Harrington’s chance encounter with the works of early 20th-century photographer Frank Matsura at Washington State’s History Museum in 2002 sparked a decades-long fascination that culminated in her documentary, Our Mr. Matsura. Matsura, a Japanese immigrant who worked in Okanogan County, Washington, from 1903 to 1913, left behind thousands of striking black-and-white images that captured the diverse tapestry of life in the region, from white settlers to Indigenous peoples of the Colville Reservation. Harrington was drawn to Matsura’s distinctive style, noting his photographs possessed "a completely different character" compared to his contemporaries, a charisma that illuminated his deep connection with his subjects.

Matsura’s photographs are remarkable not only for their artistic merit but also for the intimate glimpses they offer into a bygone era. Unlike many photographers of his time who maintained a detached distance, Matsura actively engaged with his subjects, often posing playfully alongside them. This approach allowed him to capture the essence of their lives, their relationships, and the evolving social landscape of Okanogan. Despite his prolific output, detailed biographical information about Matsura remains scarce; he died of tuberculosis at the young age of 39, leaving behind a legacy primarily etched in his photographic plates. However, over a century later, the communities he documented continue to hold his memory dear, a testament to the profound impact of his work.

"Frank Matsura is just somebody that you fall in love with," Harrington remarked, describing the immediate captivation she felt upon viewing his work. Moving to the Pacific Northwest from Boston in the early 2000s, Harrington found herself drawn to the enigmatic legacy of this immigrant artist. Her feature-length documentary, completed in 2025, explores the multifaceted nature of Matsura’s life and work, acknowledging that each viewer may find their own unique entry point into understanding him. "Everyone thinks they have a little window into who he is," Harrington explained, "and there’s a collective sense of who he is because of those little impressions."

The enduring appeal of Matsura’s work was evident at a screening of Our Mr. Matsura at the restored Omak Theater, where approximately 300 people gathered. Among them was Douglas Woodrow, a lifelong resident of Okanogan. Woodrow recalled seeing Matsura’s photographs regularly in the local newspaper during his childhood in the late 1950s. As a young boy, he would bike to the locations depicted in these historical images, marveling at the transformations over time and imagining the grandeur of structures like the Bureau Hotel, a once-prominent landmark that burned down in 1924, adding a touch of "elegance in an otherwise dusty little town."

Upon returning to Okanogan years later, Woodrow reconnected with Matsura’s legacy, a common sentiment among those who knew his work. During his volunteer work with the Okanogan County Historical Society, Woodrow discovered a "literal shoebox" filled with unprocessed photographs by Matsura. These images, when arranged chronologically, chronicled the 1910 construction of the Conconully Dam, an early project by the Bureau of Reclamation on Salmon Creek. This discovery ignited Woodrow’s passion, leading him to present these photos to community groups and embark on his own Matsura-focused projects.

Woodrow’s dedication extended beyond his local community, leading him to Tokyo, Japan, where he visited Matsura’s birthplace. He was accompanied by Tetsuo Kurihara, a Japanese photographer who had initially met Woodrow in Okanogan during his own research trip. Back in Washington, Woodrow continued his efforts to preserve Matsura’s legacy, spearheading the creation of an interpretive site near the photographer’s former studio and organizing a walking tour featuring mural-sized reproductions of his photographs. Woodrow observed that Matsura possessed "extraordinary social mobility," becoming an integral part of town life and documenting events across all social strata, from tribal members to 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, is featured in Our Mr. Matsura as a descendant of Matsura’s subjects. Lewis has been instrumental in organizing regional screenings of the film, including a unique "barn screening" in Winthrop, Washington, followed by a traditional salmon bake. His family history, as captured by Matsura, exemplifies the enduring connection between the past and present. The documentary includes a photograph of Lewis’s great-uncle, Sam George, with his family in a buckboard wagon, which Lewis affectionately described as "the F-250 of the time." He shared that this photograph hung in his great-uncle’s home and served as a touchstone for George in his final years, helping him recall the names and birthdays of everyone in the wagon.

Sam George, who lived to be 108, was born in 1860, predating the establishment of the Colville Indian Reservation in 1872. His long life spanned significant historical shifts, including the reservation’s reduction, the allotment era, and the influx of prospectors and homesteaders. He and his family, including Lewis, continued to practice traditional seasonal fishing, maintaining a vital platform at Celilo Falls until its inundation by The Dalles Dam in 1957, which submerged one of the continent’s most bountiful fishing grounds. Matsura’s arrival in the region coincided with a pivotal cultural transformation, a period Lewis described as a time when both Native and settler cultures were evolving. "We were into a new century, and he was capturing that," Lewis stated, emphasizing that Matsura’s focus was on "life going on," rather than on narratives of decline.

Our Mr. Matsura also serves as a profound exploration of Okanogan County itself, highlighting the isolated and rugged beauty of a landscape that has remained remarkably consistent since Matsura’s time. Jean Berney, a seasoned rancher and farmer from near Conconully, described the area 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 later established her own successful herd, earning national recognition as a conservation-minded rancher deeply involved with the 4-H program. Her land was once the site of the Conconully Naturpathy Institute, known locally as Casselmann’s Sanitarium, where a German immigrant, Dr. Casselmann, treated tuberculosis patients starting in 1906. It is widely believed that Matsura may have been a patient, drawn to the region’s dry climate.

Berney often contemplates Matsura’s experiences navigating 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," she mused, underscoring the poignant silences in Matsura’s documented life.

Harrington’s documentary contributes to a growing body of work dedicated to Matsura, joining the efforts of volunteers at the Okanogan County Historical Society and the academic research of Michael Holloman, an art professor at Washington State University. Holloman co-curated a significant 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, himself an enrolled member of the Confederated Tribes of the Colville Reservation, drew a parallel between Matsura’s approach and the need for contemporary engagement: "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 intended wide release of Our Mr. Matsura on PBS’s The American Experience was thwarted by federal funding cuts that led to the show’s cancellation last summer. Despite this setback, Harrington remains optimistic that the film will reach its audience through film festivals, streaming platforms, and special screenings, such as the one held in Omak. She acknowledges that the path forward will be more challenging but emphasizes the invaluable nature of these stories. "There’s a lot of worthy things that we can’t put a dollar value to," Harrington stated, "These stories… we’re poorer for them when we don’t have them."

During the Omak screening, Harrington received heartfelt thanks for mirroring the trust Matsura had cultivated with his subjects over a century prior. However, she was quick to deflect the praise, highlighting the community’s vital role. "The story is not just about Frank and his charisma and his incredible body of work," she asserted, "It’s about the way people uphold his memory and still talk about him 112 years after his death." This enduring connection between Matsura’s art and the living descendants and admirers of his subjects underscores the profound and lasting impact of his photographic legacy.