I was born on October 1, 1965 in Lebanon, Indiana, though my newlywed parents lived on the near-westside of Indianapolis. 25 days after my birth, 16-year-old Sylvia Marie Likens would die after weeks of being tortured inside a home at 3850 East New York Street where her carnie parents had entrusted Gertrude Baniszewski with her care, along with that of her sister Jenny, while they were on the carnival circuit. 

While Sylvia's murder is not likely the most horrific homicide to occur in Indianapolis, it is very likely one of the murders to have most tainted the soul of a city most recognized for its hoosier hospitality. It's a murder that was so brutal that to this day you'd be hard-pressed to find anyone who has lived in Indianapolis who doesn't know the story. 

The murder of Sylvia Likens has haunted me nearly every single day of my life. 

I'm not going to go into the intimate crevisces of my own story, however, at one point in my childhood I began playing connect-the-dots between my own story and that of Sylvia's. I became convinced, absolutely convinced, that I was channeling Sylvia. 

Years later, I'm likely willing to admit that such a proposition is likely untrue. To this day, it feels true.  

It was impossible to watch Ashton Gleckman's 33-minute short film Sylvia without becoming immersed once again in my own memories, my own traumas, and my lifelong sense of kinship to this young girl who would die shortly after my birth. For those unfamiliar with the case, the placement of Likens in the Baniszewski home was at first successful it seemed. It was after her parents were late one week with a parent that the abuse started, intensifying over several weeks and involving the Baniszewski children along with other neighborhood children in increasingly severe abuse and torture that included beatings, burnings, neglect, branding and a myriad of other forms of abuse that all led to her eventual death. 

Just as shocking as the actual murder, maybe even more shocking, was the communal abuse and neglect from the neighborhood children who participated to those who suspected yet did nothing. It was, in fact, the Sylvia Likens murder that moved Indiana toward its still in existence mandatory reporting laws when it comes to child abuse and neglect. 

It may seem odd, some would even say inappropriate, for a film critic to  dive into his own personal testimony within the framework of a film review. Yet, that's perhaps a testament to Gleckman's powerful filmmaking and intuitive tone. The very fabric of Sylvia invites one to feel and remember, relate and experience. Over the years, I've stayed connected to Sylvia. From a friendship with the late filmmaker Ivan Rogers, an Indy native who contributed the Likens Memorial in Willard Park, to my nearly buying the home at 3850 East New York Street before the home was eventually torn down, I've never lost the sense of Sylvia's presence. 

If you were to meet Gleckman, an up-and-coming filmmaker from Indiana in his mid-twenties whose childhood, I'm venturing a guess, bears almost no resemblance to that of Sylvia's, you'd likely not suspect he's the one whose artistic vision has crafted such an emotionally honest and devastating documentary short. The film, fresh off its world premiere at the Academy Award-qualifying Indy Shorts Film Festival, isn't an easy film to watch - especially for those of us whose memories are still haunted by the day our city's innocence was lost. 

Sylvia remembers Sylvia through the lives of those who remember such as Sheila Jane Johnson Wells, one of Sylvia's very few friends at Arsenal Technical High School. Wells, an African-American woman who vividly remembers Sylvia's unexpected friendship, shares memories that feel palpable even now. There's Andy Wysong, who would learn that one of his best friends was one of Sylvia's perpetrators. 

There are others. Unforgettable others. 

Gleckman includes never-before-seen footage along with some archival records that many of us familiar with the case do remember. Gleckman takes great care to not exploit Sylvia's memory, no small challenge considering the graphic nature of her killing and the many hard to fathom details of the crime. There are also archival interviews with Sylvia's younger sister, Jenny, who passed away in 2004 at the age of 54. 

Gleckman's is not the first film to tell the Sylvia Likens story, though it is perhaps the first to not just treat Sylvia as a murder victim but also as a precious and valuable teenage girl. Gleckman's insistence on honoring her life makes her death that much more devastating. 

Indeed, there are tears flowing even as i write these words. 

Screening at this week's Indy Shorts and also available from the festival via its streaming option, Sylvia is a difficult but necessary film to watch about a girl I pray we always remember. 

Written by Richard Propes
The Independent Critic