The opening shot of “Dark Days” is like something out of “Alice in Wonderland.” After talking about living on the street, Greg, black and homeless, crawls into a small hole surrounded by garbage and disappears. And for the next 84 minutes a startling documentary unfolds on the homeless and poor who literally have been forced underground.

The story of how “Dark Days” was made is as interesting as the documentary itself. First-time director Marc Singer left everything behind for two years to scrounge around in railroad tunnels, searching for enclaves of the poor and homeless. He then incorporated the homeless people he met into his film’s crew. The results of the journey were well worth the wait and won awards for cinematography and audience’s choice at the Sundance Film Festival.

Singer has put together the most involving documentary since “Hoop Dreams.” And while the basketball story may be more structured, “Dark Days” has something far more compelling, free-wheeling and gritty. Also, unlike “Hoop Dreams” there’s little of the good-guy-vs.-evil-institution undertone. There’s no heroic praise for the homeless, just like there’s no agenda to demonize government programs or the heartless railroad company. This film doesn’t have time for obvious emotional tricks. It’s much too agile and smart to lecture the audience.

The obvious difficulty Singer faced was trying to find a narrative structure. There’s no one event to tie everyone together like a sports season or an academic year. And even though it was shot over a period of two years, almost all the footage is set in the winter.

Wisely, the focus was shifted from having one main character to focusing on a small community who live, eat and sleep in the same part of the tunnel. This subculture of about 250 people consists of current and former drug users, runaways and former convicts.

Together they construct a shantytown of wooden shacks and fill it with thrown away couches, used TVs and stoves. They spend most of the film trying to fight off dangerous drug addicts, the Amtrak officials who want them out of the tunnel and rats so large they’re referred to as horses. During quiet moments each one of the half-dozen people that Singer chooses to focus on tells his or her story. There are no tears shed over gruesome acts committed against them and their kids. All of people seem to handle their tragic circumstances in a matter-of-fact way. None of them begs and, above all, they just want to be left alone, so they can get back on their feet. The tunnels become an emotional state of retreat in the minds of the homeless, as much as an underground shelter.

The people captured on film are more interesting than any fiction a writer could think up. They talk about the nuances of cooking soul food on a hot plate or hustling for money. Greg picks from a Jewish deli’s trash and comments on the advantages of this particular site before dead-panning that it’s also kosher. The underlying principle established is that they may be homeless, but they have a sense of survival, wit and class. Their intelligence makes their fate just that more unfair, and their documentary worthy of much of its praise. nyou

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Q: What made you want to make this documentary back in 1994?

A: I’m originally from London. I moved to America when I was 16 or 17. I was fascinated by what you must be (or) think if you’re homeless. I hanged out on the streets, making friends. And one of the guys I became friendly with talked about “the tunnels.” Initially there was never an idea to make a film. But soon I considered them all really good friends, and I wanted to get them out of there. We thought we could sell the film, and the money we made could be used to get them out of the tunnel. They (the homeless) were my crew because I figured they could help themselves.

Q: Did you bond with them because you could relate from a hardship?

A: No. To be honest I only cared about myself when I was a teenager. When I moved to America, I really wanted to change.

Q: Why?

A: Because I was a shithead. I woke up one day and I did not like what I was. I needed to change and I wasn’t going anywhere in England. And a week later I was on a plane going out to New York. I’m just like that. If I feel it in my heart, I have to do it. When I moved here, I made a promise: I was going to try and become a better person.

Q: How did you become a part of their culture, and when did you know you were “in”?

A: They’re like my family. We grew together for a long time. It wasn’t a one-sided thing of finding someone who would open up. I had to open up to that person, too. If I’m going to ask this person to spill his guts to me, I’m going to have to spill my guts to them. I dressed very differently, and I knew I was “in” when I couldn’t get a taxi.

Q: Because of way you were dressed?

A: Yes. And that was a really cool thing, because physically I was getting in. And I built a home down there (in the tunnel).

Q: You edited two years worth of footage down to an 84-minute documentary. What was left out?

A: I shot 50 hours. And 20 hours is really good. Ton of funny stuff. Think I’ll put it on the DVD. (laughs)

Q: What happened to the tunnel and the people in it?

A: Tunnel itself got closed down. There isn’t entire communities setting up shop anymore. The tunnel I was in is completely finished. There isn’t even a rat left. It’s patrolled, fenced-in and bricked-up. The people are doing fantastic. A lot of them got section-eight apartments (subsidized low-income housing) and then actually moved out of state and into their own houses.

Q: Did you accomplish your goal of becoming a better person?

A: I don’t know, I try … yeah I think so.

Q: By the way, what’s happening to the money made off this film?

A: Right into the distributor’s pocket. We’re not getting any of it or at least I don’t get any of it. The stuff we do get goes to the people in the tunnel and investors.

Speech senior Aurin Squire is the film editor for nyou.He can be reached at [email protected].