‘American Film’ arrives differently now

“I don’t want to end up being nothing.”

American film debuted 25 years ago. I first saw him when he played on my college campus. At the time, it almost felt like a mockumentary, except its subjects were real people. I still remember the sound of laughter erupting in the theater when American filmThe subject of the film, independent filmmaker Mark Borchardt, tried and failed to stick the head of one of his actors through a closet door while filming a reckless stunt for his horror film, Conventicle. Mark calls the action and then Bang! throws his poor star at the closet door. The door doesn’t move. Bang! Strike two. Bang! Anything.

25 years later, American film hits differently. Today, Mark Borchardt seems less like an amusing drug lord and more like a poetic, even tragic hero; the living embodiment of unfulfilled dreams. Even that scene with the unforgiving closet door takes on a deeper meaning. It’s still funny, but it also sums up the lives of dreamers like Mark in a single image. The search for something bigger than yourself often feels like banging your head against a wall. And when you bang your head against the wall, the wall always wins.

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American film is full of scenes like this, hysterical at the same time as they emphasize the ideas that circulate in the film. Here’s another example: In one of the most memorable sequences, Mark and his best friend Mike Schank pay a visit to Mark’s frail old Uncle Bill, who has given a small piece of his inexplicably large nest egg to Mark to help finish . Conventicle. Uncle Bill also plays a small role in Conventiclebut like so many aspects his production, his big scene went wrong; the sound was confusing.

Then Mark and Mike try to re-record Uncle Bill’s only line of dialogue with a microphone. American film director Chris Smith observes the disastrous ADR session with confusing comic pacing. As Bill repeatedly gets his words wrong, a series of quick cuts turns Take One into Take 31, at which point Uncle Bill throws up his hands and gives up.

“Okay, I’ll see what we have to work with. I’m going to… Jesus Christ, man,” Mark groans.

The entire sequence is hilarious – so hilarious that only after this viewing did it occur to me that the line Uncle Bill can’t successfully deliver (“It’s okay! It’s okay! There’s something to live for! Jesus told me so!”) resonates with American filmhas as its central theme: That the desire to create is what gives meaning to the hard work of everyday life.

That doesn’t mean creating is easy, especially in the late 1990s when Mark Borchardt was trying to turn his movie dreams into reality. No doubt fueled by the success stories of directors like Richard Linklater and Kevin Smith during that era, Borchardt recruited all of his friends and family to help him finance and book his art – first a semi-autobiographical drama called Northwestand then, when it became clear that he had neither the funds nor the skills to complete Northwest still the cheapest and most marketable Conventicle. Mark only needs to sell 3,000 VHS tapes Conventicle (at $14.95 per VHS copy, he reminds us repeatedly) to pay his bills and finance his next project.

American film shows how it is not always enough to be intelligent or passionate; Luck and timing are equally important. If Mark were an ambitious young filmmaker today, he could record his short independent films on his iPhone and present them to a potential audience of millions on YouTube.

For 25 years, he has been a hostage to the technology of the time. American film Watch edits on flatbeds, record wild sounds on a portable Nagra, and generally have to redo everything you do at least once, because the unforgiving nature of celluloid meant you couldn’t check the quality of your work until you received the developed film from return. the laboratory. Making movies is hard work at the best of times. And Menomonee Falls, Wisconsin, in the 1990s, wasn’t the best of times, especially if you wanted to be the next great independent filmmaker.

Mark Borchardt may not have become a legendary American director, but he was an incredible subject for a documentary, someone who is as honest about his insecurities as he is about his desires. He openly admits that one of the things that stops him from finishing Northwest and the fear. “If you actually go ahead and complete it, there will be more consequences,” Mark tells Smith as they watch some abandoned films. Northwest daily.

“You let a day go by and you fantasize, and then that day turns into years, and suddenly you’re sitting in this room watching something go by for six years.”

“And that shot he does looks good,” Mark quickly adds.

But it’s not just Mark who does American film a great film; all of its characters are shockingly sincere. Mark’s mother says she doubts he will ever succeed. Her brother says he always thought Mark would be a serial killer. Uncle Bill claims that he no longer has dreams of his own, but he is not ashamed to order mint brandy when he feels like it. (In another telling moment, Mark asks Bill, “What are you going to do, sit outside a trailer? We’re going to film you sitting outside a trailer, man, but we’re not going to live sitting outside a trailer. a trailer!”)

And then there’s the great Mike Schank, Mark’s best friend and most loyal production assistant. A life of hard partying has left Mike with an on-screen demeanor and sense of comedic timing unlike any other film. Mike’s reflections on burnout are occasionally the butt of jokes – as when Mark asks if wrecking a car while recording sound effects is cathartic for him and Mike responds “Very” and then when Mark asks if Mike knows what cathartic means, he admits whatknow. no. But Mike is also the heart and soul of American filmand the ultimate epitome of its message about how merciless life can be – and how much better it gets when you have something or someone you care about to go through it with you.

Sadly, Mike passed away after a battle with cancer in 2022. He was just 53 years old at the time. Uncle Bill died shortly after Mark Borchardt finished Conventicle. Even before his death, death hovered scene after scene in American film, with its cold Wisconsin winters and junkyards full of rusting cars. It’s one of the darkest comedies ever made.

One of Mark’s part-time jobs, when he’s not directing films, is as a cemetery security guard. In one sequence, Mark drives around the site at closing time to ensure no one is trapped inside the cemetery when he locks the front gate. There couldn’t be a more perfect metaphor for all of Mark’s fears about where he will go if he doesn’t get his act together, and he’s confronted with this every day when he shows up for work.

I liked very much American film in 1999, but now I see that it is one of the great American films of my life. Nothing is different in the film itself, but I’m sure. Like Mark, I now have several children and many ambitions that I’m not sure I’ll ever achieve. Every time I take a night off from a new book project to spend a few hours with my family or play video games, I feel guilty, like I’m wasting my life on meaningless nonsense. We all keep banging our heads on closet doors.

American film ends with some of the unused footage from Northwest, Mark’s passion project. It shows Mark, Mike and their other friends in their 20s; playing, having fun, smiling, without a care in the world. They have their whole lives ahead of them.

Mark Borchardt never finished Northwest. There is still time, however.

American film is currently streaming about the Criterion Channel.