Through footage shot over the course of his son's lifetime, clips from Sherman's March, footage McElwee's son Adrian shot himself, all accompanied by narration from McElwee- his son's life, their relationship, the act of filmmaking, addiction and death are explored.
Visually the film is intimate and evocative, shot and cut in McElwee's typical analogue fluid style. As a documentarian McElwee is a singular talent. As a father though it is difficult for the viewer not to judge him. The effect feels incredibly honest, immensely human. But it is clear McElwee is culpable, to what degree who knows. But his obsessive need to document, his inability to identify his sons struggles, and his ignorance around addiction are very much apparent. McElwee himself has no insight to provide, he simply bares his soul and grief and pain and confusion to the viewer. Is this powerful? Yes. Is it cathartic? No.
Many artists have made art inspired by the failings of their parents or the failing of themselves as parents. It's a deep well, this joins a large catalogue. But other than sharing his grief with us and some musings on the nature of memory and film McElwee does not go beyond that. In any therapy session, in any 12-step meeting, in any bitch session between friends around the world the foibles of parents and children are discussed. This looks great, it is very effective, but it does not offer anything beyond which anyone with a child or a parent has some insight on. Every parent instills in their child some level of dysfunction or neurosis(however well-meaning), any substance abuse problem is potentially fatal. This is reality and unfortunately this only serves to reflect back to us that reality and does not go beyond that.
Incredibly crafted, brave, made by a flawed man who may not be an entirely worthy subject.
Currently in theaters.
Rent It.