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Blue collar filmmamker Mark Borchardt and his Uncle
Bill in American Movie.
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The bedroom desk is as disheveled as Mark Borchardt himself. Film books line nearby shelves. Script pages, cast bios and overdue bills are stacked everywhere.
It's the type of clutter you'd expect from a would-be moviemaker. The bills have Borchardt's full attention. He's not sure where he's going to get the money to pay them. That is, until he opens his mail.
"Kick fucking ass, I got a MasterCard!" Borchardt shrieks. "I don't believe it. Life is kinda cool sometimes."
A dramatic feature couldn't dream up a more colorful character than American Movie's blue-collar filmmaker. Of course, it helps that director Chris Smith tells Borchardt's story in heartfelt fashion. Everyday moments are strung together into a straightforward tale about a simple guy trying to get his movie made with little money and even less professional help.
Borchardt wants to make his version of the great American movie, Northwestern. The problem is that he's short on cash. So his plan is to finally finish a low-budget zombie thriller called Coven (pronounced "coh-ven"). Its video sales undoubtedly will finance Northwestern.
"I'm going to tell you why films fail and I'm going to tell you why films succeed," Borchardt says to his would-be production crew. "And I'm going to tell you about Northwestern."
Borchardt's status as a Wisconsin-based movie mogul suffers plenty of surreal setbacks. They're the source of much of American Movie's gentle comedy. Basically, if his story weren't real, we'd never believe it.
An eccentric cast of friends and family help keep Borchardt's Hollywood dreams alive. His elderly Uncle Bill agrees to finance Coven. His mother is a reluctant extra, dressing up as an evil druid.
Mike Schank, an old drinking buddy, acts as his unofficial assistant. An aging metal head with a lion's mane of black, shoulder-length hair and a short, stocky frame, Schank speaks in hushed tones. Paired with the tall and gangly Borchardt, they make an unintentionally comic pair.
"Do you think this is cathartic for you?," Borchardt asks Schank.
"Very cathartic, man," Schank whispers. Borchardt remains unconvinced.
"Do you know what cathartic means?," he asks.
Schank answers matter-of-factly, "No."
Smith, working alongside producer Sarah Price, never hesitates to show Borchardt's flaws. There are plenty of humbling moments scattered throughout American Movie's real-life humor. But Smith never portrays Borchardt as some clownish yokel. The storytelling is in-depth and brutally honest, but also respectful. The result is an unexpected burst of artistic inspiration that colors the story into a Rocky-like dream straight out of Menominee Falls, Wisc.
"Last night I was calling Morocco," Borchardt tells Schank. "I was trying to get to the Hotel Hilton at Tangiers. That was pathetic, man. Is that any way to live your life? Swilling down peppermint schnapps and calling Morocco at two in the morning?"
Few films express their affection for movies and the art of moviemaking as eloquently as American Movie. The fact that this cinematic love story takes place far away from Hollywood sound stages makes its tale all the more poignant.
Borchardt's dedication is painfully clear when he's dragged through the mud for a climactic scene in Coven. He sits alone in a car parked at an airport parking lot. The quiet helps him concentrate on screenwriting.
Snippets of Coven and old Northwestern footage look impressive. It's remarkable what Borchardt was able to do with a handheld 16mm camera, black-and-white stock and a rundown automobile junkyard. It's what the hard work and heartache is all about: making the best movie possible.
In this age of digital cameras, streaming video on the Internet and guidebooks for writing blockbuster screenplays, it's clear that moviemaking has become the new American dream. Mark Borchardt is no exception. He just does things slightly more old-fashioned.
American Movie gives voice to Borchardt's starry-eyed aspirations. He couldn't ask for a more compassionate mouthpiece. Borchardt's perseverance drives the story. His "indomitable spirit" is evident in every scene. It's clear that Borchardt doesn't want to spend his life vacuuming the mausoleum floors at the local cemetery. The tragedy is that his hopes for a directing career look bleak.
"I will be goddamned if I don't get the American dream," Borchardt tells his Uncle Bill.
The desire of some average Joe wanting to make movies for a living might sound initially foolish. American Movie reminds us that a filmmaker can be found just about anywhere.
CityBeat grade: A.
