Mockumentaries (pt. II)

Man Bites Dog

The Thin Pink Line

Salutations to my silly and serious friends alike, I hope you’re staving off the heat and finding a cool activity to do in these dog days of Summer. After last week’s purple dose of absurdity, I wanted to keep the kooky vibes going with a round of double features from one of my favorite subgenres: mockumentaries. I’ve covered this subgenre before, years ago, and it wound up being one of my favorite themes I’ve ever explored, mostly due to the myriad of directions that mockumentaries can go. Mockumentaries often make for highly-experimental, highly-improvised projects where reality and fiction blend naturally together—sometimes uncomfortably so. I was raised on the films of Christopher Guest, so Waiting for Guffman, Spinal Tap, Best In Show, A Mighty Wind, and every other docu-style comedy rarely bores me, though I do have high standards. There’s also Drop Dead Gorgeous and To Die For, both of which make use of a black, almost bleak sense of humor that if anything, softens the harshness of the subjects that both films are respectively parodying. I don’t believe I’ve seen a comedic mockumentary that I haven’t liked, between What We Do in the Shadows, Popstar: Never Stop Never Stopping, 7 Days in Hell, A Hard Days Night, and the forgotten penguin Point Break known as Surf’s Up, this faux documentary format really lends itself well to comedy and allows the performers—whether they be Borat or the Real Bros of Simi Valley—to run as wild as possible. Even strictly fictional narratives like When Harry Met Sally play with aspects of mockumentary filmmaking, with the inclusion of interviews with real-life couples, and parodies like Reefer Madness: The Movie Musical operate to directly expose the absurdity of the cautionary documentary its mocking. I’m newer to the more serious side of mockumentaries, which I realize sounds oxymoronic, but films like Lizzie Borden’s Born in Flames really make excellent use of the pseudo-documentary style because its dystopian storyline requires very little exaggeration or suspension of disbelief from the audience to be believable. The best mockumentaries can take concepts and characters we may be familiar with and simply turn them up to eleven, so to speak. As a horror fanatic, I’m of course familiar with the found footage subgenre of scary films—and these could certainly be considered horror mockumentaries—but upon viewing the confusingly-captivating and horrifyingly-still-relevant film Punishment Park, I became profoundly interested in further exploring the darker side of mockumentaries, that go beyond the heavy-breathed implications of The Blair Witch Project. That brings us to tonight’s first film, a controversial, cynical, violent mockumentary that seems downright quaint compared to the films it has inspired: the 1992 French snuff spectacular called Man Bites Dog. This film is about as low budget and low brow as you can get, and yet when you consider the kinds of exploitative true crime and corrupt reality television that garners immense viewership and fandom nowadays, this film seems positively understated. This gritty black and white film follows several days in the life of the unassuming but outrageous serial killer Benoit, or Ben as he is lovingly referred to, with its documentary crew becoming increasingly involved in their subject’s life. Man Bites Dog, or It Happened in Your Neighborhood, has no credits, no introduction, no pleasantries or niceties, it just gets straight into the carnage as we witness a woman on a train suddenly being strangled by Ben, noticed by no one but the camera. Ben then gives the audience a crash course in disposing of dead bodies through his preferred method of “ballasting” then dumping the corpse into a source of water. He comfortably and casually converses with the camera, cracking a smile and proudly showcasing his wit and charisma as he commits the most unimaginably heinous acts. We are introduced to Ben’s family—his mother and his grandparents who run a general store of sorts (played by Ben’s actual family)—who all speak very highly of their bright-eyed Ben, seemingly completely unaware of the murders he delights in committing. Ben is so skilled at killing unsuspecting victims—a handful of which see the camera before they see Ben and even give a friendly wave before they’re snuffed out and disposed of. He calmly and confidently explains his various strategies of acquiring victims: no kids because they’re more trouble than they’re worth, no couples because they “stink of poverty”, instead the elderly are his primary victims because their cash is often readily-accessible. Ben is not without morals, though, as he explains the bittersweet consequences of gentrification—how placing all of these helpless elderly people in large, confined buildings make them even easier targets, but the gorgeous Parisian architectural designs are typically sacrificed which deeply upsets him. Ben may have little regard for human life but he does care about politics, decorum, aesthetics, and kindness, as he recounts the times he’s killed people just because they were rude to his friends. It is just as disturbing to watch Ben torture and kill people as it is to witness the documentary crew’s increasing participation with these acts, as their position evolves from presumed objectivity to full-on assistance and encouragement. Ben is aware of how expensive it is to make a film, so he is happy to share the money he steals from his victims with the crew, and the crew is quite thankful for it. Even when a crew member is killed amid one of Ben’s horrific hijinks, Rémy, the director, gives the man a tribute but insists that the film must go on. It’s puzzling and petrifying to watch Man Bites Dog, and to realize how easy it becomes to endure these atrocities as they persist. Ben is a particular and pretentious snob who values art, literature, music, sports, and family, who can wax poetic about the most mundane things but struggles to find any value in any random human being’s life. His crimes are brazen and egregious, almost all of which are committed in broad daylight, with almost no police presence or major consequences. His aborrhent behavior is cosigned by the crew filming him, and its clear that their involvement only makes him bolder, hungrier, and more unrelenting. He even becomes more calculated, as we witness him analyzing the crew’s footage of himself to see where he could improve his methods. And though this film is only about 90 minutes, it felt much, much longer to actually watch it. As this film went on, I felt steadily, increasingly uncomfortable. I have no idea how to classify this film beyond its mockumentary status. If it is a horror film, it is a distasteful one. If it is a dark comedy, it is a cruel joke no one where no one is left laughing. If the idea of this film is to test the limits of what you’re willing to sit through and stomach, it is successful. Because I’m the kind of freak who has seen plenty of freaky cinema, this probably isn’t the most depraved or disturbing thing I’ve ever seen, but it certainly would fit into that class of film. I would offer a trigger warning, but I’m not sure what to even specify as triggering, because this entire movie is so rooted in unpleasantry. The moments of normalcy and calm felt just as jarring as its majority of violence and vile vituperation. The moral conundrum of documentary filmmaking is that it is designed to be an objective observation, and yet their proclivity for personal biases is almost unavoidable. Regardless of a filmmaker’s intention, documentaries allow and even encourage us to be as voyeuristic and judgmental as possible, and Man Bites Dog could challenge even the most curious cat to keep watching. As Scott Tobias of The A.V. Club said, “Man Bites Dog also implicates the audience for watching it—a stand that has naturally made (the film) extremely polarizing. When Rémy talks about never having enough (salacious content), it isn’t just the filmmakers who are guilty of insatiable bloodlust, but the unseen audience that regularly seeks out violence and mayhem as entertainment.” While there were genuine moments of comedy in Man Bites Dog, the overall product is just so deliriously demented that I struggle to measure this film in the metrics of “enjoyment”. Thankfully, tonight’s next film was much easier to classify, and enjoy, as I had no choice but to balance out this dark-sided film with a very funny (but not devoid of darkness) mockumentary I’ve been searching for for sometime. This film was Joe Dietl and Michael Irpino’s deep-cut faux-documentary from 1998 titled The Thin Pink Line—a play on Errol Morris’ The Thin Blue Line, a real documentary that is much less humorous. The Thin Pink Line has felt like a bit of an urban cinematic legend, as it is among the ranks of other great films that have been lost, culturally and physically, due to odd distribution issues and lack of discussion. There is very little written about this movie, and there is no physical copy of this movie (that I can find outside of Japan), and if it weren’t for a random Reddit thread that I’ve been tracking for years, I may have never seen this movie. (Thank god for the internet, you can watch it here.) It’s so hidden and unknown that you’d assume this was a film made by nobodies, but the cast is actually so full of massively famous stars that it should really be on any streaming service—at least Tubi. I couldn’t possibly list them all, but I’ll still try: this film stars character actors and household names like Jennifer Aniston, Andrea Bendewald, David Schwimmer, Alexis Arquette, Margaret Cho, David Cross, Tate Donovan, Illeana Douglas, Nora Dunn, Christine Elise, Will Ferrell, Janeane Garofolo, Melanie Hutsell, Laura Kightlinger, Phil LaMarr, Anne Meara, Joel Murray, Mike Myers, Taylor Negron, Sam Pancake, Jason Priestly, Mary Lynn Rajskub, Andy Richter, Richard Riehle, Jeff Rosenthal, Molly Shannon, Maura Tierney, Tuc Watkins, Susan Yeagley, Rusty Schwimmer (shockingly no relation to David), and directors Joe Dietl and Michael Irpino, who star as the director and the subject, respectively, of this mockumentary. I have been searching for this film ever since I became aware of its existence, and I’m so glad that I was able to track it down, because it was so incredibly up my alley. All a little lo-fi and clearly made with love by a group of comedy friends, The Thin Pink Line is a documentary within a documentary that follows director Royce Cannon and his own documentary crew’s attempt to find a new subject for his next hit doc. After the success of his first film, Royce is desperate to find another juicy story to cover, and pitches the idea of “an inmate on death row who’s—get this—innocent” around, hoping it’ll gain traction. Royce gets his chance when a cameraman says that his mother plays mahjong with someone who’s son is on death row and might be innocent, and Royce happily takes this opportunity and heads to the local prison. It is here that we meet Chauncey Ledbetter, a man who is accused of murdering his swing choir teacher in the eighties. Chauncey, like an even fruitier Fred from Scooby Doo with his bright yellow hair and light pink ascot, is locked away tightly at the end of the cells on death row, like a charming Hannibal Lecter, who, instead of greeting his interviewers with a chilling “Hello, Clarice” instead offers a friendly, “Cocktail?” Chauncey explains how he couldn’t have possibly killed the choir instructor that he so admired, for starters because they were in the middle of performing a Grease medley and he would’ve never squandered that performance. Chauncey is ecstatic to be featured in such a kind light after being locked up for fifteen years, and sees this film as a chance to set him free before his execution. We witness Chauncey happily gossiping and teaching the other inmates various musical choreography, but we mostly observe interviews that Royce conducts with the people from this eccentric prisoner’s past that are all quite revealing. We hear from two pretty and ditsy models whom Chauncey encouraged to get into the biz, his former fellow boy scouts, his former foster parents, his former prom date, and various old friends who may not have the nicest things to say about him, but they do believe he’s innocent. Well, most do. We even hear from the sister of the victim, as well as Chauncey’s current friends and former choir nemesis (I had a few of those, too.) They all paint a hilarious picture of this ridiculous man, who only appears more guilty as each interview is conducted and as more truths are revealed. I hesitate to make any specific references or offer any quotes of dialogue because as with most brilliant comedic mockumentaries, it must be seen to be believed and fully appreciated. Every single player involved here is on their A-game, and they were all so young and so unafraid to act a fool—it was glorious to see. While I could feel every painful moment of Man Bites Dog pass by, I hardly had enough time to properly appreciate The Thin Pink Line before it was over—its jokes operated at a break-neck pace, and each anecdote was more revelatory and funny than the one before. It’s funny enough to exist among the hilarious ranks of Theater Camp or any Christopher Guest masterpiece—I just wish more people knew about it and had access to see it. Well, I’ve done enough mocking and praising this week but I do appreciate you, dear reader, for coming along on this ride with me. It’s no joke when I say I appreciate you, and I hope you’ll stop by next week. Toodles!