Reader, I ask you. When confronted by the following during the 9 p.m. block on Friday night -- Life 2.0, Lemmy [in fairness, reported to be a late add], Down Terrace, The Parking Lot Movie, I'm Dangerous with Love, and American: The Bill Hicks Story -- how do you choose? The physical challenge? Shaking your tiny fist heavenward?
Answer: You get arbitrary. Down Terrace will amble by eventually, thanks to some distributor. Life? I Heard Good Things but Second Life? Feh. Lemmy would be a blast and any flick with Captain Sensible, sign me up, but it would involve an unconscionable degree of fronting for this much more Smiths-skewing lass. Parking Lot I sincerely regret missing [in a please send me a screener, kthxbai way]. And I'm Dangerous? Er, ibogaine sounds like some drug that served as a lynch pin to a locked-room Sherlock Holmes story, and I'd promised myself this festival season to follow Tangina's advice and go to the light. Sorry!
Also, Bill Hicks and I share a birthday, which either explains a lot or nothing at all. Plus, my old pal and former coworker Bryan was intro-ing it.
So, how do you make a doc about a scabrous Texas-bred comedian more popular in the U.K. than the States who died at 32 from pancreatic cancer? Excellent question. One tactic is to use an odd 3D animation process that creates the illusion of depth in archival photos supplied by the late comedian's family and friends. True, it breaks up the monotony of the voiceover narration/talking head testimonials to a point, and it does the job of getting us to the era of grainy comedy club clips, but mostly it left me thinking fondly about Soderbergh's approach to Spalding Gray, about which more later.
OK, so American? Here's the short version. William Carlos Williams was right: the pure products of America go crazy. Which is to say, Bill Hicks Got It, in high school, no less, and like any true patriot too smart for his own good, it made him upset. Who else sneaks out in high school to slip downtown to a comedy club? Hicks, a good Baptist boy with a brain, perhaps the most dangerous creature on earth, was a comedy savant in a comedy-less town, Houston in the 80s, but he made it work in a way that'd impress RuPaul.
Yes, he moved to LA, got mired in addiction, got sober, but that's not the story. At all. This is: Hicks was a prophet hollering in the wilderness, and we are the poorer for his absence. This documentary gives us a glimpse of what could have been.
Toward the end, Hicks knew he was dying, though he told only a select few, which makes watching clips of his final performances that much more painful in hindsight. But! To counteract the ill effects of the "virus with shoes" he termed humanity, Hicks established a foundation for wildlife before he went. That's the sort of knowledge that enriches one's viewing of this doc, which can't be considered a success outright, but ultimately, slick filmic accomplishment is not essential to enjoying this earnest portrait of a man before his time, out of time, and taken too soon. By whatever means necessary, etc. etc.
A line that in many ways sums up all his iterations is this [menacing redneck voice]: "Hey, buddy, we're Christians, and we don't like what you said." [Hicks, brightly] "Then forgive me!"
Better we ask him to forgive us. Yes, watch this flawed but still essential film -- then delve deep into the YouTube clips and comedy albums Hicks left behind.
