I can conceive of no better expression of the emotions that surface during “Warrendale’s” finale than the lyrics of “Crippled Horses”, a grindcore classic from Pig Destroyer’s 2004 “Terrifyer”. On paper, drawing parallels between extreme metal and Allan King’s first actuality drama may seem a stretch, but just stick with me:
“Push my fingers past her ear.
Watch them disappear into her brown hair.
I wish the rest of me could go with them.Her bedroom is quiet, but my heart screams.
A horrifying sound.
Like a hundred crippled horses lying crumpled on the ground,
Begging
For a rifle
To come and put them down.
Put them down.
Down.”
Produced for the Canadian Broadcast Company in 1967, the film concerns a Toronto treatment home for emotionally unstable youth. Unlike most similarly themed documentaries, King is not seeking to shine a spotlight on social injustice, but to capture the intensity of human emotion. He eschews the hallmarks of the documentary expose. There are no posed questions or staged interviews, nor are there easily perceivable narrative boundaries. He doesn’t tell the audience anything. He wants us to experience his subject and make up our own minds
His approach is comparable to “Dogtooth”, a recent Greek film by Yorgos Lanthimos. Both films depict non-traditional attempts to raise children with nonjudgmental detachment. The techniques may be controversial, but neither director reveals his personal opinion. Within Warrendale’s walls, its employees attempt to mend psychological wounds through confrontation, not medication. The film focuses on “the holding method”, a sort of emotional bulimia where disobedient children are held down by their caretakers and encouraged to rant and weep. King’s film neither legitimizes or vilifies the technique. For him, it is just the window to the soul that he seeks.
Though such a description may read poorly, I don’t believe he sought to exploit his subjects. That’s always a fine line in this brand of pseudo-documentary (and one I expect to return to as I explore the four films that remain in the recent Eclipse set on his “actuality dramas”). That he opts for such a descriptor is telling. Instead of presenting this branch of his work as truth, cinema verite, or direct cinema, he admits, up front no less, that his films are constructions. Again, the wording is intentional. These people and their situations are not fiction, but King’s presentation is. He selects the moments that best serve the drama. Here, an event that occurred early in the five week shoot provided both the climax and framework for the entire affair. The rest of the time was devoted to gleaning bits that could fill in the gaps. Emotional collapse was certain. It was a matter of determining what needed toppling. I see no problem with his method. He captures raw emotion and presents it with Pialatian elliptical aplomb. The final product speaks for itself.
Aside from its cinematic points of interest, the film is a valuable time capsule for mental health professionals. King never diagnoses the wards or deifies the (supposed) professionals who support them. This is not an instance of pin the DSM approved condition on most the obvious candidate. The film records a time when any hint of instability or peculiarity could lead to a life-altering stay in an institution. Who can say how or why the children found their way inside of Warrendale’s white walls or whether they all belong there. Whether they are orphans, the shame of the well-to-do, or something in-between, sociological analysis is not the film’s prerogative.
Don’t think “Warrendale” offers nothing but a hundred minutes of abject misery. There’s an undercurrent of humor; not of the “Me, Myself, & Irene” variety, but the brand of amusement that is often the indirect result of spending time with someone who fails to see that their actions are just slightly out of step with generally accepted behavior. This is often the case with children in general, but in my experience, is amplified with the feisty, slightly unhinged sort.
The levity also extends to the staff; most notably, Walter Gunn. Like an outcast from “Grey Gardens”, he’s like an expatriate Kennedy cousin slumming north of the border in a corduroy blazer. Though he maintains his composure (and his shades) through thick and thin, when you see him sweating through his suit as he wrestles yet another child to the floor you wonder if he’s just playing playing cool for the camera or if he dressed on trend every day. In fact, it comes as no surprise that Albert Maysles gave King his first handheld camera. They share an eye for disintegrating glamour. Landscapes that make “Ratcatcher” look tidy serve as the setting for fledgling romances. Muddled pop-country and Rolling Stones songs serve as a “Veronika Voss-esque” soundtrack to madness.
I like to believe that Walter was responsible for the record selection. I also like to believe that Allan King and the people who populate “Warrendale” would appreciate the way Scott Hull and the members of Pig Destroyer distill the raw emotion into something that lingers long after the record stops spinning. Isn’t that what art is all about?
“Warrendale” is available on DVD as part of The Actuality Dramas of Allan King, the 24th entry in The Criterion Collection’s Eclipse series. I will review the remaining four films in the near future.
Comments