Film Review: John Wilson’s ‘History Of Concrete’
review by filmmaker, new yorker, and some kind of artist, Emily Jampel.
I can’t remember a time I tried so hard to see a film in theaters as I did for John Wilson’s new documentary The History of Concrete.
I attempted to see this movie on no less than four separate occasions at IFC, Low Cinema, and even walked all the way to the Brooklyn Academy of Music in the rain on a Sunday, only to find that each of the screenings were sold out. I was thrilled for independent cinema, but sad for myself.
In a last-ditch effort, I used a gift card I got from the Nitehawk Shorts Festival to buy a ticket to a screening the night before getting on a sixteen-hour flight to Hong Kong to see my grandparents. As I write this review, I am on that flight, sandwiched between a Chinese woman and her son, because apparently I have nothing better to do on this flight, which still has about twelve hours to go.
If you’re a New Yorker and identify as some kind of artist, I think you’ll like this movie. You might enjoy seeing recognizable locations, like Stone Circle Theatre or Mount Prospect Park (the site of a recent controversy around a skate park being built), or learning that the intersection you frequent under the BQE is at risk of collapsing on you one day, because concrete decks only last about forty years. The joys of living in this great city.
I’ll admit that for the first half of the film, I thought to myself, ‘wow, did I really spend the same amount of money on a ticket to see The Odyssey as I did to watch shaky handheld footage of a guy fixing leaks in his Ridgewood apartment?’ But eventually, in a very John Wilson kind of way, the randomness of it all finally clicked into place and amounted to something deeper and quite poignant. This film explores subtle but very real themes of impermanence, creative expression, and brutality of living in a modern city under capitalism, while still managing to be very funny and lighthearted. It’s also extremely well-edited.
The History of Concrete is an odd yet beautiful portrait of New York City and its crumbling infrastructure and also a portrait of the life of an independent artist that captures how comically bleak the reality of both these things can often seem. It feels very timely as New York’s cost of living continues to skyrocket and the state of the film industry becomes increasingly precarious in the era of media consolidation and disappearing funding for independent movies.
There’s a moment in the film where a potential financier tells John Wilson he will only agree to fund his movie if he casts a famous musician in his documentary about concrete. This demand might sound absurd to anyone outside of the film industry, but to those familiar with the politics of film financing, this is actually a pretty common request driven by the belief that casting celebrities guarantee a return on investment. In other words, it’s no coincidence that your favorite pop star is suddenly starring in a Sundance movie.
The magic of this film is that it still, in its own self-aware but sincere way, manages to leave you with a sense of hope. After seeing it, I somehow felt strangely affirmed in my decision to keep living in this city and trying to be a filmmaker in spite of everything. I'm sure I’ll still question the sustainability of both decisions and wonder if it’s all worth it. But for now, the answer is yes.
4 out of 5 stars.
