Tonight I saw a documentary about a scrub from Wisconsin whose dream had been, since he was 14, to make movies. And how he’d worked all his life to film one, 35-minute horror film, in spite of being up to his eyeballs in debt, and father to three kids with a woman who didn’t want him, and borrowing money from his elderly, frail uncle, and using his jailbird and stoned friends.
And how, after years of effort, he finally did it.
And all through the movie, I kept thinking, “the director of this documentary is more successful than the subject of the documentary.” How twisted is that?