Imagine a darker version of Walk the Line, perhaps as directed by David Lynch, and you begin to get an idea of what to expect from this imaginary biopic.
Its
subject, Jesco White is from a similar kind of southern white rural
background to Johnny Cash, but less well known and far more troubled in
terms of drugs, drink, depression, and the devil alike.
White’s
youth was spent looking for whatever kicks he could find, beginning
with self-asphyxiation around the age of six before quickly moving onto
“huffing” lighter fluid and petrol, drinking whatever he could lay his
hands on, injecting crystal meth, and developing a penchant for
tattooing and wounding himself.
As far as his father and
mother were concerned, Jesco had the devil in him. Unfortunately, Jesco
himself believed this – in his environment, full of fire-and-brimstone
preachers it would be hard not to – and lived up/down to it.
His
sole release was another D, dance, specifically the distinctive form of
Appalachian mountain dancing or clogging of which his father, D Ray,
was a leading exponent.
Unfortunately, Jesco could never quite
keep his devils at bay and wound up in a juvenile detention centre,
which he went in and out of for the rest of his adolescence, before
being sent to the state mental hospital. The constant on each occasion
was a lack of effective therapeutic interventions, the sense that he
and the other inmates/patients – the label really made no difference –
were individuals who did not matter.
Eventually Jesco was
released, albeit into a world of trouble. Most significantly his father
had been murdered whilst he was institutionalised.
This fuelled
both the positive aspects of Jesco’s being, in his desire to keep his
father’s dancing legacy alive, and the negative, in his “eye for an
eye” understanding of the Bible.
The conflict between the good
and the bad Jesco, or the straight and the intoxicated, is at the core
of the remainder of the story, clouding his relationship with his older
girlfriend Priscilla and leading inexorably to tragedy.
White Lightnin’ is well directed. Though there are some moments where it feels like
technique for the sake of it, most of the tricks within helmer Dominic
Murphy’s bag contribute to the overall effect in a more poetic
form-is-content way: the black screens between scenes and their
suggestion that an indeterminate amount of time has passed, either
subjectively or objectively, for Jesco; the bleached out, processed
visuals the sickness and poverty of his (un)natural environment.
It
is also nicely acted. As Jesco, Edward Hogg delivering a bold, primal
performance. As Priscilla, Carrie Fisher bravely takes on the kind of
older woman role that many performers more concerned with their image
would likely have declined.
The main problem I had with the film was thus its writing, its treatment of the facts.
On the positive side, White Lightnin’ did encourage me to find out more about Jesco White.
It is also true that it is a highly subjective portrait, with many
scenes which deliberately confuse real and the imagined situations and
experiences.
But – and it is a big but – screenwriters Eddy
Moretti and Shane Smith play rather too fast and loose with things on
occasion. Most notably, the most significant moment in Jesco’s life,
the murder of his father, happened when he was in his late 20s, rather
than his teens as presented here.
Indeed in general the
film-makers seem more comfortable creating a sense of place than they
do time. Perhaps the intention is to suggest that nothing really
changes in this part of the USA – we may, after all, wonder why D Ray’s
success as a dancer didn’t lift his family out of poverty – but a more
1950s or 1960s rather than 1990s feel to the details of trucks,
motorcycles and tattoo designs might have helped cement this idea.
If
the film’s dark subject matter means it needs to be approached with
some caution, it’s also important to emphasise it’s not as bad as it
could be. For that, interested parties are recommended to check out
Todd Phillips documentary about outlaw rocker G G Allin, a
self-destructive damage case whose train-wreck of a life makes even
White look lucky and well-adjusted.