I’ve talked about this on many episodes of this show, but documentaries can take many forms. Often, I’m drawn to vérité films — movies with no narration, where the filmmaker tries to almost disappear behind the camera. But thanks to filmmakers like Ross McElwee, George Kuchar, Kirsten Johnson, and many, many more, I’ve developed a deep love for the personal essay documentary.
One of the filmmakers who really helped me discover that love is John Wilson, both through his earlier short films and, in my opinion, one of the great documentary series, How To with John Wilson.
The idea of a film like Sherman’s March or Weather Diary — films that start with a simple premise and gradually devolve into something deeply personal and unexpected — is so different from the way I tend to think about filmmaking. But there’s something incredibly beautiful about it. And of course, few people have taken that idea further than the producer of this film, Nathan Fielder.
The History of Concrete, much like an episode of How To with John Wilson, begins with a simple premise: to find out how concrete is made, how it’s used, and what exactly it is. But from there, we meet all kinds of different people. We get these little glimpses into their lives, and we discover these stories alongside Wilson through his vast collection of archival footage.
The film gradually threads its way through the history of concrete and into our modern era of cheaply made, less durable construction. And somewhere along the way, this seemingly straightforward investigation becomes a meditation on legacy — and on how temporary life really is.
Something that seems so permanent will eventually degrade. It will crack, crumble, and disappear. Just like all of us.
There’s a deep sense of loss that permeates the film. You can feel it more and more as the movie goes on. And yet, like so much of Wilson’s work, that sadness is constantly balanced by a deep sense of absurdity and humor.
It’s a film about concrete that slowly reveals itself to be a film about mortality. And that, to me, is the magic of the personal essay documentary. The subject is almost beside the point. What matters is where the filmmaker’s curiosity takes them — and what they find waiting there.
