Comic-Con Episode IV: A Fan's Hope, or: Choosing to be a gimmicky filmmaker

Comic-Con Episode IV: A Fan's Hope (2012)

Directed by Morgan Spurlock

***SPOILERS***

Super Size Me floored audience members at the 2004 Sundance Film Festival, but really, what was it that had people up in arms? Director Morgan Spurlock didn’t reveal anything we didn’t already know about fast food chains. They make you fat...well, DUH. Instead of ever offering any real solutions to America’s obesity epidemic, he feels commonplace in halfheartedly “exposing” school and prison cafeterias, as his only genuine solution (you know, diet and exercise) to all the problems listed throughout the documentary are simply lopped in before the closing credits, placing the blame entirely on corporations’ shoulders and letting lazy burger scarfers off the hook. Literally nothing Spurlock says or does is particularly insightful, but lo and behold, Spurlock will win over viewers until the end of time for one reason: he’s got the gimmick.

You’ll see some directors go through various styles, circling genres and expanding their capabilities with the camera. Stanley Kubrick made everything from historical epics to horror films, and neither Spartacus nor The Shining seem anything alike. Robert Aldrich dabbled in gritty, comical film noirs (Kiss Me Deadly), melodramatic horror flicks (Whatever Happened toBaby Jane?), and gratingly patriotic war films (Attack). Howard Hawks was the master of switching genres, fluctuating his directing style between his early metaphor-heavy Scarface to his unobtrusive musical Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. But documentary filmmakers, while integrating between various social topics and central characters, almost always commit to a singular directing style.

You’ve got the Robert Kenner’s (Food Inc.) of the world, solely focusing on social issues and offering up solutions to the problem. Then you’ve got movies like Bill Cunningham New York and Exit Through the Gift Shop, where in-depth character studies outshine the social issues at hand. And finally you’ve got the miracle workers who find an ethereal balance between the two, as seen in Steve James’ Hoop Dreams and The Interrupters. And while you can take just about documentary filmmaker and pinpoint their style, there’s just something off about Morgan Spurlock. He’s tinkered with all three of the aforementioned approaches, but never really committed to a singular one. He took on social issues with Super Size Me and The Greatest Movie Ever Sold, but never really found the “human factor”; now with Comic-Con Episode IV: A Fan’s Hope, we find him purely tackling the human factor of a superhuman celebration. And in comparison to his oft-invigorating and poignant television series 30 Days, Comic-Con seems a bit limp in regards to its characters.

So why is that? Both Michael Moore and Morgan Spurlock will forever entertain their audiences through extraneous methods. And both of them will forever be burdened by such a method. Like Moore’s racy cartoon about our forefathers in Bowling for Columbine or Spurlock’s all-McDonalds diet in Super Size Me, we often find these two directors forcibly inserting themselves into the film, thus making their selling points all the more susceptible to criticism. And even with Spurlock behind the camera for Comic-Con, he always feels like he’s right fucking there, telling you where to look and what to care about. But for the first time, it almost feels as though Spurlock's crazy antics will pull through. Stepping away from social issues and solely dedicating himself to a bunch of likeminded nerds, Spurlock’s gimmicks come at you full force in the best way possible. Spurlock stops forcing bland observations on social topics down our throats, standing up tall and bellowing into the microphone, “Are you not ENTERTAINED??!!”

I know I was. Laughing at these nerds’ expense was quite the treat, and I didn’t have to make the couple-thousand-miles trip to do it. And being the nerd he probably is, Spurlock whips out his utensils and creates his own comic book, using the people of his documentary as his characters—quite literally. These nerds float in and out of comic book pages as the story progresses, all connected by each progressive day at Comic-Con. Spurlock even dubs each of his subjects with superhero names, such as The Designer, The Geek, and The Artist. Here we finally see Spurlock’s gimmick offering a unique perspective. Along with the colorful recreations of the stars of the film, they each share plights, missions, and dreams, and they’re all presented with the same gusto and breadth as a Batman or Superman comic book. One man runs in slow motion to retrieve his action figure before it sells out. Another man is burdened with the task of selling his $500,000 comic book. “It’s making my mission incredibly difficult!” says an all-too-convenient but wholly authentic young man preparing to propose to his girlfriend…who he met at Comic-Con. And just as she says, “Yes,” Kevin fucking Smith offers to officiate their fucking wedding. Comic books are great, but come on: you can’t write this stuff.

So everything is working on the entertainment front—which is Spurlock’s shtick—and his gimmick is actually enhancing instead of detracting. That is…purely on the entertainment front. In what seems to be Spurlock’s most fitting task to date, Comic-Con proves to be too vast for his capabilities. Like I mentioned earlier, Spurlock’s gimmicks are his selling points, but they’re also his biggest burdens. But instead of his high-calorie diet belittling the social issue, Spurlock honestly should have done more. For the first time he practiced restraint, and Comic-Con is just too encompassing and strange for a sky view. Don’t get me wrong: Spurlock is correct in choosing several Comic-Con-bound nerds as his central subjects. A history lesson just isn’t Spurlock’s style (nor his strength), and it wouldn’t give shape to Comic-Con like its wacky-ass participants do. Really, it seems all too easy to make a documentary about Comic-Con, for simply relishing in the finer (and weirder) aspects of the event is enough to paint a colorful picture.

But once again, this is where Spurlock’s gimmick kills him. While it’s in full force with his characters’ “missions”, he never finds a balance between such a quest and the humanity lying beneath the event, thus never breathing life into it. He alters between the haste and sincerity of his characters’ plights and talking heads in front of a white screen, regurgitating personal admirations and reminisces of Comic-Con that could probably be found in any feature story in a newspaper. Such a bland transition marks Spurlock’s chance to utilize celebrity voices, which almost seems another gimmick, every bit as useless as Oprah’s endorsement of Paul Simon’s Graceland in Under African Skies. It’s a strange approach, considering celebrities are an essential unit of Comic-Con, and simply basking in their spotlight and the effect it has on the star-struck geeks does enough to paint a vivid and engaging picture. Likewise, the directed quotes seem useless, such as when The Geek candidly states, “Being a geek is what defines me as a person.” Oh, really now? But the best and most revealing quotes come mid-mission, such as when one designer hilariously declares, “No one’s crotch plate is falling off on stage!” or when a comic book seller speaks of a wealthy comic purchaser, saying, “If this (book) doesn’t give him a hard-on…” But with Spurlock’s gimmick firmly in place, he chooses to back off interchangeably, giving these people’s “missions” less adherence, striking a strange balance between entertaining and “meh.” Strangely, Spurlock’s reserved approach in 30 Days seems to be his most well rounded gimmick, which isn’t sprinting towards the finish line like Comic-Con, but consistently tracking a succinct set of people and the issues affecting them. Comic-Con is an indestructible beast, but that doesn't mean you can't strip its armor of invincibility.

Final thoughts:

It’s not a good documentary per se, but there’s nothing wrong with Comic-Con. I can’t imagine anyone walking out of the film and not being reasonably pleased. Watching these nerds is seriously like watching the Discovery Channel. They move and think differently than your average nerd—a group I include myself in. I really just wanted more time with the subjects. Once you’ve gotten through the talking heads, there’s only about 10 to 15 minutes dedicated to each person. There’s too much face time instead of Comic-Con time, where their personalities could have really shined. Instead, they often speak directly to the camera, which works with mind-numbing crap like The Real World and other MTV reality shows, but doesn’t really carry the weight of the actual event. For Comic-Con is a great place to find humane stories because it’s comprised of humans—its history, its troubles, and its magic all emit from the people composing the event. It’s nerdtastic because of its nerds, but you really wouldn’t know it from Comic-Con. All we really learn is that, yeah, nerds go to this thing. And while some of them have larger dreams, their shortened stories don’t really lend any bit of depth to the event. Spurlock may have recreated his subjects in comic book form, but he lied about one thing: he never filled them with color.