Oft discussed is the concept of the tortured romantic. So much genius, so much work, so very little shown to the public. Van Gogh, Nick Drake, Emily Dickinson… the sensitive laborer is a stereotype anyone vaguely familiar with artists will immediately recognize. But how many of these artists live that ideal out? Drake sold roughly 5,000 albums in his lifetime, Van Gogh sold, from my understanding, one painting (Red Vineyard at Aries), and Emily Dickinson published a handful of her (heavily edited) poems. All of these artists made unsuccessful forays into the popular consciousness. All of them toiled away and worked in relative seclusion. These people are not Henry Darger.
Darger is the subject of the 2004 documentary In the Realms of the Unreal. Detailing the life of the reclusive “outsider” artist and Chicago native, the film has the remarkable challenge of documenting the life of a man who lived his life with as little fanfare as possible.
There are only three photos of the man in existence, and only a smattering of actual interviews to help draw a picture of the man. In fact, without any of the personal information that usually forms a biographical doc, Realms adopts a rather novel structure. Culling the few interviews available from those who lived near the man (neighbor, landlord, etc.) the documentary is anchored by a sort of self-narrarated mix of Darger’s life and his primary work The Story of the Vivian Girls. What follows is a wondrous journey into the mind of a fantastic tinkerer.
Darger, from the very first, experiences a harsh existence. Elements of child-abuse, sexual misconduct, and general ignorance cast a disturbing shadow over his past. Still, the man appears relatively healthy. He will carry a job throughout his life, never get into trouble, and retain a handful of small relationships. It gets stranger, though. He also attends mass four times a day and can’t be bothered to spend a small chunk of his monthly allowance on a pet. He struggles to socialize with others, and at times replays conversations with others by himself when nobody else is around. And mind you, just the iceberg here…
Being that Darger’s life is wrapped in a cloak of relative mystery, the documentary alternates between elements of his real life and those of his fantasy world (the two are inextricably linked, so the choice is appropriate and the results are confounding.) Detailing the lives of several young women (the Vivian Girls) we see how Darger’s own life produced a curious sort of art. Entirely reclusive, his art remains undiscovered until the time of his death. What follows is a sort of mock-mystery jigsaw puzzle of art. The documentary manages to suss out some very compelling (and highly debatable) claims regarding his life. And given the fact that the book can’t be purchased (it’s 15,000 pages) it gives a much larger group of people the opportunity to acclimate themselves to Darger’s uniquely compelling work.
One of the coolest features of the film is that Darger’s work is animated. While in life he made large paintings (often on both sides of his canvases) here everything is given a sort of animated motion, taking still paintings and mobilizing them. While some might cry foul at the idea of tampering with the work of an acclaimed artist, it lends itself to Darger’s DIY ethic. I’d be curious to know what Darger would think of having his art spun into life, but at the very least I’d imagine the man who collected comics and advertisements with his $25 monthly paycheck would wholeheartedly approve.
Probing questions arise as the documentary progresses. At one point Darger seeks out the opportunity to adopt children of his own, a claim made precarious by the bizarre and sexually ambiguous pictures which populate his works. And what about his extreme (and contentious) devotion to Catholicism? The man attended Mass four times a day, and his religious guilt and doubt can be found throughout his final works. Even his 15,000 page novel ends on a disquieting note, with the children he has watched over variously finding Heaven and Hell. It’s the same battle Darger seems to have fought his entire life, searching for power and meaning in a world where he remained voiceless.
There’s magic in these drawings and the documentary that details them. Darger’s life itself becomes a sort of artistic work, exemplifying those traits we so often associate with the heart of creation. Even more important, however, is the charm of the still-life documentary. With a handfull of interviews, some haunting voice-overs, and those curiously animated paintings, there’s something peculiarly emotional and primal in all of his work. Addressing the intimately human through the wildly fantastic, Darger proves himself far more than a mere reclusive magpie. Beautiful and haunting, difficult and thought-provoking, Henry Darger and his bizarre charm remain transcendent. The documentary that illustrates him, curious and mesmerizing. – A.R.
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