Review of The Devil and Daniel Johnston (2006) by Jake G — 22 Feb 2010

How did a scruffy, secondhand Bob Dylan with a penchant for Captain America and Casper the Friendly Ghost become one of the most respected names in underground music? His meteoric rise to cult-status, it's tragic implications, and the family and friends behind the scenes who loved him through it all are the subject of THE DEVIL AND DANIEL JOHNSTON.

"Dan was always different," comments Mom at the outset. Bursting with creativity, a passionate desire for the bizarre and a white knuckle urge to make art, from his childhood onwards Johnston was surrounded by allies and curious onlookers alike. From his basement, a pop culture dungeon, he made guerilla art with his camcorder and cassette recorder, making short films about his mother haranguing him, aided by his brother. The little films show the kind of creativity that's scary good-- I was left puzzled, even flabbergasted by the level of mastery he displayed in the home movies. Most kids tinker around with camcorders-- I know I did-- but to makes something inspired is unprecedented.

Meanwhile, though, Johnston's home life was going to pieces. He was so obsessed with his art that he didn't do anything else-- and didn't expect to make contributions to the household. "As long as his parents kept the water and lights going, he was happy," a childhood friend of the wunderkind reports. Among his peers he was met with adoration, rare for a struggling young artist, but at home he was met with his mother's-- a devout Christian-- accusations of worthlessness. Which, it seems clear, he brought on himself. Living in the basement, he was a recluse with little hope in the way of a future-- and I can't say that if I was his parent, I wouldn't be equally concerned.

A fascinating, almost voyeuristic look we get into his life is provided by the tapes he kept of his thoughts-- and the words, recorded clandestinely, of his mother. Evidently hurt by the ugliness he recorded of her, Johnston's mother struggles on screen to reconcile her feelings. "I wish he hadn't done that," she says with emotion.

It's appropriate at this point to make the observation-- made by several acquaintances-- that Daniel could be trying at times, despite his innocent demeanor. A close friend was painted as, instead, a bride to be, and in his blithe unawareness he has hurt people.

As the teen years coalesced into adulthood, it was evident that everyone else was changing-- except Daniel. His brother grew up, got a job and a wife, and settled down. In stark contrast, Daniel appeared driftless, obsessed only with his art and interested little in future prospects. He tried college to no avail-- except a stint at a local school, Kent State, in which his life was changed by a girl, Laurie. She became the focal point of his obsessions, the girl of his dreams. In the haunting video he recorded of her, the two joke around, her not aware of the effect on him. Later, in his basement, things take a little more serious bent. "I want you to say 'I love you, Danny'" he tells her. Laughing in the way girls do, she replied "I love you Dan.".

And that was the inciting incident, the beginning of both the real madness and the real art. A plurality of art has been created by "not being able to get the girl," and Johnston's is no exception. As he was shuffled between sympathetic relatives, songs and melodies began to take shape in his mind. When he was forced to leave his basement piano and makeshift recording studio behind, he made another one in his brother's garage-- with an electronic key board, scabs of cassettes, and a trusty weight bench, he completed his first album.

Titled "Hi, How Are You," the thirty minute cassette encompasses most of the tenets of his philosophy. His romantic strife, his obsession with the Beatles, all are recorded in haunting songwriting and stabbing synths.

And if you ask me-- and I had heard the album before seeing the movie, by the way-- it's pure, unadulterated musical genius. Few artists have ever bared their souls as Daniel did, and the end result is sheer brilliance.

Luckily for Daniel, right outside the doorstep of his brother's Austin, Texas ranchero-style house was a mecca for art of his ilk, a receptive oasis for his music. His music has a kinetic power, and soon the tapes he distributed-- each re-recorded, as he had no tape duplicating equipment-- were passed around with praise.

And the rest, as they say (corny as it is), is history. He fraternized with the cream of underground music, and in the process was idolized right along with them. His oft-tragic rise to stardom is too much to include in a synopsis, and it would be over-indulgent to do so, but you can bet it's one helluva tale.

It is in recounting Daniel's story, with as much versimilitude as possible, that THE DEVIL AND DANIEL JOHNSTON hinges its success on. We see actual locations and props that played key parts, the mental hospitals he stayed in, all the houses he ever stayed in, along with interviews with important collaborators. In the film's eye for detail, I was reminded of AMERICAN SPLENDOR, another work of painstaking precision.

You can literally feel the blood, sweat, and tears that went into the film, and as a nod to the movie's creators I sat through all the credits, a thing I am unaccustomed to doing.

Because of its complete success in telling the tale, we are left satisfied even with the slightly wishy-washy, "to be continued" ending. We feel that we have gone on a journey-- that we, although merely a third party, have "freaked out" with Daniel and felt all the subsequent ups and downs. Equal parts cautionary tale and story of redemption, THE DEVIL AND DANIEL JOHNSTON now ranks as my favorite documentary made about music.

Hey Jude, come on, Joe.

Don't make that sad song.

Any sadder than it already is.

Hey Jack, get back.

Get yourself together.

Come on, come on.

I know you're thinking of your nervous love.

I know exactly what you're thinking of.

Hey Sid, no matter what you did.

It can work out, work out.

No matter how you feel right now.

Hey George, do your chores.

Don't feel sore.

I know it's a lot more than just being poor.

There's a heaven and there's a star for you.

There's a heaven and there's a star for you.

There's a heaven and there's a star for you.