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While the practice certainly didn't begin with Chris Smith's 1999 feature documentary American Movie, filmmakers have become obsessed with underachieving middle-Americans like Mark Borchardt and Mike Schank. Their humility, sense of humor and dim-witted antics make for perfect screen fodder. The trick, it seems, is not to make the perfect film, but to find the perfect subjects. Friends Forever serves as a case in point: far from a perfect documentary, it nonetheless entertains completely as a result of the humanity of its subjects. Nate and Josh are two avant-garde rock performers who refuse to play in traditional rock venues; instead, they travel in their van in search of the perfect parking spot, setting up shop come nightfall and putting on a show to whomever passes by.
Friends Forever, the name of the band after which the documentary is named, follows the duo on their spotty tour of the American west coast, using digital video and Super 8mm. It's a home movie record of a unknown history, with the brief film sections serving as nostalgic picture postcards of the out-of-the-way places Friends Forever travelled en route to a stew of disappointments and minor victories. Director Wolfinsohn (about whom I know nothing, so don't ask) successfully steers clear of reducing his subjects to spectacles. Friends Forever do, after all, take care of the spectacle element all on their own. Enter the music.
Friends Forever's music is about the least accessible thing about this film. At its best it's manic dissonance, pure noise and punishing aggression. Imagine the Boredoms only slightly less concerned with melody or unity and you're close to understanding the Friends Forever aesthetic. The live performances, all but obscured by waves of artificial smoke, are nearly enchanting, with Nate running through the crowd screaming half-hearted threats of violence -- all in good fun, I promise. Meanwhile, Josh sits crouched over his drum kit inside the van. The self-described "untalented" member of Friends Forever explains that his brother plays music that his father is able to appreciate, while his own interests are deemed "not the kind of music you listen to" by dad.
As far as "performing unawares" is concerned, Friends Forever seems to prove once and for all that the video age has trained anyone and everyone how to behave in front of a camera. The result finds bizarre acts ranging from self-induced vomiting and hysterical violence coming off as youthful pranks as opposed to signposts of sociopathic minds. Nate and Josh honestly look like a couple of nice guys. But Watching Friends Forever with friends, it became clear to me that I was the only one who didn't think the entire film had been scripted. The whole exercise just seems too effortless, too fluid, too stupid to have been staged. Here lies yet another parallel with the hero-losers of American Movie. Nate and Josh are essentially slightly less visionary versions of Mark and Mike. The admit to being uncomfortable with the idea of art and commerce comingling, so they often give away their merchandise after shows. In one of the film's many hilarious moments, Nate comments that he can't recall any of James Brown's legendary live recordings ending with a plea for the audience to buy records and t-shirts at the back of the Apollo.
Overall, it's easy to recommend Friends Forever purely for the fact that its ninety minutes offer a glimpse at a subject that would otherwise be completely unknown and unaccessible outside of the world of the documentary. Extra material available on the DVD release includes nine deleted scenes (each more graphic than the last), four "Where Are They Now" interviews that are really quite endearing, and footage of the hilariously mis-conceived Friends Forever side-project, "The Friends Forever Magic Show". By no means the star-making sort of rockumentary that is quickly returning to popularity, Friends Forever does deliver on its claims of being a real-life, underground Spinal Tap. These amps, however, are cranked well above eleven.
-- Mike Baker
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