Is American democracy in good health, will it remain so in the years ahead, or does it suffer from a painful and permanent case of electile dysfunction? If such questions nag at you, I recommend “Boys State,” a new documentary that casts a cool eye on the nation’s youth. We meet a braying batch of them, mostly aged sixteen and seventeen, who are drawn together by a common passion for politics—not the blaze of activism, that is, but the hard grind of governance. How and why they developed this peculiar habit, rather than lying in bed and staring at the ceiling, as John Lennon advised, is a mystery that the film does not address. The point is that these are the sort of kids who, should their dreams come true, will be running the show in the future. I used to think that anyone who exhibits an abnormal fascination with politics as a teen-ager ought, on principle, to be banned from public office as an adult; these days, however, you can’t start early enough. The inhabitants of “Boys State” look as if they used their own toilet training as a filibuster. All of them come from Texas.
The movie, directed by Amanda McBaine and her husband, Jesse Moss, begins with an explanation: “Since 1935 the American Legion has sponsored a program for teenagers to learn about democracy and civil discourse through a week-long engagement in self-governance. There are separate programs for boys and girls.” And that’s the first problem. How can you prepare, in a single-sex bubble, for the grownup business of legislation? Currently, of the hundred and fifty members of the Texas House of Representatives, thirty-five are women; one way to redress the balance, surely, would be to have their potential successors mix it up a little. It may be, of course, that the Legion did contemplate tossing hundreds of boys and girls together for a week, shuddered at the prospect, and decided to cleave them in twain. Let them self-govern, preferably after dark.
This movie concentrates exclusively on the guys. (Will McBaine and Moss take a deep breath, return to the fray, and make “Girls State”? Let’s hope so.) And what choice specimens it finds. Behold Eddy, an Italian-American lad who, when he’s quizzed about his political assets, nominates his own abs. “He thinks he is God on Earth,” someone says, and what’s ominous is just how far Eddy, like so many handsome strivers, is propelled by that belief.
At the other extreme, we have Steven, whose mother was an immigrant from Mexico. Before him, nobody in his family had made it past the first year of high school. Already, he seems older and steadier—less outspoken, yet more eloquent—than his coevals in the film, his only equal being René, one of the few Black contenders in the frame. As smart and as slender as a whip, René has so judicious a manner, and such command as an orator, that he might as well skip these childish political games and head straight for the real thing. He even has a pair of little spectacles, like half-moons, over which he examines a crowded chamber with a mildly inquiring disdain. Why wait four decades, until René has put on fifty pounds, moved to Georgetown, used up a couple of marriages, and somehow mislaid his hair, his sense of humor, and his aura of charismatic hope? Give the guy a Senate committee to chair, now.
The boys are mustered in Austin, within sight of the capitol. At the outset, they are randomly split into two competing camps, Federalists and Nationalists—each six hundred strong, and each with a number of administrative posts to be contested and filled. Atop the pile are the two gubernatorial candidates, one of whom is duly elected governor as the week concludes. I won’t spoil the fun, or the genuine tremor of suspense, by revealing the outcome, but it’s noticeable that all the major players in these battles are kids whose fortunes we have followed from the start. How so? Did McBaine and Moss get lucky? Did they track innumerable boys, perhaps, and pluck out the successful ones from a writhing mass of footage? (No fewer than eight cinematographers are listed in the end credits.) The only other possibility is that the filmmakers pulled a Putin and rigged the whole deal in advance.
“Boys State” will leave you alternately cheered and alarmed at the shape of things to come. True, the landscape of the movie is richly littered with jerks, who fill or foul the air with their personal policy statements; one warns of “the looming threat of alien invasion,” while others propose that Texas secede from the Union. (These two ideas may well be connected.) Some of the kids sound like budding Nazis, informing us that citizens must be “disciplined yet dangerous” or that “weak men simply create chaos”—an oddly Nietzschean note to strike, in this allegedly God-fearing state. Budding, however, is hardly the same as full-bloomed, and the film never lets us forget that these are big children, who are trying out dumb attitudes as if they were hair styles. It would be great if McBaine and Moss, taking their cue from Michael Apted, whose “Up” documentaries have come out every seven years since 1964, could gather some of the participants from “Boys State” at a later date and invite them to review their junior selves.
I see this film as a soothing antidote to our current fevers, in that it prevents us from making up our minds too staunchly or too fast. A libertarian soul named Ben, for instance, begins by deriding the politics of gender, sexuality, and disability; yet he is a double amputee, having lost his legs to meningitis at the age of three. Not once during the week does he request any sympathy for his condition, let alone use it for advantage. He even jokes about it. On the other hand, he is the one kid onscreen who, as voting draws near, resorts without mercy (and with visible success) to dirty tricks. “We need to do something drastic that gets people talking,” he says. “You have to use personal attacks.” Ben is a remarkable fellow. He is also proof that Trumpery will not end with Trump.
And so to Robert, who turns eighteen in the course of the week. He’s a ringer for the freshman hero of Richard Linklater’s “Everybody Wants Some!!” (2016), and, indeed, “Boys State” radiates some of the smiling tolerance that Linklater—a godfather of the Austin movie scene—has brought to his Texan dramas. No one is more dazed and confused than Robert. Hearty, white, and hellbent on West Point, he longs to project a jockish self-possession, but the surface cracks. In one extraordinary sequence, he quietly confesses to being pro-choice: “My stance on abortion would not line up well with the guys out there at all, so I chose to pick a new stance. That’s politics.”
So, what has Robert acquired from his days in Austin? “A new appreciation for why politicians lie to get into office,” he says. Whether you think the less of him for fibbing, or the more of him for being so honest about his dishonesty, he becomes, on the spot, a more interesting figure. Likewise, as Steven delivers a typically expert pitch to the voters, the camera catches Robert looking on with undisguised admiration. His face is a concession speech made flesh; you can see him admitting to himself, and to us, that this modest and stocky Latino kid, who has had not an ounce of Robert’s privilege, is in fact his superior, both moral and rhetorical, and therefore deserves to win. On the strength of that moment alone, the American Legion should consider its job well done.
The Link LonkAugust 07, 2020 at 05:02PM
https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2020/08/17/american-youths-play-politics-in-boys-state
“Boys State” and “Red Penguins,” Reviewed - The New Yorker
https://news.google.com/search?q=Red&hl=en-US&gl=US&ceid=US:en
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