One of my core beliefs is that at any time, any one is capable of surprising you. Mostly in a positive way, underlying a depth I didn’t know they had. You could say, it is a foundational belief of mine. And what do you build foundation out of? That’s right, concrete. See what I did their John Wilson? And that’s my talents end and yours are just beginning.
At the start of the doc we meet the director John Wilson aimless. His TV show on HBO Max is over, and now he has no idea where to go next. So he starts filming random stuff, meta making a story about making a documentary, eventually pitching The History of Concrete to a distributor, who is confused at how Wilson will make this not boring but actually worth everyone’s time.
The first 30 minutes is your Rorschach test for The History of Concrete. It moves at Wilson’s chill pace, meandering from one though to another, making sure a great edit or sight gag is ready for a joke or two along the way. We also get insights into John Wilson the man, and how he’s a bit nervous about what to make next, and has movie producers equally unsure whether to finance his philosophizing as film. The plotless nature of the movie works only for a little bit, and I’ll admit my eyes started to glaze over a tad, checking my watch a couple times wondering where this was all going.
But what I didn’t see is how big John Wilson’s heart is. The History of Concrete pitch starts out benignly like the first parts of the film, but that’s cleverly our documentarian putting the pieces in place for…something. Then he seemingly randomly diverts off again, introducing us to crazy celebrity dinners, giant bricklaying competitions, and spirits salesman in liquor stores. Eventually, you don’t see it, but you start to feel it. That random guy selling tequila? Turns out he has a band, and has been going through a rough patch in life. That bricklaying competition leads to interviews with construction workers all over New York City, and finds some of their hopes and dreams. Like a magician, Wilson shows us those people places and things hidden in broad daylight, always there for us to see while we were never looking. The formless footage starts to take emotional shape, and builds towards a poignant, beautiful climax that hit me harder than I though The History of Concrete ever could.
So talk to the nice janitor on the lunch break. Or the front door security person starting their shift. Or that pastor having a nice walk outside. Within these people contain multitudes the same as you or I, and in those multitudes you might find a new friend, or perspective you never knew you needed. Thanks Concrete! May you keep all our foundations strong and solid, forever and ever.