With camera perched on shoulder, Ross McElwee set out to retrace and document Sherman’s infamous March to the Sea. Yet shortly before beginning his expedition he found himself suddenly single and at a loss for such a status. The documentary that grew must be far from the historical reconstruction McElwee envisioned and is undoubtedly far more interesting.
The journey, instead of navigating a trail of destruction, navigates a trail of destruction and reconstruction as the director encounters past loves and recent infatuations. Perhaps his thin physique and heavily bearded face make him ample target for being set up. Or perhaps his deflective camera, which allows him to maintain a distance between himself and the social world, is read by those around him as such. Either way, McElwee falls subject to numerous experiments with good-looking southern girls whom he is at times expected, at other times demanded, to woo and wed and propagate. The personal exploration of love lost and found is inherently emotional as McElwee tries to reason for missed chances and uncertain futures. The onscreen dialogue accompanied by voice over narration predates YouTube confessionals by more than a decade and succeeds far more than any superficial v-log. It is hard not to feel bad for the socially precarious filmmaker yet his tone is never self-deprecating, self-pitying, or self-effacing.
The final product is testament to the uncertain nature of non-fictional storytelling. The filmmaker as subject has certainly been seen, yet McElwee’s 1986 entry comes off as the most sincere and cathartic. His interactions maintain a sense of observation and confusion. His narration emphasizes the thoughts in
