Inattendu comme ne le sont pas 90% les films de fiction, le documentaire Marwencol révèle peu à peu, à travers une variété de supports, d'approches et de sources, l'artiste qui sommeille en un homme abîmé. Cela m'a un peu rappelé Sherman’s Marchune auto-doc estimable de 1986, qui interroge également le sexisme masculin et l'objectivation des femmes sans condamnation explicite mais non sans distance.
Ce sujet n'est en aucun cas tout cela, ni même la plupart des choses, Marwencol is about; but, it’s there and faced head on, like everything else touched upon or explored in this film.
Cela m'a encore plus rappelé Au royaume de l'irréelqui a fourni un compte rendu plus explicitement biographique et méta-critique de la Henry DargerL'artiste que je considère comme l'un des plus grands du 20e siècle, qu'il soit outsider ou non.
Mark Hogancamp’s encounter with human brutality stripped him of his memories and turned him into an expert 1/6th model-maker and a wildly talented photographer and transmogrifier of his own internal conflict. Like Darger, there was something wrong with his head, and he made totems, stories and tableaux out of the wrongness.
But Hogancamp went steps beyond Darger and documented it all with a camera: Storyboards for a self-therapeutic movie that will never get made. He even slips and calls his work, a “movie,” when he’s describing it to a fan at his Greenwich Village art opening.
I don’t know whether Hogancamp’s work will endure as I’m sure Darger’s will. Regardless, his instinctual resistance to irony, in and of itself, is a victory against lazy post-modernism in both art and personal politics. And I’m a bit resentful, but understanding of, director Jeff Malmberg’s desire to document this self-professed cross-dresser’s journey from bludgeoned hate-crime victim to litigant to NYC-approved artist.
I’m enriched by having witnessed it all but I also can’t help but wish that everyone would just leave Mark alone.
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