Justin Johnson’s new documentary finds the Eau Claire native bottling art, inspiration, and community into bonafide”movie magic.”
The illusory qualities of the cinema are many. Spectacle can astound and amaze us or strike fear or sorrow in an audience. But what of a movie’s curative properties? Somewhere nestled inside its digital bits and chemical emulsion, can movies heal?
It’s a question that’s confronted in Double Digits: The Story of a Neighborhood Movie Star, a new documentary from director Justin Johnson. Its subtitle is a little tongue-in-cheek because chances are you haven’t heard of him. Anyone outside of Wichita isn’t likely to know him either. Long relegated to the low-view count pages of YouTube, R.G. Miller and his bachelor pad-based “R.G. Studios” is a one-man moviemaking operation, enlisting a crew of dozens of action figures and hand-painted models to churn out homemade movies with minimal page clicks. In his own words, if Miller hits “double digits” in his videos, he’s satisfied.
Miller’s neighborhood might tell a different story, though. As stories of grassroots creatives often go, his celebrity bubble is far larger than the production values his projects suggest. Years of pumping out sci-fi thrillers and pirate yarns — and primarily on his own, mind you — have blossomed into local fame for Miller, whose burned DVD+Rs regularly find a spot next to the gas station cash register. These days, the kids tend to snatch up every copy before curfew.
Don’t let the Z-grade aesthetic fool you. If his YouTube account’s URL is any indication, Miller is completely aware of his “cheap home made” films. And Double Digits isn’t out to bash his 60-minute “Internet Art Films” with Mystery Science Theater 3000 jabs. Just the opposite. Johnson and producing partner Erik Beck hold a genuine respect for their subject, complementing a mutual appreciation of the craft with a hands-off documentarian approach. We see Miller hand-painting (and then re-painting) his 3 3/4 inch “actors,” designing masks and rigging up his own green screen. Whatever illusion he has preserved in his projects, he’s unabashedly pulling it back for the camera.
Johnson and Beck are certainly familiar with “DIY” territory. In 2007, the two co-founded Indy Mogul, a kind of video advice column for aspiring creatives. The pair have since left the project to make their own films, but over the years, the account has racked up over 200 million views across 1,200 YouTube videos, which span everything from handling festival submissions to pro tips on exploding prosthetic heads.
Double Digits can’t help but dive into the intertextuality at play, buoyed along by the mutual enthusiasm between directors — a relationship that began in 2008 when, on a whim, Miller first mailed Indy Mogul a manilla envelope-wrapped copy of Ace Thunder Ace. Johnson and Beck’s fondness only snowballed from there, sharing the micro-blockbuster with friends and colleagues and even screening it atop their East Village apartment in Manhattan. Today, the pair have dedicated a page on Double Digits’ site to “Support R.G.” through PayPal and Patreon, surely but the latest development in a lengthy relationship.
Maybe that’s because there’s a clear synergy between Johnson and Beck’s can-do creativity and R.G. Miller’s no bullshit love for movies. After a number of premieres in larger cities, Johnson returned home to Eau Claire for a hometown debut last Dec, an echo of the local appreciation that Miller’s slowly accumulated. But this is also one filmmaker listening to another. Johnson will deliver an occasional question or two off-camera, but he predominantly listens to Miller, who is all-too eager to share the inside secrets of his flat-turned-production studio to anyone interested.
It’s all fair game. All of it. Miller grew up under the care of his grandparents, and the film doesn’t shy away from his multiple felonies and a history of alcoholism. The dip in optimism never feels manipulative, with Miller’s matter-of-fact philosophy informing what’s in front of his handheld camera as much as what’s behind it.
A now sober Miller makes it clear that the cinema is his driving force in life. It’s an argument Double Digits wants to make, too and one that’s only strengthened by interviews of his siblings, cousins, co-workers and neighborhood moms (Stories of single parents entertaining restless kids with daytime viewing marathons could fill a bonus documentary all on their own). The film’s present day is structured around Miller’s latest production The Mask Man, a colorful take on the superhero genre, and watching the sphere of influence and neighborly culture bubble around its finishing touches is a real joy.
To not spoil where this eventually goes, Johnson and Beck take on a more participatory role in a conclusion that’s both immensely gratifying and transcendentally empathetic. The hands-on DIY of American Movie (which has its own Wisconsin ties) and the wondrous charm of Be Kind Rewind are easy analogues here; Double Digits’ ending takes things to Searching for Sugarman‘s levels of emotional satisfaction, drawing on art and community in folksy fashion. Miller’s is an indisputably singular vision that, regardless of YouTube numbers or notoriety, makes for an uplifting narrative of cinema’s restorative powers. Movie magic indeed.
- Double Digits: The Story of a Neighborhood Movie Star is now available on VOD.