Gummo (1997) – Still Korine’s most indelibe work

After making quite the independent splash as screenwriter on Larry Clark’s notorious Kids in 1995, there was a small-but-devoted following keen to see what young, fresh-faced and whip-smart Harmony Korine would get up to next, but nobody could have predicted Gummo.

Having left Nashville, Tennessee for the Big Apple (where he first came to prominence), Korine once stated that he felt it was essential he got away in order to make the film he knew he could, and this masterful directorial debut precisely captures that spirit. This isn’t a film shot from an outsider’s perspective, but rather a closely observed and intimate snapshot of a life implicitly understood – yet with a newfound cultured distance that would ensure he knew exactly when to wholeheartedly partake, and when to gaze objectively from a distance.

Teaming up with cinematographer and fellow kindred spirit Jean-Yves Escoffier, who Korine had so greatly admired for his work with Leos Carax, the two men donned their speedos and flipflops while the rest of the crew demanded asbestos suits (true story), and dove right into a film project that remains quite unlike anything else out there. As Werner Herzog (Korine’s most famous champion), would quip in a sit-down interview between himself and the director following the release of the film in 1997, “when the critics can’t level something, they are lost. And when they’re lost, then they will begin to hate” – and there was a whole lot of hate for Gummo. The New York Times infamously dubbed the film “The Worst Movie of the Year”, while Roger Ebert didn’t even watch it, and to this day it remains a marmite film – viewers tend to love it or despise it, with very little in between. As time removed often proves with content as divisive as Gummo, both sides of the debate only serve to cement it’s reputation as an important and unforgettable piece of work.

Shot in Nashville, but set in the tornado ravaged town of Xenia, Ohio, Korine sets out on paper to make his own fictional Streetwise and fills the screen with the most eclectic set of characters imaginable, but it’s the filmmaking itself that becomes the most vibrant and fascinating character. Taking his cue from Godard’s ethos that “all films should have a beginning, middle and end, just not necessarily in that order”, Gummo is certainly a narrative feature as opposed to faux-documentary, but it’s storytelling is fractured, non-linear and entirely uninterested in following standard conventions of cinema. It isn’t so much avant-garde as the editing is much too patient, but it is expressionistic, and makes use of every tool at Korine’s disposal to evoke mood and atmosphere – including 8mm, video, polaroid and beautiful 35mm footage that has never looked as good as it now does on this new Criterion 4K release. Escoffier’s work is supplemented by a vast array of sounds, from death metal to classic pop, from Madonna and Roy Orbison to novelty singalongs like Almeda Riddle’s “My Little Rooster”, not to mention the repeated phrasing (you’ll never unhear “I want a moustache, dammit!”), and an often chilling whispered voiceover narration.

All these stylistic choices serve to create a unique, accomplished work, but it’s what is contained within the frame that makes Gummo special. Few first time directors have ever had such a strong sense of imagery right from the off, and as is the case with everything in Gummo, you can never quite tie it down to any one choice. There’s the Keaton-esque silent playfulness with a dark twist of Bunny Boy, or the ingenious extended sequences such as “Tap and Workout in the Mirror”, or “Spaghetti in the Bath”. If you’re reading this review having never seen the film then chances are you’re slightly confused, but also a little intrigued. If you’ve seen the film even once, those few words will immediately draw up images in your mind, and there’s no greater testament to the power of Gummo than that.

This is no fluke as everything is highly considered, right down to the details of what a character is wearing or how the camera frames them. The entire film is designed to create a new image you wouldn’t have seen before, at least not edited together to form a whole like Gummo. Korine is clearly inspired by works such as Drugstore Cowboy (Van Sant was already another champion), and the casting of Max Perlich ties things up nicely. One minute the film may be drawing from that independent masterpiece, and the next it might be channelling some scuzzy ’80s slasher before drawing upon something high-minded like Cassavetes, which shows that Korine is every bit a student of film as Tarantino, he just doesn’t feel the need to shout it quite so loud.

The final piece of the jigsaw is the casting, and once again it’s a huge compliment to Korine as a first time director for being so consistently on the money in this department. Nowadays he pulls off stunt casting using James Franco, Snoop Dogg or Travis Scott – which is tiresome by the end of the opening credits, but in 1997 he had the innate ability to pluck a non-professional actor from an episode of Sally Jessy Raphael (about huffing paint, of course), and transform them into one of the most twisted, indelible turns of the entire decade. Equally, Korine the student of cinema could remember a name like Linda Manz and have the wherewithal to go out and her get her, or craft his own Manz for a new generation in the form of then-girlfriend Chloë Sevigny. If that wasn’t impressive enough, he was also able to call upon old buddy brothers to smack each other in the mouth for two minutes in a kitchen …

On the surface he may seem a prankster, but there’s a deft of touch there too – as I mentioned earlier, Korine understands when to maintain distance, and he often allows a shot to make a devastating impression without unnecessary force. Holding the camera on a child moving a picture on a wall to reveal bugs crawling out from behind it, then lingering on a shot of the bitten legs of those in the room, is as powerful an image as any of the more complex set pieces that are around each corner. Gummo may not be a film known for its quiet moments, but they are there, and oftentimes they’re the most compelling.

What this all adds up to is a film that remains as singular as the day it arrived, and Criterion have placed it into the pantheon in which it belongs. This new release isn’t heavy on special features, but it’s worth the purchase alone just to see this movie presented in its best format ever. Should you wish to delve deeper though, the aforementioned interview between Herzog and Korine is included, and it’s nice to see this still-fresh kid being nervy and jumpy around his idol, yet frank and honest about his ambitions to make something bold in cinema. Herzog is equally forthcoming, and at one point compares Korine to Joseph Conrad – mighty praise indeed. Alongside this interview there’s a new 2024 catch-up with a much older Korine who’s still as enigmatic as ever, but the real gem is the episode of Split Screen: Projections from the year 2000. This catches Korine in the kind of brash form he regularly held at his peak, and even provides ten minutes worth of insight into the film he’d been working on at the time – the now-legendary Fight Harm. Now there’s a film the true Korine-heads would love to see.

Fight Harm or no Fight Harm however, what we got is Gummo, and it’s one hell of an achievement.

Joe’s Archive – Gummo (1997)