Medora Documentary: America's Broken Heart, Unbroken Spirit

Medora, Ind. Population, hovering around 500.

John Cougar Mellencamp's hometown of Seymour is located in the same county (Jackson). No need to endure JCM's ode to Smalltown, USA again, but as most of us are becoming acutely aware, that '80s snapshot of lower Indiana (and thereby the idyllic American Dream) is fading faster than the Polaroid paper it was printed upon. 

America's small towns used to be quaint, bastions of bucolic pride. These days these hamlets are inhabited by all the worldly ills of their larger counterparts.

In late 2009, Michigan-bred filmmakers Davy Rothbart and Andrew Cohn ventured to southern Indiana after reading a piece by John Branch of the New York Times on the struggles of Medora's high school basketball team.

The article centered around the Medora boys' team that hadn't posted a winning season in decades. The documentary shot in 2010-11 is ostensibly a character study of these kids and the hardships they face in a town that industry has long since vacated. 

But there is quite a bit more at stake here.

Initially, the takeaway from the film is nothing more than the darkening of the American heart. Medora is a sad town with sad stories. These kids from broken homes can't play basketball worth a (French) lick. The spectre of crystal meth hangs over the proceedings, and Medora's schools are doomed to consolidation.

As the film marches economically on (82 minutes), we find that the tattered spirits of Medora are not succumbing to the overwhelming odds stacked against them. The team responds to coaching and mentoring and gradually improves. We see the development of solidarity, fraternity and strong family bonds.

Zach Fish takes in teammate Rusty Rogers while his mother deals with her alcohol dependency, and when Corey Hansen misses a free throw that could have given Medora its first win in two years, a kid in street clothes—who shoots the cameraman a fierce look—is there to console a tearful Hansen in the locker room.

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Then there's Dylan McSoley. I noticed him sitting alone in the back atrium of the Michigan Theater during the "hometown premier" of the film (both Rothbart and Cohn grew up in Ann Arbor). McSoley is the reluctant protagonist of the documentary.

At the afterparty, I found myself on a couch next to Dylan, who was again sitting alone engrossed by his smartphone.

I watched people approach him, making crude attempts at banter: "You're a movie star now.." and "I can't believe you haven't seen The Big Lebowski." While gracious, he did seem a bit perturbed by it all.

Rothbart sat down next to Dylan and introduced him to me. I asked him what he thought of Michigan: "It's alright." Then I asked him when he was going home, to which he replied in a thankful tone: "Monday."

In the film, McSoley is the seeker. In fact, there are no memorable scenes of him in game action. He's portrayed as considering the minister's path, trying to locate his father and looking for the right girl whose name begins with a "K."

There must have been something striking in his character for the directors to pin the story arc around—an inherent presence or courage, perhaps.

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The first 50 minutes of the film are generally heart wrenching; cinematographers Rachael Counce and Peter Leix capture desolate scenes of trailer homes and blighted tableaux. 

Alcoholic parents, the loss of viable industry, unemployment and kids with trodden psyches are daily news in the post-Bankpocalypse Era. Ann Arbor viewers live in the shadow of the macro-Medora (Detroit), so the angst in the theater was palpable.

It's hard not to dwell in these moments of despair, but the directors do a good job of bringing out some gentler tones as well. There's one scene where we see a young kid playing outside on some abandoned furniture. The kid brims with joy as he jumps down onto a couch while singing: "Don't wait for me, I'm goin' West!"

These upbeat touches amid abundant sorrow give the film a more hopeful pathos.

Rothbart and Cohn chose the strict documentarian approach, affixing their attention squarely on the subjects. There is no directors' introduction or running commentary, and almost every sequence is from the perspective of the townspeople (coach, player or family member).

One can't help but wonder what effect the cameras had on these kids. Perhaps the relationships the crew forged with the town of Medora helped instill some lost pride and maybe even helped the basketball team gain a bit of swagger.

Medora can be a tough watch, and while there are uplifting passages, in the end it echoes the challenging times we're all living through: no Hollywood candy-coating, just the raw human predicament.

The nickname of the nearby town of Seymour is The Crossroads of America. As this documentary seems to suggest, perhaps this tagline is more fitting of Medora at this moment in American history. To see Medora crumble is to watch America itself devolve into something ruinous.

But the resolve of Medora's coaches, families and kids demonstrates that there is beauty in the good fight and that we must all find a way to fight it even at the height of our heartbreak. 

Medora is the first feature documentary by both directors. Executive produced by Steve Buscemi and Stanley Tucci. 

Download/stream/more information available at: http://medorafilm.com/.