‘Walking Man’ and The Joys of Small Stories
You won’t believe this, but someone I know made a movie. Like, a real movie. With cameras. Yes, this all happened well over half a decade ago, but I’m still processing how mind-blowing that is.
The “someone I know” is Eric Norwine and the movie itself is Walking Man — a film that, though directed admirably by Josh Salzberg, is a Norwine movie through and through. The film follows Eric (who co-wrote and produced the film) and his father Mark as the latter walks across the state of Missouri in the hopes of inspiring conversation around mental health in communities usually bereft of these discussions.
Mark doesn’t just do this for the cause, however — this is an issue that has come to play an all-too-important role in his own life. Mark spent decades suffering from bipolar disorder without a proper diagnosis, and it held a dangerous grip on his life several times over. Both him and his wife Lisa knew something was wrong, but for years had no idea that something like what Mark was suffering from was diagnosable — much less treatable.
Just this brief summation of a much larger and more complicated story begs the question: if the historical taboo of discussing mental health prevented Mark from knowing that he could get better, how many others are suffering in similar ways?
The impetus for Mark’s walk was a spate of suicides in the rural town of St. Clair. On the surface, there seemed to be no reason for such tragedy: St.Clair was a small, tight, and seemingly happy community. But Mark’s own experiences taught him how easily darker feelings can lurk beneath such a veneer.
The most popular documentaries often taken an insightful look at an epic and profound issue: think An Inconvenient Truth or The Act of Killing. That’s not to say slice-of-life documentaries don’t have their audience too, but there continues to be something moving about watching a film break down and take own some of the most pressing quandaries of our time.
In the beginning, it can be easy to think of Walking Man as a big-issue kind of film: its subject is undergoing a strenuous physical task to raise awareness about a huge problem. Over time, however, the film starts to showcase an unexpected aspect of the whole thing: mundanity.
Mark and Eric make light verbal jabs at one another, complain about blisters, fret over walking in the rain, have difficulty getting out of bad, and so on. The epic posture begins to fade, and we’re allowed to see the more human story at the heart of it as a result. Mark may be doing a big thing, but he’s just one man at the center of a much larger issue.
For some, this may come off as disappointing, but all involved creatively seem to understand the precarious position their film occupies between the minimal and the maximal. Right before what should the movie’s climax — Mark’s speech to the young people of St. Clair—he’s asked to refrain from mentioning anything to do with suicide, lest it discomfort the grieving students. Mark and Eric are dumbfounded by the request; if he can’t speak about this, how is he going to get his message across at all?
The result is a courageous one: Mark’s speech is nebulous and off-balance, but it’s showcased regardless. Audience engagement is low, and Mark does his best but can’t seem to succeed at connecting with these kids. It feels like a failure because, well, it sort of is.
Afterwards, Eric confronts Mark in frustration, incredulous about how any progress is ever going to get done if this is the kind of reception conversations about mental health get. Mark is characteristically equanimous: he understands that St. Clair is going through pain, and he knows that not everyone is at the same place in this learning process. Eric demands, in exasperation, “So you’re telling me that … this walk [isn’t] gonna solve the problem?”
In the film’s single most telling moment, Mark responds: “It’s a piece of the puzzle. It’s a piece of the puzzle.”
Most other documentaries would do everything they can to inflate the consequences of Mark’s walk, but Walking Man opts for a far more honest approach. Josh, Eric, and Mark all understand that the walk at the center of it all isn’t a paradigm shift — it’s a step towards something larger.
The trouble with heavy-hitting documentaries is that they can arrive with an air of authority: everything contained within is real, and there is no need for discussion afterwards. The same simply can’t be done for mental health; though the problem is monumental, those suffering are diverse and plural in their ailments.
It’s easy to write off Walking Man as small-time in its ambitions, but to do so would be utterly fallacious. Walking Man is a story of suffering and healing, one of many in a world that desperately needs to hear them. It doesn’t try to control the narrative because the narrative is not its to control.
There’s no underselling of what Mark went through or the power of what he achieved, but at the end of the day his experience is part of a greater whole. To see a movie acknowledge this is refreshing, and it would be a welcome start to a trend of other films doing the same.
