Through the 2010s, Potrykus has created a unique character type: the Midwestern Monster. In this interview he discusses the importance of trying to understand characters, ditching genres and the art of ending a film
A less-than-charitable viewer might call the protagonists of Ape, Buzzard, The Alchemist Cookbook and Relaxer losers. I, for one, have tended to see them like reflections in a hall of mirrors. Even at their depraved and desperate worst, they’re a lot like us. There’s just something off, something both compelling and repellent.
Joel Potrykus doesn’t expect you to like his characters, but he hopes you’ll try to understand them. Over four features, the Michigan-based director has rebuilt the slacker archetype, mostly in frequent collaborator Joshua Burge’s image.
I spoke to Potrykus about how his characters’ diets overlap with his own, how his films straddle the line between genres and whether it’s actually possible to fight a system. I only wish I’d thought to inform him that — in Philadelphia, at least — Chuck E. Cheese does deliver.
Split Tooth Media: You’ve self-described as a “junk food vegetarian” — a term I’ve stolen for myself — and each of your characters follows the same diet. What made you give up meat? Is it safe to assume nutrition wasn’t a big factor?
Joel Potrykus: I mostly gave up meat because my girlfriend, and producer, Ashley, went full vegan about five years ago. I joined halfway for her, not ready to give up cheese and all that good fat stuff. I still miss meat. But at this point, I’m down with the ethics and can’t see myself going back. Nutrition was most definitely not a factor. I’m about to eat a jar of peanut butter in a minute.
Obviously, your characters aren’t easy for everyone to relate to or sympathize with, but they’re also hard to look away from. What do you think makes them so uniquely compelling?
No idea. I never try to write a character that people will want to see, or learn about. Sometimes people are curious about them, but for the most part, I hear complaints about their negativity and lack of motivation. Whatever, I love them all. I think that’s the key — don’t look down on your dudes. Make them human and never predictable.
How much affection do you have for them?
I love them and most of all, I understand them. I don’t care if anyone likes or hates these guys, but I want them to try to figure them out. That’s key.
Read Pt. 1 of Bennett’s series on Joel Potrykus’ Midwestern Monsters: Ape and Relaxer
Each of your characters fights against ‘the system.’ Do you see yourself as working in opposition to a ‘system’ of any kind?
Maybe I faked it when I was younger. I don’t really see how someone can fight against some type of invisible ‘system,’ whatever that even means. I think a lot of people see themselves as radical, but Ian Mackaye is about the only guy around that actively pushed back against the industry he was in and affected the way artists thought about their art and commerce. I’ve always tried to do things like that, but I’ve never really felt much of a system holding me back. Filmmakers want as many eyes on their films as possible, so you’re unfortunately always trying to climb [an] awful rickety ladder.
To what extent are your films acts of rebellion?
They’re not. I’m just making movies that I want to see that don’t exist yet. I live in Michigan because it’s my home, and where my friends live, and going to LA means I’d be working for other people, which has never been my thing. I’ve spent my entire life trying to get people to leave me alone. I’m finally there, not as an act of rebellion, but an act of independence.
You only provide scant biographical details, but it’s clear all of your characters are carrying some traumatic, or at least troubled, baggage. How much of these ‘stories’ do you write ahead of time, how much do you encourage Joshua Burge and your other actors to do the same?
I never write the backstories. I have a certain roadmap in my head of how they came to be in this place at this time, but I prefer the characters to exist mostly in the present. Josh and I talk very little about this stuff, as I think it often clouds the performance and the actor overthinks the moment. I prefer an actor who lives on the page, as written. We always talk about why, which is the most important factor for behavior, but not where or how.
There’s obviously a combination of both nature and nurture at work in your characters’ psyches. To what extent are they molded by the ‘systems’ at play in their daily lives?
I think it’s all nurture. They don’t come from broken homes, but just regular American homes that are usually broken already. There’s no such thing as “normal” or “healthy.” It’s all a matter of perspective, and everyone pretty much thinks they’re doing what’s right. Everyone sees the world differently, and these characters are just trying to right some very small wrongs, I think. I think the only character that is consciously fighting against a system is Cam in Relaxer. He makes that pretty clear.
Do you see your characters’ behavior as the natural response to such hostile systems?
Yeah. We’re all products of a hostile environment. I have a two-year-old son and I’m not looking forward to sending him off to school. He’ll be so confused by the anger and fear around him. He’s so comfortable and protected at home, and the minute he leaves without us next to him, the corruption will begin. It’s a bummer, and so many people write it off as, “it’ll toughen him up.” I finally understand the motivation behind home schooling, as maladjusted as so many of those kids can be.
Read Pt. 2 of Bennett’s series on Joel Potrykus’ Midwestern Monsters: The Alchemist Cookbook and Relaxer
Your characters often make their influences obvious. In addition to all the posters and t-shirts, you’ve got moments like Trevor quoting from Stranger than Paradise. What are some of your less obvious influences?
It’s tough for me to think of too many things as an influence. I’m mostly taking from whatever’s in my memory at the moment or whatever I had just seen. I’m really just aspiring to make something like Kelly Reichardt but I can’t seem to play it straight. There’s always some ridiculous supernatural event or moment of blood that I need to talk about. Otherwise, my influences are pretty unsurprising. Monty Python is a big one.
One area that I haven’t seen addressed in many of the interviews you’ve done is your work as a professor at Grand Valley State University. What classes do you teach and what do you show your students?
Most of my students are pretty clueless as to my other life, I think. My movies are pretty obscure, even in my hometown. I teach scriptwriting, fiction filmmaking and a class on the history of film. I show a lot of Paul Thomas Anderson, examples of long takes, Jarmusch, 2001. We just watched Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans in my history class. Next week it’s Buster Keaton.
What do you think makes Michigan uniquely cinematic?
Nothing really. I don’t see it much different than most places. Everything is cinematic. I was watching Lords of Chaos tonight. To see those metal dudes in a Mediterranean restaurant is about as cinematic as cinema gets. That’s everywhere in the world. But to audiences overseas, they see a lot of L.A. and New York, so Ape seemed a little exotic to the Locarno audiences.
How do you help your students see it as cinematic, or at least unique?
I just tell them that they can make their movies wherever they want, and if they go to L.A., be prepared to make someone else’s movie. But also, be prepared to work at a bank or substitute teaching job if you stay in Michigan. Make your movies on the weekends.
You’ve described The Alchemist Cookbook as an outlier in your filmography, even saying that it doesn’t feel like your film. Besides the obvious differences, what separates it from the rest of your work?
I don’t see my friends on screen. I mean, Amari and Ty are friends, but they don’t live in Michigan or go to metal shows with us. I have a distance when watching that one. Also, it’s the first “big” movie I made, with a crew larger than six people and catering and insurance, and all the headaches that come along with a real movie shoot. And so much of the script was changed or tossed out while filming. I just wanted Ty to push himself and let the scene go wherever it needed to go. I love that movie so much.
Whatever its place within your body of work, The Alchemist Cookbook definitely operates the most like a traditional horror movie. Could you describe your relationship with the genre?
Horror has been my favorite genre since I was a kid, because it was the forbidden fruit. I grew up in a pretty strict house where there would be no talk or viewing of all things demonic. As a result, demons and the devil felt real and scary. I think we all make movies about our deepest hopes and fears, so Cookbook was a little nightmare movie for me. But I have no interest in genre, so it naturally just took detours that may confuse most horror audiences. I get that. It’s a tough one with very little resolution. It’s my horror poem.
To what degree do you consider each of your films ‘horror?’
None. I never think of any of them as anything, and find it very difficult to describe them to people, and actually don’t like trying to describe them to people. I find that boring and never does the movie justice. It feels I’m trying to tell someone about a dream I had, which is the lamest thing anyone could possibly talk about.
Do you tend to draw lines in the sand when it comes to genre?
I just don’t talk about it ever on set or when I’m writing. There’s only drama. Inside drama is comedy and horror and romance and just normal human emotions. That being said, my next script is my gothic romance story. Take that for whatever it’s worth.
What made 2019 look like the right time for Relaxer, a movie about Y2K?
I’ve just been wanting to set a movie in Y2K for a long time. It’s a somewhat forgotten period that younger kids don’t even remember or realize just how paranoid it got. There was an entire year or two of very real, mounting fear that all things modern may come to an end. People were building shelters and stocking up. It was silly and kind of freaky at the same time. It’s the ultimate timeframe for a Potrykus movie.
Each of your films has a superficially similar ending with a moment of triumph that’s immediately undercut. Why do you deny your characters a happy ending?
Well, that’s true for Buzzard and Cookbook, but Ape and Relaxer both end on a high note. They both end with the character looking right at you, smiling like they’ve never smiled before. Otherwise, that’s life, I think. All victories end with a reality check, sooner or later. I just like the reality checks that come really soon.
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