REMOTE AREA MEDICAL Exemplifies Humanity In Healthcare #IFFB

"These people might as well be on the moon."

We've all had our fair share of health scares over the years.  My wife suffered from a growth hormone deficiency as a child and underwent some experimental treatments, while my sister seems to be in and out of the hospital for minor ailments all the time.  And whereas my younger brother was able to fight off cancer a few years back, a good friend passed away in 2009 from non-Hodgkin's lymphoma before he was able to finish college.  Throw in a few heart attacks and a burgeoning case of Alzheimer's on my mother's side, and you can see why I consider myself lucky to have always been in fairly good health.  In fact, the worst thing I've ever had to suffer through was a broken elbow when I was six, but that was due to my own poor coordination as a child.  (I fell down on my arm while playing tag.)  I'm lucky that I now have a job that provides me with excellent health insurance but that's a pretty new development in my adult life.  Once I graduated from college and was kicked off my parents' policy, I became one of about 44 million Americans without health insurance.  I spent the next five years in Los Angeles playing health care roulette, hoping I wouldn't fall ill or get into a major car accident that would easily bankrupt me.  It's absolutely ludicrous that this country does not have universal health care, and the system that we've all submitted to is nothing less than insane; while it's certainly saved people's lives, it's destroyed plenty of others in the process.

Remote Area Medical is a documentary that aims to shed light on the lives of some of those folks who've been marginalized by inadequate access to proper health care.  Directors Jeff Reichert and Farihah Zaman are wildly successful in their effort, presenting a tale that is light on politics and heavy on the heart.  (In the interest of transparency, Zaman is an old friend, although we'd been out of touch for sometime until I saw this film.)  The movie shares a name with an organization that administers free pop-up health clinics throughout rural America.  It actually began by providing services to remote areas of the Amazon, until founder Stan Brock changed gears when he realized the dire need of people throughout Appalachia and the other more secluded areas of the United States.  The lack of adequate care in these areas is simply staggering.  In some cases it's a matter of being too physically removed from proper doctors and hospitals, but for most patients it's largely a matter of cost - whether it's a lifetime smoker with spots on her lungs or someone suffering with a mouth full of weak and broken teeth.  When you're struggling to make ends meet and have no kind of insurance coverage, even something as simple as a pair of glasses can feel like a miracle.  RAM helps to make those everyday miracles a reality for those in need.

The film covers a three day clinic held in April of 2012 at the Bristol Motor Speedway in Tennessee.  The process is daunting for potential patients: services are provided on a first come/first serve basis, which means that people set up camp in the stadium parking lot days in advance to ensure a slot.  And some services, notably dentistry, are in such demand that needs are often triaged for the same of time management.  For most attendees it'll be their only chance to receive medical attention all year (RAM tries to revisit areas on an annual basis) and in some cases it's the first time they'll ever undergo a process like an X-ray or an eye exam.  The doctors, nurses and technicians, all of whom are volunteering their time and services, treat almost 2,000 patients over a single weekend, with many more being turned away each day.  Reichert and Zaman, both of whom have previously volunteered at a RAM clinic, manage to present a number of fascinating different perspectives throughout the clinic, talking to doctors and patients alike.  For medical show junkies, they manage to get the cameras in close for a few procedures, including one woman, unable to kiss her husband for over a year, who gets a number of abscessed teeth pulled.  There are also some really strong moments from some of the people working behind the scenes, including one guy helping to craft false teeth who as actually a jeweler by trade, but started learning to make dentures when he realized that they were using a lot of the same equipment he was used to.  However, the filmmakers smartly keep the focus on the patients themselves, all of whom have engrossing and often heartbreaking stories to tell.  What's truly stunning is that, despite these crushing stories and circumstances, so many of these people remain so incredibly upbeat and optimistic.  The stadium parking lot is at times almost reminiscent of a block party, with kids running around playing while the adults grill food and, against all odds, continue to make the best of a truly terrible situation.  It's somehow both depressing and inspiring in equal measure.

The recent healthcare debates in this country have been absolutely maddening to watch, with too many politicians working for the interests of insurance corporations instead for their actual constituents.  The GOP-controlled House recently held their 38th meaningless vote to repeal "Obamacare" while right-leaning governors continue to refuse federal healthcare funding and try to dismantle the Affordable Care Act piece by piece on the state level.  Not only that, but the sheer quantity of misinformation and outright lies (death panels, anyone?) has made it almost impossible for anyone to have a real conversation about this stuff.  But while politicians and corporate lobbyists spin themselves in circles, there are millions of Americans who remain stranded by a broken system.  There's just no excuse for so many to continue suffering from diseases and conditions that are not only treatable but, in many cases, also preventable.  Remote Area Medical attacks this modern travesty head on, giving the healthcare crisis not just one human face, but dozens of faces that simply cannot be ignored or forgotten.

It's an incredibly powerful film that proves there's nothing so magnificent or so powerful as the simple act of people helping people.


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Title: Remote Area Medical
Director: Jeff Reichert, Farihah Zaman
Starring: Val Crosby, Rhonda Begley, Johnny Peters, Stan Brock
Year Of Release: 2013
Viewing Method: Independent Film Festival Boston

Celluloid And Digital Travel Along, Singin' A Song In SIDE BY SIDE

"Technology pushes art and art pushes technology."

I consider myself lucky that I got to experience both the death of analog world and the birth of digital.  I remember playing actual records in my house as a little kid.  (I was of that rare breed that listened to Yellow Submarine and The Monkees in equal measure.)  Eight-tracks were before my time, but I did own a red and yellow Sony Walkman with a little window in the back that showed the actual gears turning as it played the Ghostbusters II soundtrack on cassette tape.  I remember having my mind blown by the graphics on the first Nintendo console and spending what felt like an entire Christmas day watching my older cousin play Super Mario Brothers all the way to the end.  But when it came to movies, VCRs and VHS tapes were just an accepted part of my reality.  It was always easy to watch movies at home, but even as a child I could tell that the viewing experience just wasn't the same.  In fact, I vividly remember getting into an argument with my parents about how much I wanted to see a movie (I think Neverending Story II) in the theater as opposed to waiting for it to come out on video...not because I didn't want to wait, but because "the picture doesn't look the same."  VHS always felt soft and fuzzy, whereas projected film had all kinds of wonderful grain and texture that simply didn't exist in my living room.

The argument over image quality is only one aspect of Side By Side, a documentary produced and hosted by Keanu Reeves that explores "the science, art and impact of digital cinema."  For anyone who's ever wanted to learn more about the actual technical process of filmmaking, this doc serves as a wonderful primer.  First of all, director Christopher Kenneally walks you through everything from shooting to editing to color timing to exhibition to archiving.  It's a simple but effective layman's tour of an art form that millions adore but few truly understand.  Moreover, Reeves and Kenneally have assembled a varied and auspicious collection of film talents to offer their own opinions on the perils and promise of digital filmmaking.  We're talking about cinematic legends of every stripe and more Academy Award winners than I could count.  Some, like Chris Nolan and Wally Pfister are die hard film devotees, while folks like Steven Soderbergh, David Lynch and Danny Boyle have fully embraced the freedoms of shooting digitally.  And that's just a taste: we also see household names like Martin Scorsese, James Cameron, George Lucas, David Fincher, Richard Linklater, Robert Rodriguez, Joel Schumacher, Lars Von Trier and Andy & Lana Wachowski, as well as journeymen like Bill Pope, Anthony Dod Mantle, Vilmos Zsigmond, Michael Ballhaus, and Walter Murch.  This is a documentary I would have loved to work on because I could listen to these guys talk about movies for DAYS.

The impact of digital reaches into every single aspect of cinema.  For instance, did you know that the production of celluloid film cameras ceased two years ago?  At the same time, design and innovation of digital capture cameras is currently moving a blistering pace and there's good coverage of the plethora of highly buzzed about cameras with badass names like Genesis, Alexa and RED Epic.  When it comes to theaters these days, everyone's talking about 2D vs 3D, but there's also a fascinating conversation to be had about digital vs celluloid projectors.  For instance, I recently donated to the Kickstarter project for the Brattle Theater in Cambridge to help them get a new digital projector in order to continue showing older films in rep.  It's a necessary acquisition as studios have become more and more reluctant to send out bulky and costly film prints as opposed to compact digital drives.  (Because the Brattle is awesome, they're keeping their 35mm projector as well.)  And if you've been hearing people throw around the term "4K" and want to know what the hell they're talking about, Side By Side has you covered.  There are also startling implications in terms of film preservation.  Since the advent of digital video there have been over 80 different formats and the majority of them are currently unplayable.  (David Fincher notes that he has shelves filled with original tapes of his incredible music video work, and most of it he can't actually watch.  That's depressing on so many levels.)  George Lucas makes the valid point that so much of the world's information is currently stored digitally that there's simply no way that we as a society will allow these formatting issues to continue; at some point someone's going to figure out a way to maintain digital information over the long term, but until that happens celluloid remains your best bet when it comes to film archiving.  You keep a celluloid print in a cool, dark space and it'll last for a hundred years.  Meanwhile, I just got a crate of old VHS tapes from my parents and I haven't owned a VCR in over a decade.

I think the key to this documentary is in the title.  For so long the debate has been about whether or not digital can/should replace film outright.  These arguments are usually centered around image quality, specifically that digital simply doesn't look the same and that film purists are so attached to that specific visual aesthetic that they'll never accept what they consider to be a substandard picture.  However, as more time passes and digital cameras become more and more omnipresent, I think that issue becomes less and less important.  (When it comes right down to it, the majority of audiences in your local multiplex can't really tell the difference anyway.)  It's not about one replacing the other, it's about creative choice.  There are movies like Avatar and Sin City that simply would not exist without the advent of digital.  And it's not just effects.  Digital cameras have become so much smaller and lighter that there are opportunities to physically shoot in ways that are impossible with traditional film.  (28 Days Later and Che are held up as great examples of this argument.)  Meanwhile there are incredible artists out there who have spent a lifetime honing their craft using the tools of celluloid, so they're going to continue working in that medium.  And I wouldn't want them to change!  Let Wally Pfister shoot his movies however the hell he pleases.  While he comes off a bit combative in his interview, at the end of the day he knows what a camera can and can't do and I want him to have the freedom to use every tool available to him.

When Peter Jackson's The Hobbit was released last year, the conversation was dominated by the presentation of 48 FPS.  One reviewer (whose article I can no longer find) rightfully pointed out that everyone was treating the higher frame rate as the canvas, when really it should be considered as just another type of paintbrush.  Ultimately I feel the same way about digital in general.  Yes, there are gonna be studio heads who push the use of digital because it's cheaper, and Chris Nolan makes a salient point when he says that he's constantly having to justify shooting on film, while no one's being asked to justify shooting on digital.  But it's really all about storytelling, and while the technology will certainly evolve and change over time to meet creative needs, it doesn't need to erase everything that came before.  I see both film and digital continuing on for a long time to come, each serving the will of artists and the imagination of audiences, side by side.

(Sidenote: The final line of the film is probably the most awkwardly edited last line of any documentary I've ever seen.  It sounds like they cut the guy off mid-word.  So weird.)

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Title: Side By Side
Director: Christopher Kenneally
Starring: Keanu Reeves, Stephen Soderbergh, Martin Scorsese, Danny Boyle, James Cameron, Anthony Dod Mantle, George Lucas, David Lynch, Christopher Nolan,
Year Of Release: 2012
Viewing Method: Netflix Instant (Laptop)

Ownership And Exploitation Collide In SHUT UP LITTLE MAN!

"If you want to talk to me, then shut your fuckin' mouth!"

About a quarter of the way into Shut Up Little Man!, it occurred to me that the basic plot of my second documentary screening was very similar to my first, Winnebago Man.  Both focus on recordings that were passed around without the subject's knowledge and became viral sensations well before the advent of the internet.  Fortunately the similarities end with that basic set up and some of the overall structure.  While Winnebago Man feels somewhat light and charming, there's a darker underbelly to Shut Up Little Man! that the film happily did not shy away from.

In 1987, two twenty-somethings named Mitchell D. and Eddie Lee Sausage moved from their hometown in Wisconsin to San Francisco, taking up residence in a ramshackle pink apartment building they quickly dubbed the Pepto Bismol Palace.  They quickly discovered that their next door neighbors, two older men named Peter Haskett and Raymond Huffman, largely spent their days drinking vodka and their nights angrily screaming and cursing at each other.  The walls of the apartment were so thin that the young punks could clearly hear these arguments at all hours of the night, and when Eddie finally tried to confront Ray one evening, Ray threatened to attack him.  Eddie and Mitch retreated to their apartment, stuck a microphone onto the end of a ski pole, held it outside their window, and started recording Peter and Ray's arguments*.  The cantankerous old men could see the microphone and knew they were being recorded, but that just made them fight even more, and over the next few months Eddie and Mitch recorded over 12 hours of profane, homophobic vitriol on cassette tapes.

Mitch and Eddie would make mix tapes (!) for friends and often splice in little tastes of Peter and Ray between tracks.  People started coming over just to listen in live and make whole copies of the unedited recordings.  The cassette tapes would then get copied and passed around, until Mitch and Eddie were finally contacted by the editor of a magazine for audiophiles that focused on found recordings, prank calls and other strange instances of audio verite.  They eventually started selling the tapes under the title Shut Up Little Man, which was a frequent exclamation of Peter.  The liner notes included a disclaimer that essentially renounced any kind of copyright, encouraging the listener to appropriate, adapt and distribute the recordings however they saw fit.  Shut Up Little Man started appearing everywhere, as comics, artwork, a DEVO song, and even a fully staged theater production.

It's at this point that things get really interesting.  Three different parties started to develop some form of a Shut Up Little Man movie: Eddie and Mitch, the L.A. playwright who wrote the stage play, as well as a friend of Mitch who was affiliated with another production company.  All these competing movie projects were faced with a unique challenge: First of all, when the play went up in Los Angeles, Mitch and Eddie made an abrupt about face and added your standard copyright to the tapes they were selling, leading to some debate as to whether there's any sort of legal ground for trying to put the artistic toothpaste back into the tube.  At the same time, it was clear that the two had never secured any kind of permission to tape their neighbors, whether they knew they were being recorded or not.  Regardless of Eddie and Mitch's dubious copyright claim, someone was going to have to track down Peter and Ray to get their legal blessing.

Here is where the tone of the movie abruptly shifts.  Up till now the whole thing has been pretty amusing, seeing old photos of these goofy kids contrasted with the hilariously hateful audio screeds of their cranky neighbors. They even go so far as to recreate certain scenes and incidents, with the older Mitch and Eddie playing themselves and some lookalike actors standing in for the now-deceased Peter and Ray.  There are interviews with some of the quirky artists who were inspired by Shut Up Little Man, as well as a few audiophiles whose basements are filled with old cassette tapes.  But once the search for Peter and Ray begins, the whole thing takes on an unsavory vibe.  Passing around tapes of your crazy neighbors swearing for your own entertainment is one thing, but now there's (potentially) serious money on the table, and it quickly becomes clear that nobody gives a fuck about these poor old guys.  By the time the movie deals come into play, Ray has died and Peter is living alone in a tiny apartment.  We watch as he's given a check for $100 dollars and signs a legal release to one of these would-be producers, and as they explain the entire legend of the Shut Up recordings, Peter seems to only have a cursory understanding of what's going on.  (He clearly doesn't fully grasp the situation or he else wouldn't have settled for $100.)  Eventually he even parrots back his catchphrase, "Shut up little man," just because he senses that it'll make these strangers happy.  It's a moment that's both adorable and heartbreaking.

The film craters out when Mitch tracks down Tony, Peter and Ray's occasional third wheel, who's now living in a single resident occupancy building after spending a few years in prison for assaulting Peter sometime after Ray's death.  He's the only other living witness to the events of the Pepto Bismol Palace, and the guys clearly think it's important to get him on camera.  It takes two visits, a six pack of beer, the promise of money and a whole lot of cajoling through the doorway before he'll even talk to Mitch.  It's a depressing scene, and it's clear that they've totally lost sight of the fact that these are actual people and not just tools to help them make a better documentary.  Again, we see Eddie and Mitch chuckling as Tony does his best Ray impression, which is a little unsettling because it feels like they're laughing at him, not with him; Tony is definitely not in on the joke.

Despite taking a weirdly depressing and uncomfortable turn in the last half hour, it's pretty fascinating to see these two middle aged guys who are still so inextricably tied to something that boils down to sophomoric fucking around and wasting time while stoned.  Eddie Lee Sausage is still selling tapes, CDs, bumper stickers and other paraphernalia out of his basement to this day.  It'd be like if I made a short film after college and then tried to live on it for the next twenty years, except the film was actually just secretly taped footage of my angry ex-military police officer neighbor yelling at me for 15 minutes and questioning my manhood after I had the temerity to host a loud dinner party ON THANKSGIVING.  (This really happened, although sadly I didn't have the foresight to get it on film.)  Eddie makes makes no bones about the fact that he believes he's making art, and if he had taken those recordings and tweaked or altered them in some way I'd probably agree with him.  (I admit, the fake labels for Peter Haskett Vodka are pretty clever.)  But it's just as easy to argue that he and Mitch are essentially just peeping toms, appropriating materials to which they have no ownership and exploiting the "hilarious madness" of two sad old men in the process.

Still, those recordings are pretty damn funny.


*Everytime I typed the words "Peter and Ray," I couldn't help but think of Peter Venkman and Ray Stantz.  The image of Dan Aykroyd snarling, "Go to hell, you fucking cocksucker," and Bill Murray screaming back, "Shut up, little man!" is fantastic.  This should be the plot of Ghostbusters 3.  

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Title: Shut Up Little Man: An Audio Misadventure
Director: Matthew Bate
Starring: Eddie Lee Sausage, Mitch D, Peter Haskett, Raymond Huffman
Year Of Release: 2011
Viewing Method: Netflix Instant (TV/Laptop)

WINNEBAGO MAN Examines Life Beyond The Meme

"I have no interest at all in getting to the person.  I don't want the reality of it, I want to see the buffoon." 

"He's everybody's grandpa.  Everybody's angry grandpa."

I'm going to preface this entry by saying that Tuesdays are going to be rather tricky for me.  In addition to my day job and this seemingly Sisyphean undertaking, I also host pub trivia at a friend's bar, which means I only have so many hours in the day to watch a movie and also write something up.  Most weeks I'm just not going to be able to do both, so Tuesday's writing is often going to be delayed until Wednesday.  At the same time, I REALLY enjoyed Monday night's screening of Park Chan-Wook's Stoker, so I don't want to rush through writing about it just to keep from being two movies behind all week long.  So instead I'm going to go out of order and talk about Tuesday's viewing of Winnebago Man.

I really like sushi.  I was a picky eater as a child, but my friend Bart finally convinced me to try it after college and I really enjoyed it.  My wife, on the other hand, has no taste for the stuff, which means that I generally don't eat it very often.  In fact, I often go long periods of time without eating sushi at all, to the point that I eventually forget just how much I like it.  Then I find myself in front of a sushi buffet at some work function or alumni event and I think to myself, "Oh yeah!  This shit is delicious!"

I have a similar attitude about documentaries.  Since my background is in acting and directing, my attention is naturally drawn to narrative films, but then every so often I end up seeing a documentary and I'm suddenly reminded, "Oh yeah!  This shit is delicious!"  My recent wake up call came while watching the excellent Paul Williams: Still Alive on a plane ride home after Christmas.  In a sense I think that the documentary style has been somewhat diluted by the rise of weekly "reality" programming, (or as I call it, The Death Of Television) but whether it's centered around a specific person like Paul Williams or focusing on a more general story like Murderball, documentaries offer us a unique window into the drama of the real.

My wife often teases me because, while I am certainly a child of the digital age as well as an acolyte at the altar of technology, there are wide swaths of the internet to which I not only remain ignorant, but also actively avoid.  I don't have the time or patience to engage with people on message boards and comment sections (To quote Josh Lyman, "It's Lord Of The Flies in there!") and the majority of memes rise and fall without my knowledge.  That includes a lot of viral videos, so it was hardly a surprise that the subject of Winnebago Man was entirely unknown to me prior to hearing about this doc.

The Winnebago Man YouTube clip (amassing over 4 million views as of this writing) is a series of outtakes from a Winnebago company industrial video starring salesman Jack Rebney.  The video (and Rebney himself) are commonly referred to as "The Angriest Man In The World," as it's essentially 5-10 minutes (there are different cuts out there) of Rebney swearing at his film crew, cursing himself as he forgets his lines and angrily swatting at flies in the sweltering Iowa heat.  If you haven't seen the video before, hell even if you've already seen it a dozen times, then I defy you to click on one of the above links and not laugh out loud.

What separates Winnebago Man from most other viral videos is that it achieved cult fame long before the advent of the internet.  The montage was actually passed around on VHS tapes, each one getting copied and recopied whenever it changed hands until most people probably were probably watching fourth or fifth generation versions.  Once it found its way to YouTube, the Winnebago Man quickly became a worldwide phenomenon.  However, no one really knew what had become of Rebney himself, with many assuming he had died of an ulcer or a heart attack.  The man was a celebrity, despite the fact that nobody really knew who or where he was.

The documentary chronicles director Ben Steinbauer's quest to track down Rebney and discover the truth behind this ornery idol.  The hunt is interesting, but in the end, Rebney just turns out to be a crotchety old man who lives alone in in the mountains of Northern California.  He's very well read and he clearly has an affinity for language, never saying two words when he could say ten instead.  While he's aware of his internet fame, he regards it as a just another sign of humanity's plummeting collective IQ.  He doesn't want to talk to Steinbauer about himself or his notoriety.  He'd rather discuss the epic tome he's been writing about politics and religion, or how Dick Cheney is the worst person in the world.  He's long since resigned himself to the fact that society is not living up to his exacting standards, and so he's removed himself from it and seems content to curse and mutter to his dog Buddha instead of living with the hell that is other people.

Rebney's outlook is perfectly understandable considering the background information we do get about the man.  In the 1970s he was broadcast news director, although he eventually became fed up with what he saw as a cult of personality and left the business.  He eventually moved to Iowa and became a Winnebago salesman until he eventually shot the company's now infamous industrial video.  How did the outtakes ever make their way out to the public?  It turns out that the crew hated working for him so much that they cut his profane outtakes together, passed it out amongst themselves, and sent it to Jack's bosses at Winnebago specifically to get him fired.  Phone calls were made, statements were taken, and within a month Jack was gone.  He dropped off the grid and would remain MIA for about twenty years until Steinbauer eventually tracked him down in his mountain hideaway.

Far more interesting than the story of what happened to Jack Rebney is the idea of examining the actual people who exist long after the few rogue minutes of their life that were captured on film and put on display for our collective entertainment.  Early on, we get a montage of clips from various viral videos of people destroying their office equipment in frustration, unexpectedly vomiting on live TV, and painfully injuring themselves, most frequently by falling down.  (Again, I'll admit that most of these clips were pretty unfamiliar to me, except of course for the would-be ninja with the Afro.  That guy's persistence never ceases to amaze me.)  Steinbauer then devles into the saga of the infamous Star Wars Kid, who received so much harassment that he was eventually placed in a psychiatric facility.  The video was put online by mean spirited classmates, whom the boy's family later took to court.  This was the case that first coined the term cyber-bullying, a historical footnote of which I was unaware.  Honestly, I wish the film had spent a little more time on this aspect; Steinbauer uses it as context to wonder if Rebney is ashamed and hiding from his video legacy, but it seems like only a matter of time before someone puts together a compelling documentary that really explores this concept and these people in greater depth.

The movie eventually loops back around to this idea when Rebney is finally convinced to attend San Francisco's Found Footage Festival, where they've been showing the Winnebago Man video for years.  Rebney has a sense of trepidation about the whole thing, semi-convinced that he's going to come face to face with a crowd of slack-jawed morons.  Based on the interviews that take place with audience members in line, his concerns are not entirely unfounded, as a number of them basically say, "I hope he says 'fuck' a lot."  But after they show the video once more, Rebney comes on stage and the audience adores him.  He's downright playful with the festival's co-hosts (who are simply overjoyed to be in the same room with him) and when Rebney does eventually let loose and swear at the end, the crowd goes fucking NUTS.  Afterwards a number of people come up to meet him, including one very sweet girl who says that she watches his video whenever she's having a bad day and it always cheers her up.  Rebney seems truly touched by her story.

Meanwhile those same audience members from before the show all rally to give me hope for humanity; rather than be disappointed that he didn't live up to their expectations as a guy who was essentially just going to swear and insult everyone, they feel guilty about their warped expectations.  In reality Jack Rebney seems like a sweet, well meaning, intelligent guy.  Yes, he also has a temper and he can certainly be difficult to get along with, but so what?  You can say the same thing about me, and I could probably say the same thing about you too.  We're all multi-faceted beings and no one should be judged on the actions of a single moment in time, no matter how outrageous (or unintentionally hilarious) it might be.

Except for extreme examples.  As the old joke goes, "You fuck one goat..."

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Title: Winnebago Man
Director: Ben Steinbauer
Starring: Jack Rebney, Ben Steinbauer
Genre: Documentary
Year Of Release: 2009
Viewing Method: Netflix Instant (Laptop)