This past weekend, Brighton, England hosted the World Beard & Mustache championships, a strange event that makes a dandyist spectacle of a traditionally un-dandy secondary sexual charecteristic. Now, granted, certain trims can seem effete–George Michael’s penciled goatee comes to mind, as do Rolly Fingers’ curlicue and Geraldo Rivera’s sweep, or even David Ortiz’s manicured, mirrored “L”s. And I’m sure there are many other examples, both historical and contemporary, that I’m forgetting or never knew about. But overall, and especially currently, the communities one associates with facial hair—bears, Southern rockers, Harley riders, Wilford Brimley—are hardly known for devoting hours to their appearance (no matter how long they claim to spend sitting under the tattoo needle or tearing the sleeves off a new “If you can read this, the bitch fell off” t-shirt.)

Thus, the very concept of beard and mustache competitions is pleasantly counterintuitive. For that and other reasons that I’ll go into shortly, it seems a subject ripe for a feature-length documentary. The competition documentary is a time-tested genre, ranging from the spoof (Best in Show) to the genuinely touching (Angela Arenivar’s story in Spellbound), and has been particularly hot in the last decade. I did a quick google search for beard & mustache documentaries and, sure enough, someone is already on it. Splitting Hairs was begun in 2003 and is currently in post production, with no release date yet announced.

What drives the popularity of this genre? Is it novelty? The characters probably don’t have to be as compelling when the audience is also entertained by the introduction of something new–such as, for example, professional bodybuilding (though Pumping Iron was made thirty years ago, so we can’t count it as among the recent trend), wheelchair rugby, or large-scale competitions involving crossword puzzles, scrabble, or spelling bees. Lately, there haven’t been many documentaries about people trying to make it in conventional sports–at least few that I can remember reaching a wide audience. Hoop Dreams was 14 years ago; Through the Fire fairly narrowly targeted at hoop fans.

Perhaps, too, the prejudices of the documentary audience, which likely overlaps more with the arthouse than the stadium crowd, make it less inclined to jockish stories. Perhaps the jock can never be the underdog for those who were shut out of that culture and its attached social scenes growing up. And for others, the irony of the odd pursuit gives them the cover to indulge their closet Rocky instincts, rooting for the underdog, pumping their fists and armchair eye-of-the-tigering to victory. (How many of today’s Rocky fans get a thrill out of the movie that they’d never be able to get if it had been made today and didn’t sport the protective sheen of nostalgic, ironic appeal?) In this way, these documentaries may be like the movies of Wes Anderson and Owen Wilson, where the characters bear whimsical, absurdist touches that enable a hipster audience to cheer for and cry with them without feeling maudlin. (While I love the movies that Anderson and Wilson wrote, this technique is less appealing in a movie like Punch Drunk Love, where it’s used as a cover for a Charles Bronson-style “violence IS the answer” kick-ass-and-get-the-girl revenge yarn. (A shame because that movie was so cool in so many other ways).)

For a good critique of Anderson’s work, touching on the above themes and more, check out this piece by hipster-hater (but surprisingly insightful for a scapegoater) Christian Lorentzen. Lorentzen argues that the overriding theme of Anderson’s movies is the “fundamentally disappointing quality of adulthood.” I don’t know if he’s the first to zero in on this, but it seems a pretty apt assessment. Nevertheless, while fetishization of childhood and the prophylactic use of quirky style may sound like cheap gimmicks, I think there’s something fundamentally humanizing about writing vulnerable characters whose ambitions are both ridiculous and grand. After all, very few grand ambitions aren’t also a little ridiculous—and vice versa—and it’s nice to find a midpoint between Rocky and Don Quixote.

Finally, a note on an obvious charecteristic of these documentaries’ subjects—their unwavering commitment to their endeavors. It reminds me of a Vince Lombardi quote I liked as a child: “The quality of any man’s life has got to be a full measure of that man’s personal commitment to excellence and to victory, regardless of what field he may be in.” In a way, despite my lifetime immersion in sports culture, I was (and am) somewhat like the documentary audience I stereotype above, a little averse to and uncomfortable with that culture. As a kid, I was ambivalent about the macho ethos, feeling alternately empowered and alienated/constrained by it. I remember reading the Lombardi quote and thinking that the famous tough guy coach would have held someone like Mikhail Baryshnikov (not sure why he came to mind–I knew (and know) nothing about him or ballet) in high esteem, simply for the dancer’s total dedication to his art. You didn’t have to be a traditional tough guy; you just had to commit yourself to doing your job well.

Vince thinks you’re great as long as you do your best!

Oh, and as for the actual competition, a couple results: Pacific NW readers may be interested to hear that 22-year-old Olympia, WA resident Burke Kenny, the man with a last name for a first name and a first for a last, won best beard with a styled mustache. Similarly, Mr. Jack Passion, a mere 23-years-old, won the “marathon” of all categories—best full beard, natural. How many more victories do Kenny and Passion (would make for a hell of a buddy movie, eh?) have in the chamber? Clear your Thursday nights, Beard Fans, because it looks like Dynasty is back!

Jack enjoys a lighter moment

The Beard Team USA Blog

This entry was posted on Tuesday, September 4th, 2007 at 8:08 am and is filed under Wes Anderson, Cinema. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.