SO HELP ME GOD TAKES AN UNFLINCHING LOOK INSIDE COVID-ERA HOMELESSNESS
A desolate bridge. A sun-drenched sky. An air of utter hopelessness. Staring directly into the camera, a man delivers an unbroken, minutes-long monologue about the route that's led him to his present situation, living as part of an impromptu community of drifters, beggars, and the people society has left behind. This is the world of North Texas filmmaker Cody McClain's debut feature, So Help Me God, a raw, unflinching cinema verité exploration of homelessness that literally gives voice to its subjects by simply allowing them to tell their stories. Devoid of narration and composed of a series of heart-wrenching, raw, sometimes funny, and always vulnerable monologues, the film emerges as an elegiac meditation on a world that's been left behind, especially in the wake of the COVID-19 pandemic, which devastated the country’s vulnerable homeless communities.
While other documentarians would attempt to impose a narrative or include voiceover narration or talking head sequences, McClain-- who himself lived under the bridge for the duration of production in order to more fully immerse himself in his subjects' world and headspace-- instead creates a sense of slice-of-life, you are their ambiance by pointing the camera and shooting, inviting interviewees to open up and speak at length about their life's circumstances, hopes fears, and the state of American homelessness. As a result, God—shot in a stark black-and-white that both underscores the spiritual desolation of this world while also lending it an air of eerie beauty—can tend to be emotionally overwhelming, especially as the film nears its climax and a narrative organically emerges when it appears as though a particularly well-beloved member of the encampment has been abducted, leading to an impromptu rescue attempt at which McClain was present. Indeed, it’s reported that the hour-and-twenty minute cut screened by CineDump was originally over four hours long, a wise choice on McClain’s part to maintain a sense of pathos without wearing the audience down with empathy fatigue.
The film’s strength lies in its ability to humanize its subjects through interviews that feel more like conversations, so a longer version could have felt more like an evening stuck at an unpleasant work event. Rather, McClain allows you to spend just enough time with his subjects to get a sense of them as people and come to grasp some of the harsher realities of homelessness, particularly the variety that manifests itself as bridge-dwelling. It’s an exercise in empathy that lingers long after the film has made its final cut to black, especially as—in true verité fashion—it leaves the fates of several subjects in limbo. Homelessness is an unending problem, God tells us, and it won’t be resolved, rectified, or even improved by sitting in a theater for an hour and hearing people tell their stories; rather, that final cut is the impetus to stand up, walk out of the darkness, and do something about it.
Preston Fassel