Happy Campers
Enzian Theater, Maitland, Florida • April 13, 2024
directed by Amy Nicholson
Carl F. Gauze
One common theme I observe in documentary films is the “we had this cool thing” effect. A group of people find something in common, map themselves into the something, and that activity begins to define them. Maybe it’s a VHS store, or an obscure band, or a hopeless cause. Basically, any group activity that created camaraderie and long-term friendship can evaporate from outside forces.
In this rather bucolic study, we are somewhere on the outer banks of the Virginia shoreline. A small enclave of house trailers and rambling shacks houses a collection of fishers, boaters, cats, kids, and friendship. The issue is they don’t own the land under the community, and now a real-estate development is pushing them out in favor of condos and timeshares, which themselves might wash away in the next big hurricane.
The main feeling I get is that of longing for old summer adventures by which you identify yourself from that distant past. These folks may have property rights, or they may simply be squatters. Either way, their personal sandbar is about to be washed away by 21st century progress. It was inevitable: either Mother Nature or Father Land Development Speculator has the power to wipe it all away. Probability controls their destiny. And in this sad tale, each person is a sharply defined character with strengths, weaknesses, loves and hates. Sad cats wander about, apparently owned by and cared for by everyone. Small boys fish and swim in an ideal yet hazy world. We learn little about the developers or their story, and the most poignant scene comes at the very end. A big yellow machine enters the now evacuated site, and punches over one of the flimsy houses that the residents abandoned. One swipe of the mechanical arm and a shabby dream home becomes tinder. Somehow, it’s a metaphor for all of us.
Ages ago, my father advised me to stick my hand in a bucket of water and notice the effect it had when I removed it. That’s the metaphor here: enjoy it while you can, because someone will take it away sooner than you know.
This film was part of the 2024 Florida Film Festival, an Oscar®-qualifying festival now in its 33rd year.
