Although it enjoys privileged and extensive access to the Burning Man festival—to both its participants and its bureaucracy—Jehane Noujaim and Vikram Gandhi’s *The Man Will Burn* is a fascinating yet baffling work, hampered by indecision regarding its structure, themes, and purpose.
Across its four-hour runtime—which feels rushed and fragmented—the HBO docuseries succeeds in conveying the essence of the community fostered by Burning Man, as well as its ever-evolving infrastructure and internal political conflicts. It also offers insight into the event's overwhelming whiteness and inherent privilege, sheds light on several turbulent years in its history, and addresses the challenges it faces moving forward. Yet, for the most part, the series is overwhelmed by an excess of material and a notable lack of clarity and rigor.
Stars: Kimbal Musk, Lindsay Handren, Larry Harvey
Ultimately, *The Man Will Burn* feels too much like an extended advertisement for an event that needs no promotion, falling short of providing a truly in-depth analysis. That said, if you are looking for a beautifully shot Burning Man promo featuring great archival footage, you will find plenty of valuable content here.
*The Man Will Burn* begins in the days leading up to a major announcement regarding the festival's 2021 edition. As one might recall, the world was in the grip of a global pandemic and events were frequently being cancelled; faced with this situation, CEO Marian Goodell, the board of directors, and the Burning Man community were divided.
Was it better to cancel the 2021 event—thereby giving attendees another year to get vaccinated and adopt COVID safety measures—so the festival could make a triumphant return in 2022? Or was it necessary to bring Burning Man back to preserve the brand's values, satisfy its passionate fanbase, and ensure its future financial viability? Much to the dismay of Kimbal Musk—a board member, investor, and Elon’s brother, who gives the distinct impression that a sense of entitlement is genetic—the decision was made to postpone Burning Man for another year.
This decision also came as a disappointment to Lindsay, a teacher conducting online classes from Pasadena, and Ray, a Black veteran living in rural North Carolina. Both Lindsay and Ray were planning to attend Burning Man for the first time; their stories serve as an entry point for viewers, explaining—from their own perspectives—the appeal of deciding to become "Burners." The idea, presumably, is to show that no two first-time attendees are alike.
We see and hear what drew them to the festival—a blend of culture, art, music, sex, and drugs. At the same time, we learn about the origins of Burning Man, tracing its roots back to the Bay Area and a mission that expanded first to the Nevada desert and then across the globe. We meet several of the original founders—who emerged from the Cacophony Society—such as John Law and Michael Mikel, as well as the new generation of leaders who took the reins in 1999 with the creation of Black Rock City LLC.
As with any business or creative venture, various interests were at play in the planning and organization of Burning Man; and while Goodell and Musk might have wanted different things, both sought the best for the festival. A cordial, conciliatory spirit comes across—one that feels somewhat unconvincing, yet stems from the close collaboration between the filmmakers and the Burning Man Project (BMP).
Or, to put it another way: I would give anything to know what Goodell and other Burning Man idealists *really* think about Musk—and about the festival’s reliance on so many Silicon Valley millionaires and billionaires who think they know what’s best.
Instead, the documentary concludes that, beyond superficial conflicts, everyone is seeking what they consider best for Burning Man, and that their disagreements—however deep—are ultimately harmless. This translates into many people repeating official talking points about the festival and its idealism—to the point where Burning Man becomes almost indistinguishable from the various cults featured in recent documentaries, such as the two seasons of HBO’s *The Vow* (both co-directed by Noujaim). The difference is that, in *The Vow*, there was no great interest in painting NXIVM in a positive light. The festival is photogenic thanks to a combination of factors: participants in eclectic outfits (or scant clothing), dazzling pyrotechnics, a deliberate evocation of the *Mad Max* films, DIY art projects that are as precarious as they are magnificent, and the evocative expanses of the Nevada desert—which, each year, transform into a city that functions in a symbolic sense, with a population that can exceed 80,000 people.
The documentary features a variety of festival veterans—known as "Burners"—including artists, logistics organizers, and enthusiasts who drive the narrative. After watching *The Man Will Burn*, one is left with a solid, albeit thoroughly sanitized, version of what the festival is today: an event where the greatest enemies of this improvised paradise are mobile phones, social media influencers, and the mainstream media, which continues to treat Burning Man with sensationalist voyeurism. We are told that this caused serious issues when allegedly erroneous reports circulated regarding destruction and devastation during the rain-plagued 2023 edition. Here, we are assured that everything was perfectly fine; the footage of the flooded desert plains is so beautiful that only a killjoy would take issue with the official message repeated ad nauseam: "Everything is fine! We’re all okay!"
The documentary derives drama from the 2021 cancellation and the subsequent "rebel" event, the attempt to reintegrate the festival into the official organizational structure the following year, and, finally, the 2023 deluge. The years that followed have brought even more conflict—particularly regarding Burning Man’s financial situation—yet *The Man Will Burn* stops at 2023, as if all problems had been overcome or, at the very least, were not worth addressing three years later. This is just one of many moments where the series teeters on the brink of breaking away from the "it’s a community for outcasts and one big family!" narrative, without ever actually doing so.
The episodes gloss over the conflicts between the festival and the local community—businesses and law enforcement—in Gerlach, Nevada. The documentary then drops the subject entirely, having never established a narrative of concerns more serious than "where will the hippies relieve themselves if there aren't enough portable toilets?" The festival’s more ambitious aspirations—such as purchasing surrounding desert land and plans to create a sort of "philosophical center"—are also approached with caution. Yet, once again, the documentary drops these subjects. An incipient power struggle within the board of directors and among traditional leaders is palpable, with Elon Musk cast as a potential antagonist. But the film moves on from this, concluding with expressions of respect—which feel entirely implausible—from those who had appeared to be adversaries. Almost every storyline involving key figures reaches a seemingly happy resolution, after which the documentary shifts focus.
At no point does it seem that Burning Man or its key figures are pressuring the filmmakers to impose a specific version of reality, nor does it appear that HBO demanded the rough edges be smoothed over. Nevertheless, the overall impression is of filmmakers more interested in lighthearted participation than in investigative inquiry; more inclined to gaze in awe and listen to cult-like ramblings than to ask uncomfortable questions. One could imagine a version of *The Man Will Burn* that was shorter, punchier, and perhaps sensationalist, or one that was longer, richer, and more complex; instead, we get something in between: entertaining, superficial, and ultimately bland—precisely what Burning Man has always avoided becoming.
Comments
Post a Comment