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Adidas Originals tread against the pavement as Wu-Tang Clan vibrates through the air. Kids on skateboards seemingly glide through a boundless boulevard, their silhouettes defined in the haze of the sunset. The courthouse looms over the concrete jungle, complete with the graffiti of its inhabitants. A routine exodus ensues at the mere mention of the "5-0.”
Martin Luther King Jr., Rosa Parks, Brown v. Board of Education, Montgomery bus boycotts, sit-ins. We have grown up learning about segregation; we have grown accustomed to the same black and white photos of labeled water fountains, the same sparkling four words that have come to represent an entire movement: “I have a dream.”
“Eighth Grade” opens with an image of a screen, blurry with the resolution of a webcam. Kayla Day (Elsie Fisher) speaks directly to the camera. She stutters, punctuates each word with “like,” forcing the audience to sit through her awkwardness for an uncomfortable amount of time. The rest of the movie follows suit — it’s cringeworthy as can be, but that’s what makes this debut film from Bo Burnham so great.
When most people think of documentaries, a very clear image comes to mind: talking heads, facts and figures, experts seeking to prove a certain truth. There may be variations of this form, but the word “experimental” usually doesn’t come to mind. However, sometimes the best works of art break the rules.
