Review: A Dive Bar Captures the Soul of a Country Adrift in ‘Bloody Nose, Empty Pockets’
“I pride myself on not having become an alcoholic until after I was already a failure.”
In a dimly lit bar, an aging thespian wakes up from a night of heavy drinking. Weary-eyed and a bit confused, he gathers his things, wipes the grit off his face, and heads to the bathroom for an early morning shave as the bartender cleans the space he once occupied. Emerging looking a few years younger, he pulls up a seat at the bar and kicks off the day’s celebrations early with a shot of bourbon and a donut for breakfast. It’s the Roaring 20s, a Las Vegas dive bar off the main strip, and today is the last day it’ll be open.
Bloody Nose, Empty Pockets is Turner and Bill Ross’ latest effort in observational cinema and it just so happens to be their finest work yet. In 2012, they released Tchoupitoulas, a subdued documentary that used three brothers’ night on the town antics to create a beautiful mosaic of New Orlean’s nightlife and performance scene. Then in 2016 they made Contemporary Color, a live-performance color guard documentary that used unconventional editing and shot selection to distill an energy and passion largely untapped by orthodox means. Now in 2020, we are treated to Bloody Nose, Empty Pockets, a sunrise to sunrise “documentary” capturing the final conversations held within the four walls of a beloved bar.
Dive bars are, well, dives, but they’re our dive bars, you know? Everyone has one, and you don’t go to one for refined luxury or craft beer. You go there because you can get drunk off your ass with friends and strangers alike while learning more about life in one night than an entire year at school. In a way, it’s its own little community, and no sooner than ten minutes into the film you can feel that communal kinship within the Roaring 20s.
In the morning, a happy-go-lucky bartender with an elongated beard and a penchant for witty retorts will serve you up a pint while you sit next to a former actor who will tell you all about life’s wisdom. In the evening, a single mom with a no bullshit attitude, but a genuine compassion for her guests, will pour you shots of whiskey as you sit next to a large Australian man who’s about to drop acid. And somewhere between the wee hours of the night and the crack of dawn you’ll be having a smoke outside with a disenfranchised army veteran who will keenly point out that “A heap see, but a few know.” The patrons that wander in and out of Roaring 20s are quite the troop, and their exchanges with one another — not unlike what you’ve probably heard in your own experience — are the engine that drives Bloody Nose, Empty Pockets.
Shifting from one conversation to the next, the Ross Brothers compile these dialogs as a never ending stream of conscious, loosely defined by dividing chapters. Like their prior work, the premise is rudimentary, but the Ross Brothers’ acute eye for construction and formulation is where the magic lies. Tracing their work, they supersede surface level documentation and evoke the intangible, making their documentaries stand outs within the genre. However, it should be noted this “documentary” is constructed.
What I have described thus far has made Bloody Nose, Empty Pockets seem like the Ross Brothers heard about a local bar closing, decided they were going to document its final night, and make a film with what they captured, but the reality is they rented out a bar in New Orleans, assembled characters they met at assorted watering holes, and set them loose for the duration of the night. The film makes no disclaimers about this, and you would be none the wiser that the film was actually closer to a social experiment than a piece of fly on the wall cinema. In fact, it was only during the editorial proof making sure “observational cinema” was applied appropriately that I stumbled upon an article pulling back the curtain. Admittedly, I watched the whole thing twice thinking it was real, but truthfully, it’s more of a hybrid between between documentary and fiction than full-on, authentic documentary.
Construction aside, the interactions, conversations, and people within the film are still very real. Ever present is the sentiment that the individuals here are drinking their sorrows away. Divisive politics, economic ruin, existential unknown, and more are heard in passing around the bar, a public square of sorts where people try to find belonging. Within the walls of the Roaring 20s, everyone is a kindred spirit with pain that can be momentarily absolved by a few beers and a conversation with someone who feels the same way. Like the bar itself, they have all seen better days, and now that the bar is “closing,” it’s as if they must now face the harsh reality that their last call is here and they need to face the world outside, a world that is bleak and changing.
Set during the days leading up to the 2016 election (but filmed the day after), you get the sense that all these conversations are a reflection of the American populous. The seemingly random assortment of characters from all walks of life coming together under one roof, all expressing their hopes and dreams, their fears and concerns in a drunken tirade. It is a reckoning with the end that lands with an incredible weight, and within the cinematic dealings of the Ross Brothers, they capture the soul of a country adrift, creating a mesmerizing portrait that distills a nation in flux, its beauty and tragedy in all.
