Homegrown can be translated as native, indigenous. But it also refers to everything that distinguishes the homemade, the unique, or the homegrown in its most endearing, affectionate, but always untranslatable sense. Michael Premo decided to title his documentary this way and struggles not so much to come up with an explanation as with a precise definition or synonym for the term. Each attempt stumbles upon the almost tautological evidence of what is defined. It could be said that the difficulty in finding a solution is, in its own way, the very soul of the uncompromising film that Movistar+ premieres today. "Too often," Premo reasoned at the film's presentation at the last edition of the Zinebi Festival in Bilbao, "we define ourselves by our differences, instead of trying to understand our similarities. We are so enclosed in our bubbles that we rarely interact with someone who has different perspectives. This contributes to reducing people with different opinions to one-dimensional caricatures." And he continues: "We see the Trump support caravans or the rise of racist or xenophobic sentiments throughout Europe, and our reaction is: 'They just need better information or education.' But this refrain is classist and elitist. If we are truly committed to building a plural democracy, we need to deepen our understanding of all people in our society."
Let's say that on this premise, the film Homegrown is built. It is all an effort of translation, of understanding, of what is supposedly unique, peculiar, and therefore supposedly untranslatable. For almost four years, from 2018 until the fall of 2021, after Joe Biden's election as president at the end of 2020 and the subsequent Capitol assault, Premo's team, with the director himself at the helm, lived "embedded" within the triumphant Trumpist movement. Actually, they accompanied three of its members in an almost obsessive way. The camera is at eye level with the three, the three men, the three Proud Boys, proud of their "Western chauvinism" (not racism or sexism, they say), the three natives of themselves and enthusiasts of their peculiarities. And from there, without false didacticism, without manipulating the viewer's judgment and prejudice, the film paints a clear and devastating, contradictory, and above all, revealing portrait. Suddenly, the bubble bursts with all its contradictions. Just as incomprehensible as before, but at least recognizable for what they are: contradictions.
One by one, all the myths of paternalistic progressivism fall at the feet of a new form of fascism that pays no attention to class delineations, status, or education. "All the rage and fanaticism that accompanied the disappointment of 2020 is the rage and fanaticism that now accompanies the victory," says Premo. The defeat at the polls did not calm anything; it exacerbated everything. "What is truly terrifying is that they are the ones in charge now. Their obsessions, conspiracy theories, hallucinations, and, above all, their violence at this moment, after Trump's victory, are completely legitimized," adds the director. "In the 21st century, democracies die, not with a bang, like a military coup, but with a whimper, as faith in the idea erodes from within," he concludes as a moral.
And indeed, this is what explains Homegrown. The film introduces Randy (a retired soldier), Chris (a New Jersey worker about to become a father), and Thad (a Texan racist who surprisingly supports anti-racist movements) right from the start. Premo avoids giving explanations about what led them to where they are, what their beliefs are, or what their parents did for a living. There is no childhood trauma. Convinced that "liberals" and "Antifa" are the biggest threat, the three, armed beyond reason, share an unbreakable belief in an idealized past and make it their mission to make it a reality "again."
Of the three, perhaps the most fascinating is Thad, a simple, affectionate, endearing man caught in the contradiction of trying to make his openly racist colleagues understand the need to build bridges with anti-racist movements, as frustrated and angry as they are. Each of his conversations with a friend and Black Lives Matter activist is simply mind-bending. Self-deception exists, and this is it. As the film progresses, Chris takes on a more prominent role. As he prepares to become a father and strives to build furniture that can serve as both a child's paradise and a hiding place for his arsenal, he becomes obsessed with taking action to prevent Biden from "stealing" the elections and is willing to storm the Capitol for "justice" to prevail. He worries about bringing COVID home and, to the mockery of his colleagues convinced that the disease is just another fake from progressivism, he wears a mask. He talks to his Asian-origin wife (who barely appears) and then boldly defends "the race." When the long-contemplated assault finally arrives, Premo's cameras become exceptional witnesses not only because of the clear brutality shown, but also because now, we know who they are. And they have nothing to do with the caricature of a horned figure. The chill comes from the unsettling normality of these men, so peculiar, so unique, that they suspiciously resemble any of us. And that is frightening. "And even more terrifying is that they are the ones in charge now," Premo adds.