Derailroaded - Inside the Mind of Larry "Wild Man" Fischer

"Do-Do-Do...Merry-Go, Merry-Go, Merry-Go-Round...Do-Do-Do"

Should you be lucky enough to get your hands on this next film in my list of documentaries not to be missed, the above lyrics will ring in your ears and bore chaotically through the innards of your brain for the rest of your days. You will never - I repeat never - be able escape the addictive jingle-jangleness of Larry “Wild Man” Fischer’s classic tune, Merry Go Round.

For those of you who don’t know (a crime I was guilty of before stumbling upon this film), Wild Man Fischer is an oft overlooked 60's cult icon plagued by bouts of manic depression and paranoid schizophrenia. (Picture a feral Daniel Johnston with extra helpings of personality.) His music is half jubilant, half tormented, three quarters noisy, two-thirds train wreck, and eerily reminiscent of whatever the hell that weird kid in third grade who smelled like milk would sing to himself while trying to make the teeter totter work without a partner. Essentially, Wild Man is that poor, lonely bastard all grown up.

Originally, this film appealed to me for the sheer spectacle of watching someone who is clearly batshit crazy self destruct, but it didn't take long for me to begin feeling strangely protective of Wild Man. Attempts to stab his mother and episodes of extreme paranoia aside, Fischer is an innocent, vulnerable, and entirely likeable guy. He’s like a little kid who just woke up after four hours asleep on a family road trip with only a vague idea of where he’s supposed to be and no concept of how that idea gels with what he’s actually seeing or more importantly, how he fits into that picture.

A perfect example of this mindset can be found in a subtle, yet significant, scene in which our aging hero wanders into a record store and asks the clerk if he’s ever heard of Wild Man Fischer. Now, coming from some overblown, over credited assbag like Bono or [insert random douche bag, famous musician here] this kind of conversation would have me reaching for my cyanide capsule, but its entirely different coming from Wild Man. It’s more a plea for reassurance than a contrived effort to get some “commoner” to sing his praises. This sentiment is echoed in a similar scene featuring Wild Man discoursing on various bands and how their level of fame measures up to his own. Again, instead of being nauseated by such a display, I am transported back to my playground days and passionate arguments over who would win in a fight between Batman and Superman. (Superman hands down, but I digress.)

As is the case with so many individuals afflicted with mental illnesses such as bipolar disorder, Wild Man is embroiled in a tragic catch-22. His illness, the very thing which gives him such a ferocious creative energy (or “pep” as he calls it), is the same sinister force that prevents him from achieving his dream of becoming a rock star. Unfortunately, the only medicines available to treat his disorders would rob Wild Man of the manic charisma which draws people in. In other words, he can either be an extra in a George A. Romero movie, or he can embrace the crazed genius that makes us love him. Either way, he ends up wandering the streets.

Perhaps the saddest thing about this documentary is the way Wild Man helplessly squanders a long list of great opportunities and the efforts of talented collaborators who sincerely want to help him. He runs the gamut from being discovered by Frank Zappa to being the first single released on Rhino Records like a cokehead blows through an eight ball in strip club bathroom. (Speaking of Zappa, keep an eye out for a classic scene in which he futilely tries to keep up with the improvisational skills of Fischer.)

The truly heartbreaking thing about this pattern is that Wild Man can’t do a damn thing to break free of it. No matter how hard he tries, he’s just not palatable to the mainstream, and his mental problems render him wholly unable to deal with the disappointment of not being universally loved and accepted. Case in point, the Zappa episode. Zappa claimed he could make Wild Man a rock star, and in his endearingly childish way, Fischer took it as a foregone conclusion. When the masses didn’t buy the record, Wild Man lost it, and Zappa dropped him. It was no one’s fault; it’s just how the dust settled.

In many ways, the experience with Zappa is a microcosm of Wild Man’s entire life. People meet him, become enthralled by him, and try to introduce the world to all the things they love about him. Inevitably, though, those same people who loved him eventually have to cut ties with Wild Man. Watching the film, you get the sense that it is just too difficult to be friends or collaborators with such an unstable source of creativity. It’s like hang gliding through a tornado. It might be the ride of your life, but you haven’t got a fucking clue where you’re gonna land.

* * * Spoiler Alert * * *

As the film wraps up, we find ourselves face to face with a Wild Man who has exhausted his supply of family and friends. He appears to be a ward of the state, and he is medicated. The paranoia and depression and manic episodes that plagued (or blessed – depending on your point of view) him seem to be gone. The moniker “wild man” no longer fits. Now, he’s just an old man named Larry. The only thing crazy about him is what’s left of his hair. He is empty, and he is alone, and he is probably too drugged to know that he is either. It’s an image you try not to dwell on because it just might break your heart. The end is in sight, but it’s of no comfort to anyone.

God bless you wherever you are, Wild Man, and to echo the senitments of director, Josh Rubin, I hope that someday you get your "pep" back.

"Come on and Merry-go, Merry-go, Merry-go-round...Do-Do-Do"

Derailroaded: Inside the Mind of Larry “Wild Man” Fischer
Directed by Josh Rubin
Ubin Twinz Productions, 2005