John Wilson's 'The History of Concrete' documents the hilarious, yet touching fragility of human existence

There are plenty of documentaries out there dedicated to chronicling the history of famous architectural landmarks, although you'd be hard pressed to find one about the material from which they're made from. Those components are considered secondary to the historical significance of the piece itself. Trying to sell a feature film about something as banal as the foundation of concrete may be an uphill battle, but it's one that John Wilson wholeheartedly believes in. He's probably one of the only people who can find the pathos within something we walk on every day. It's not the first time the New York-based documentary filmmaker has explored topics of the banal, as episodes of his critically acclaimed television series "How to With John Wilson" are allotted to stories about splitting the check at a restaurant or finding a parking space in one of the busiest cities in the United States. One of the best episodes is about the beauty, burdens and temporary solutions of scaffolding. But like the show, "The History of Concrete" is about much more than the tenants of the compositing material. When Wilson points a camera at New York, it presents him with once-in-a-lifetime imagery you couldn't even plan for, and yet he has this masterful ability to transform it into a gutbustingly funny, yet touching portrait of the fragility of human existence. He proves there's pathos in just about everything you set your eyes on and is more than willing to indulge in the people with special interests you wouldn't even dream of covering. The main difference between "How To" and "The History of Concrete" is that the former is constructed around 30-minute episodes with a natural starting point, and the latter is still trying to pitch itself as it goes. But like most fruitful ideas, the documentary's genesis comes from something that affects how we live our lives. In the film, we see Wilson talking about renting out different levels of a house, one he acquired from his landlord a little while back, to friends and loved ones at a discounted rate. Unfortunately, the historical nature of the building means it's at the whim of the elements, with cracks, leaks and even flooding making things difficult whenever it rains. It's particularly troublesome because there are certain ways to patch this stuff up, but doing so incorrectly can only make it even more complicated (and even embarrassing) to deal with. This sets him out on a journey to uncover why we put so much pressure on concrete to keep everything together. Wilson masterfully captures just how much we're surrounded by the titular compositing material in our day-to-day. You don't really pay much attention to it though unless you have a vested interest or it inconveniences you. Concrete is virtually inescapable, especially in a city like New York. He explores how it's meant to act as load-bearing structural glue that, much like people, crack as a result of time and pressure. It's easy to take for granted how much we expect the material to hold up as a permanent solution. For as much as the film is about concrete, it's largely about the nature of being alive. There are whole worlds out there that exist well beyond our purview, and boy are they fascinating to get a peek int. You'll never see an entire film based around the guy who scrapes gum off the pavement, but it's in "The History of Concrete" where you'll learn that the self-desginated Gum Buster has his own branded wine for clientele. He even lets Wilson test out one of his steam-based scrapers, much to the filmmaker's amusement. It's also here where we're given a glimpse into the business of people who preserve tattoos after they pass away, along with the ethical complications of being courted to preserve Charles Manson's infamous forehead swastika. In many ways, "The History of Concrete" is an extended episode of "How To" where the people he meets will say something during their interview that sends him spiraling down a series of rabbit holes way too interesting to ignore. What sets Wilson apart is that, while he undoubtedly finds the bizarre humor in letting these people go on their tangents, he's never out to make fun of them. We live vicariously through his experiences of getting to know people with knowledge you wouldn't even fathom going out to learn for yourself, such as the final resting place of the man who inspired the canned Chef Boyardee meals. He asks questions (and may not be entirely onboard with their practice), but there's no doubt he sees them as people with lives that extend far beyond our own, and invites us to listen and empathize. Easy parallels are made between concrete and the crumbling infrastructure of our nation, albeit one that persists despite that hardship. After all, the world we live in is built upon centuries of people, places and civilizations that came long before, and the future that will inevitably build itself over us too. Wilson rather affectionately shows how the concept of forever is fleeting, and what really matters is how we take care of one another in the time we're on this mortal coil. This is John Wilson's world, and we're all just living in it. "The History of Concrete" is now playing in theaters.