Wrinkles the Clown, a 2019, experimental documentary, has made its way to Netflix.
The concept, directed by Michael Beach Nichols, who coscripted with Christopher K. Walker, isn't what one may expect, as it presents twists and turns regarding an anonymous, Naples, Florida performer who's up for hire among parents who wish to scare their misbehaving children into obedience. Garbed in his weird, forlorn mask and red, white-dotted costume (often manifesting in rigid, Michael Myers style), Wrinkles became and remains a celebrity, but was he ever as active as some believe or just the stuff of social-media hearsay?
The initial part of the documentary focuses on a man said to be the veritable Wrinkles, but he's later unmasked as actor D.B. Lambert, an understudy for the one who reputedly is Wrinkles. The latter, who's silhouetted with voice distortion, consumes the content from such point on, sharing his behavioral and ideological views (and thoughts about his copycat counterparts), but is he no more than another clever ruse?
Even the renowned "found footage" of Wrinkles (a clip where he emerges from under a little girl's bed) is staged. In addition, some hold firm that Wrinkles never held any official gigs. His "existence" rode off novelty posters, answering-machine recordings and off-the-cuff, phone exchanges (some amiable, others austere).
For the sake of comparison, Nichols' movie marches in step with Orson Welles' F for Fake, a 1973 documentary that covers the mass scare spurred by the Mercery Theatre's The War of the Worlds, as well as art forger Elmyr de Hory and Clifford Irving's prophetic book on Howard Hughes. In this regard, both productions question high-profile deception by exploring when and how fact and fiction merge.
For Nichols' opus, such ambivalence prompts urban legend (i.e. clowns in white vans who kidnap kids, the sinister Slender Man, et al), but this avenue also reveals the courage one must muster to overcome one's pop-cultural fears.
The children featured in Wrinkles epitomize this component, as they strive to understand their elusive, gruffy-voiced tormentor and conquer his frightful hold over them. The children's processing reminded me of how I, as a wee boy, learned that monsters were only actors in makeup and then to act out the roles that made Karloff, Lugosi, Chaney and Carradine famous. The kids in Wrinkles walk a similar path, dressing up as their "adversary" for the sheer creative and therapeutic fun of it.
That resonating outcome is my takeaway from Nichols' venture, and it's an empowering one. It doesn't matter if Wrinkles is (or ever was) an actual entity. It's a matter of what his legacy promotes. If one can see beyond a facade, then one can see the truth behind any front: indeed, a worthy life lesson.
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