A thousand 17-year-old boys from Texas join together to build a representative government from the ground up.
If only all young men were as passionate, eloquent, and persistent as (most of) the kids depicted in Jesse Moss and Amanda McBaine’s terrific documentary “Boys State.” Hell, my friends in high school used to crack beer cans against their heads for entertainment. The boys Moss and McBaine follow have slightly more cerebral concerns, like, say, the future of this country.
Through the prism of those teenagers, the filmmakers examine America’s divisive nature, its electoral process, and the circuitous debates about major issues like abortion and gun control. Furthermore, it establishes its two protagonists/opponents as arguably more astute and well-spoken than the majority of the men running our government today. Supremely entertaining, touching, and complex, “Boys State” catches lightning in a bottle.
The titular “Boys State” is an annual program for Texas teenagers, designed to teach democracy and civic discourse through a week-long experiment: building a state government. High school seniors are separated by sex — a somewhat decrepit system, the implications/consequences of which the doc sadly never truly addresses (its one glaring flaw) — which is followed by a tense gubernatorial race.
The filmmakers follow a disparate group of boys on their trip to Austin, where they are split into Federalists and Nationalists. The doc then narrows its focus on its two most compelling, impassioned young men: Steven, a well-spoken and progressive son of Mexican immigrants, and Ben, an uber-conservative who’s overcome incredible challenges and exudes utmost confidence. Each in their own way, they fight against the current, because they deeply love this country and believe they can make a difference. Steven especially stuck with me. Rarely smiling, laser-focused on his goal, he is quiet but palpably sincere, his eyes revealing the depth and experience of a much older man.
Not all of the kids are prodigies, of course. One guy in particular provides the film’s biggest source of comic relief, switching his stance on major issues. (“Getting here gave me a new appreciation for why politicians lie to get into office,” he drawls.) A walking caricature, he could have been a character in Mike Judge’s “Beavis and Butt-Head.” Bless him. As is expected — they’re all teens, after all — some take it to an extreme, getting hilariously worked up on the podium as the audience eggs them on, proposing dumb bills, such as relocating all Prius drivers to the state of Oklahoma.
“Boys State” is at times subliminally powerful: there’s René, whose bipartisan polemic is resonant and meaningful. “I’ve never seen so many white people, ever,” he states about the program. Gay and black, René also struggles against the current. Though never overt about it, Moss and McBaine seem to criticize the program itself: its own electoral process, its lack of diversity, its toxic masculinity. To reiterate, I wish they would have delved deeper into that.
How remarkable it would be, to see the boy and girl groups mixed up, to see more brown and black faces in the crowd, to see how those decisions affect the outcome. Alas, it’s all representative of our system. As endearing as hearing an eloquent debate between two intelligent teens, “Boys State” will make you hopeful about the future, without ever resorting to heavy-handedness. I’ll be sure to cast my vote if I ever see Steven’s name on the ballots.
“Boys State” will debut on Apple TV+ Friday, August 14th
