Being an Xennial, growing up as a 90’s, and raised in the suburban northwest metro of Minneapolis made for a unique experience.
Life was suddenly electric with all things new. All things experimental, fresh, and dynamic. Be it art, music, media, culture, or new ways to spend time, the loud arrival of so many choices was just incredible as it was overwhelming. At the same time, here was a sense of bewilderment in our bearings because there was rarely a map to navigate our way through the world as we stumbled towards adulthood.
The lives of my best friends and I were defined by movie theatres, video rental stores, comic books, X-Men trading cards, biting and witty sarcasm, sketch comedy, “borrowed” video cameras with which we made our own short films, all-night lock-ins at Cheapskate’s rollerblade rinks, pop culture references, movie quotes, and conversations until 4:00am about Batman’s rogues gallery.
At that defining moment, filmmaker Kevin Smith arrived quietly on the scene. Raised in suburban New Jersey, he felt like as much as a conduit of laughter as a reflecting surface who understood us, who “got” the dry humour our micro-generation sustained to ward off cynicism, and our way of looking at life.
Immediately, we saw ourselves. Our dialogues, our diatribes, and our lives were represented in film – which was rare. Generation X had their film manifests. Millennials would too. With a thumb on the pulse of the times, Smith captured us and earned our respect and dedication.
When Smith’s first movie – Clerks – arrived on the shelves (yes, the VHS version), I was working part-time at a convenience store next door to a video rental store (Top Tan Video) just as Dante worked the counter at Quick Stop and Randal scratched the raw nerves of customers at RST Video next door.
Maybe it was the black and white CCTV footage-feel. Maybe it was the random arrival of characters recognizably comparable to many folks we knew. It didn’t feel like a movie. They talked like us, wrestled with the life mases as us, and had the same tongue-in-cheek debates that we argued about in-between high school classes and across entire weekends.
It felt like someone had used their gift, taken the time to notice us, and represented us on film. The in-between people. In between the Generation X and Millennials. In between analog childhoods and digital adulthoods. The ones killing time, arguing about nothing, dreaming quietly, and finding dignity in the mundane. The ones stuck behind counters and registers and stuck within routines during our teenage years. The ones who were unable to find heroes where everyone else seemed to – we instead found them in pop culture, comic book ink, and cinema reels. Suddenly, our lives too felt cinematic. What we thought and how we felt (and how we expressed it) mattered.
Clerks (1994) was just the beginning. Smith followed suit with Mallrats (1995), Chasing Amy (1997), and Dogma (1999). This core four-fecta will be remembered as the event horizon that spoke to many of us. They weren’t just comedies, but rather conversations about identity, faith, love, and the slow realization that growing up rarely comes with a map. As a gifted storyteller, he showed that a director with small town roots could be hilarious without being cruel, human without being ordinary, sentimental without apology, profane without being empty, creative without being sanded down or polished, and being poetic without didactic.
Looking back, Clerks 2 resonates beautifully and hits the heart in a totally different way after living a little in our world.
If you’re looking for some smiles and laughter over the holiday season, revisit (or discover for the first time) Clerks, Mallrats, Chasing Amy, Dogma, and Clerks 2. Clerks still crackles like embers. Dogma remains one of the most thoughtful religious satires put to film. His film Jersey Girl (with the late George Carlin) still packs a heartfelt punch. Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back is like visiting a crew of old friends if viewed after the legendary four-fecta. His later projects like Zack and Miri, Red State, and the most recent Clerks each retain a familiar charm while reaching outside the box.
Side-splitting hilarious? Always.
Profane? At times, but never without purpose. Always counterbalanced with message and sincerity. But buckle-up and try to not sip a beverage too often during dialogue.
The same can be said about his Smodcast podcast network, spoken-word storytelling (his jury duty story from Sold Out: A Threevening with Kevin Smith still nearly puts me into a coma from laughter), and his contribution to streaming pop culture.
Ground-shifting directors are rarely recognized in their day as history seems to have a long delay, especially in the arts. The full substance (and realization of one’s influence and contributions) seem to become visible years later. He is brilliant in our day and when generations look back, he will rise far beyond legendary.
Perhaps Smith’s most lasting and lingering influence is his gift of collapsing the chasm between story and audience.
As for those of us who recognize ourselves in the Quick Stop or Nowthen convenience stores, in the Northtown or Eden Prairie mall food courts debating comics – in the characters who wonder, wait, dream, and love deeply but quietly – Kevin Smith didn’t just impact an era. Helped define us.
History will demonstrate this inarguable truth.
– Robert Horton is an educator, author, orator, and linguist. He is a member of Rainy River First Nations.
