Thax on screen

A local student makes a documentary based on Chicago’s popular rock poet Thax Douglas

By Dan Ochwat

If you frequent rock concerts in the city, you’re bound to come across an unforgettable poet. With a long white beard, white hair and a bashful demeanor, he resembles the Abominable Snowman — the shy, sweet, stop-motion animated version at the end of the 1964 classic “Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer.”

Sadly, most people don’t even know his name. But a student at the University of Chicago could change that with his documentary, appropriately titled, “Thax.” A film about the iconic poet of the independent rock scene for the last 10 years, Thax Douglas.

At the time of this writing, the filmmaker, 22-year-old Alex MacKenzie, was preparing to graduate, and tweaking his film. He was then going to send it to the major film festivals, including the Chicago International Film Festival. A private screening is being discussed at the Music Box Theatre, but as early as the end of this summer, or as late as sometime next year, the film will hopefully have some sort of distribution, whether it’s a DVD being sold at rock shows, regional distribution throughout the city’s possible cinemas, or maybe it’s accepted at Sundance and becomes a national hit. Not getting ahead of himself, MacKenzie says it’s just too early to tell — he wants to graduate first, then figure out how to get it to the indie-rock masses.

 

Why Thax?

Tattered notebook in hand, Thax, 48, shuffles up to the front of the stage. The band sits behind him, eager to hear their intro. He reads a cerebral poem, a vision of the band’s music, a tribute to this group of musicians that has traveled to Chicago.

That’s how MacKenzie first saw Thax, and how most of us first saw him, for that matter.

“The movie approaches him from the perspective of somebody like me,” MacKenzie says, “who didn’t have any idea who he was, got to know him further through that persona — his band poems — and then delves into what he used to do with ‘Thax After Dark’ (his variety show in the 1990s), and a little bit of his history in that time.”

Thax has been reading and writing poetry in Chicago since the late ’80s, reading at the Green Mill Poetry Slam when it existed in the early ’90s, publishing a book in 2000 called “Tragic Faggot Syndrome” and recording CDs. It wasn’t until around 1997 that he began reading before bands, carving his way to legendary status as super-fan/poet.

The film looks at Thax reading at various shows and venues throughout Chicago, includes interviews with people all with differing opinions of Thax and even follows Thax home for a visit with his family in Wisconsin, whom he sees about once a year.

“It’s the most emotional scene,” MacKenzie says. “I’m really proud of the final product of that scene. It plays like a fiction movie, and that’s been my goal.”

The film also cuts in footage of old home videos — Thax in a low-budget film in the ’80s and as an extra in a music video. MacKenzie also interviews some of the bands he’s read for, including Ted Leo, Microphones and The Bitter Tears, one of MacKenzie’s favorites.

“People really don’t have much to say because they don’t know much about him,” MacKenzie says. “The people that we knew would know a lot about him, we scheduled with, but the musicians themselves are always very positive about what he does, and then very bewildered. To be fair, he’s friends with a couple bands, but most of them just appreciate the poem.”

A darker topic in the film addresses Thax’s attempted suicide in 1974, leading him to an institution and being misdiagnosed with shock treatments.

“Thax is a victim of that mindset, which continues today: ‘As long as it’s prescribed, it must be fixing your brain as opposed to destroying it long term,’ ” MacKenzie says of shock treatments. “The movie tries to approach the issues of mental illness and creativity as all these movies do — but it really fascinates me to think about what happens when your brain has changed permanently and how can we think about the positvie/negative effects of this. To think about it as a disease, when the person is this dedicated to what he does and this willing to continue to be an artist despite many, many setbacks.”

The Shoot

Utilizing the equipment available at the University of Chicago, through a school club called Fire Escape Films, MacKenzie shot the documentary on Mini DV. He received a grant of “a couple thousand dollars” to help shoot the film over the summer of 2004, mainly visiting with Thax over July and August. Later, in September and October, he followed up to add more to the film.

“The more you delve into any story, the more complicated it gets,” he says. “You go in looking for answers and you just have more questions, so you try to make the story as rich as possible.”

It was pretty much a three-man team. Ben Kolak helped produce, and Dinesh Sabu worked as the sound guy. Being a small crew, MacKenzie was able to follow Thax around easily on trains and from show to show. He admits the film doesn’t have as professional a feel as, say, documentaries that follow a character’s full life.

“I tried to do it so you got into a space with him, so you’d learn about him as you would a character in any fiction movie,” he says.

To MacKenzie, it’s obvious why Thax’s life is worthy for the screen, but the young hipsters driving the popularity of the new independent music scene may question it. MacKenzie says Thax is very aware of people thinking that he’s a goofball, but it’s the cost of living in the moment.

“Basically what I think is important about Thax’s story is that he navigates his own identity in a way that is very rare,” MacKenzie says. “Here’s the tagline: ‘It’s the cost of living in the moment.’

“Of course it’s a huge assumption to say anything about someone else’s internal consciousness experience, but I feel like he really has this amazing gift. This ability to channel his own emotions or whatever is going on in the room and respond to music. He is the ultimate listener.

“He hears you, and that’s a guarantee. That requires a degree of living in the moment, which most people never have had, or at least had lost. There’s a reason people lose that in order to survive in a traditional manner, when you don’t have to scrounge for your rent or take charity from people. Thax didn’t lose it, and the music scene is better for it, and I wouldn’t have done this movie if I didn’t think his poems were very, very good.”

 

Thax’s Swan Song

So what does Thax think about the movie? Frankly, in an interview by phone, he said he was disappointed, questioning why the filmmakers chose the footage they did.

“I don’t think anyone can watch their own documentary and be happy with it,” MacKenzie says. “I’m trying to make the best, most truthful movie I can from my perspective, and he wanted to do it, and even if it portrays him different from the way he would portray himself, it’s still good for him in the end.”

Admittedly cynical and hardened by his impoverished years in Chicago, Thax doesn’t believe he’ll gain anything from the film. He’s been in this city too long, reading poetry to fanfare, but still going to the blood bank to pay the rent.

“I’m just really sick and tired of the double standard that happens to poets,” Thax says. “It’s nice that people come up to me when I go out and say that I’m an icon and all this stuff, but at that same show, I’ll have to beg somebody for a dollar to take the bus home. I don’t want to get rich, (but) I’m tired of not making any money at what I do.”

MacKenzie says that Thax will get a chunk of the DVD sales, when that moment comes. If any money comes from the film, it may send Thax to New York or some other city. Thax says he’s comfortable looking at this movie as a sort of closure, a swan song to his time in Chicago.

“I’m thinking about leaving Chicago,” Thax says. “I sort of want more. I’ve been cornered into becoming a character, which I’m not happy about. I want to be taken more serious than that.”

Thax mentioned that 15 years ago he recorded a CD with Steve Albini, but he wasn’t paid for over a year and a half. He has had some other run-ins that have haunted him, he feels.

“I want to go somewhere and not have people fighting against me,” he says. “Not people trying hard to make sure that I stay as an outsider artist or a goofball. I want to go where I feel like (what) people tell me I am, because I don’t feel like a f---ing legend, that’s for sure.”

Thax believes that if he had been reading for as long as he has in New York, the media capital of the world, he wouldn’t be in the dire situation that he is, because in New York, he would have had more opportunities to be published, or get paid. And yes, he loves music, a lot. And he is flattered at the idea of being a super-fan on the level of Beatle Bob and others.

“I just consider myself part of the international indie rock scene, I had no intention of just being connected to Chicago,” he says. “I’d like to go around and do what I do in different cities, travel around and tour. Music would be home.”

On the bright side, Thax did love the filming process, having cameras following him around. He did say watching the rough cut was a bit disturbing, and he has contacted MacKenzie offering his thoughts on the film.

“Some of my favorite documentaries are interesting because they make you want to know more about the person, even if it’s someone you wouldn’t care about, or even if it’s someone not worth knowing, like that documentary ‘American Movie.’ ” Thax says.

The problem with that example — that film follows clear goofballs who are out to make the great American horror movie. Thax, you’re no goofball.

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