Yet there are some people who are not threatened by such reality checks. Indeed they are so far gone into their own little world that what is real and what is fantasy have became jumbled and confused. While Mark Vistorino is not necessarily this far gone, he seems well on his way to his own private ideological Idaho. Mark makes his living - if you can call it that - as Flyerman, a street huckster who tries to recruit extras for films (and potential clients for his portrait photography business). Mark just doesn't play at the Flyerman persona, Mark believes he IS Flyerman - a superhero of sorts, a man carrying around a greater alternate being inside his body. In times of strife or trouble, when life seems particularly painful, Mark dons one of his Flyerman outfits, grabs his leaflets, and hits the streets. He craves the celebrity. He is desperate for the fix of fame. But just like his agitated alter-ego, Mark's purpose seems lost inside an emotional world of mixed emotions, repressed memories and a great deal of self-denial.

One thing's for sure - Mark believes he is special. But as the fascinating documentary Flyerman shows us, his area of expertise may be nothing more than a pathetic pretense for something much deeper.

The DVD:
Who is Flyerman? Well, for starters, his name is Mark Vistorino. He lives in Tornoto, Canada, and appears to make a living recruiting extras for films and television shows shot in the Great White North. When we first meet him, he's in full "Flyerman" mode, handing out his leaflets with a snap of the wrist and a skip in his step. These handbills provide would-be Hollywood hopefuls with some basic information, like Mark's phone number. When they call him, they get a prepared pitch. This genial gateway to time in Tinsel Town wants to take your headshot - for $150. He can be cordial. He can be cruel. But he wants those portrait appointments. After a busy day of pimping and picture taking, Mark requires two things - a party he can go to, or if there is no scene to make that night, a chance to visit his dad in an attempt to get the parental recognition he has sought for over 37 years.

Still, who is Flyerman? What exactly does he do? Is it legal? And does he legitimately find people work as extras in Hollywood productions? All these are questions that Jeff Stephenson and Jason Tan's interesting documentary Flyerman fails to answer. In the mind of these directors, Mark's career arc is not about the procedural elements of his 'job' or the life plan he has for himself. Instead, it's about the insanity and dysfunction that lies underneath. When we first see him, flicking those papers with a passionate purpose, we realize this is an intense individual. But as we watch the ritualized way in which he leaves his home, rattling the door knob and checking the jam dozens of times before leaving, we sense there is more to his motivation than desire. There is madness behind those eyes, and just a little bit of badness as well.

As a character study, Flyerman is near flawless. It gives us snapshots of a desperate man in constant craving for fame, acknowledgement and acceptance. It opens up Mark's mangled, messed up world and gives us a front row seat to his shameful self-delusion. It allows us to glimpse the dynamic that started his mental state (specifically, with the insights we gain in long conversations between Mark and his mom and dad) and watch as this little boy lost refuses to even THINK about growing up. In the end, we get a rather complicated and incomplete portrait of the man. He is a dreamer of big dreams who can never get his flights of fancy off the ground. Instead, they are mired in loneliness, arrested adolescence (this almost middle aged man really knows how to howl the moon) and a pretty severe case of OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder).

As a dramatic display, Flyerman is also amazingly affective. This is a depressing experience, a constantly shifting tableau of irrational idealism that becomes increasingly painful to watch over time. When Mark pitches himself to a radio station, trying to get the less than impressed staff of the Morning Zoo show to give him a permanent slot on air, the constant implied rejection is painful. We experience it along with Mark, not because we sympathize with his plight, but because we can't imagine any human being putting themselves through this much judgment and denunciation. And yet he travels on, looking for ways to market his imaginary 'superhero' persona. Not surprisingly, by the end, we believe that Mark is not only delusional, but perhaps dangerous. He seems so laser beam focused on his quest for fame - fame on his own terms, that is - that we just can't help but read some menace into his mannerisms. He may be as harmless as a kitten. Yet someone who can't take no for an answer, even in the face of no discernable talent to offer, is scarier than any studied psychopath.

Unfortunately, as entertainment, as a fact-based film meant to enthrall and entice you, Flyerman falls short - substantially short. This may be the most astounding yet uncomfortable documentary you will ever see. Part of the problem of course is Mark. This is a man for whom the word relaxation has no meaning, a human being adverse to actually sitting down and organizing his disjointed thoughts. While he doesn't actually suffer from the disorder, this wounded whirling dervish has an obvious case of metaphysical Tourettes. He acts uncontrollably, functioning completely on an insane instinct without much rational or reasonable basis. When he's up, he's hyper-happy. When he's down, he goes into complete disconnect mode. He will shift emotions in mid-sentence, change a carefully crafted course of action in mid-motion. He never seems to find any closure in his life, and as a result, we find very little in the film.

But Stephenson and Tan are also to blame for using the cinema vérité style for this project, instead of a more substantive sit-down approach. When you capture life as it happens, it often provides moments of amazing clarity. Yet there can also be instances where nothing material is said - or even implied. Lots of Flyerman languishes on scenes where Mark (or other people in his life) simply speak. The video continues its capture as the individuals continue to talk. Seconds roll by, then minutes. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, the directors reveal the importance of the sequence (Mark met a girl, Mark must start paying rent). Perhaps the two most irritating instances where this happens occur when the narrative tries to inform us of the death of people close to the central subject. Instead of coming right out and saying "so and so passed away today", we have to wait around until Mark works it into a sentence. And with a man as mentally muddled as he, that could be a long wait indeed.

In addition, Stephenson and Tan take a temporally questionable approach. They filmed Mark over five years, and instead of focusing on a wrap-up or overview, they use a specific set of events to underline where this failed Flyerman is in his pursuit of cultural consideration. Some of the set pieces are significant (Mark goes to Vegas, Mark tries to join an acting class in New York) while others make little or no sense at all (the entire Barbados trip is poorly framed, explained and executed). They also really fail to add up to anything significant. Each one has its own internal power and drama, but they don't unify into a grander statement. Instead, we get veiled vignettes that really don't discuss the subject at hand. Instead, they provide hints and half-truths, elements unexpected and unsettling in a documentary. We like to think we've witness a subject in total when we sit through a film like this. Someone's life is being placed before us. Sadly, Flyerman fails to offer up such resonance.

Still, Flyerman is fascinating - in the same way a car wreck is mesmerizing, or a real life story of human tragedy is intriguing. This is a documentary without a transcendent moment, a film that fails to reverberate beyond its basic ballyhoo premise. Mark Vistorino is definitely a character, those 'one in a million' minds that sees the world slightly askew and through a series of filters all his own. But what that means to us as a populace, how we're supposed to process this peculiar person in our own jaundiced eye is never really established. As a result, we feel like an audience that's walked into a play in the middle of the third act, or the recipient of a series of inside jokes. Flyerman is flawed, but heartfelt. Too bad we don't get the window into this world that the filmmakers obviously believed they were providing.

The Video:
As with any vérité approach, the image offered by Stephenson and Tan for their Flyerman film is camcorder capable all the way through. While we do experience some grain, and a few definitional issues (the contrasts seem to be cranked down, dulling the detail) the 1.66:1 anamorphic widescreen image is professional and presentable. This is not the most color correct or properly pitched image you will ever see (many of the night scenes are awash in gloom) but the flaws are not enough to take away from your overall enjoyment of the image.

The Audio:
Part of the problem most homemade moviemakers face when bringing a sonic ambience to their film is that they forget how basic their original recording techniques really are. When you are using the internal mic of a camera to capture your dialogue, or a simple boom set-up, the level of nuance is almost nil. So when you turn around and add pop songs and scoring, especially in dense Dolby Digital Stereo, you get an aural offering that is very schizophrenic. On the one hand, the voices are tinny and tentative. But when Bowie's "Fame" starts shuffling from the speakers, the entire tone of the film changes. It's like an instant fix of formalism - something off-the-cuff turning mainstream at the twist of a decibel dial. It bifurcates Flyerman's facets and creates a very odd sonic situation indeed.

The Extras:
As part of the bonus package presented with this DVD, Go Kart films gives us nine deleted scenes, a promotional trailer for the film and an audio commentary with Stephenson, Tan and the Flyerman himself, Mark Vistorino. The outtakes and edits are interesting, as they really amplify Mark's OCD. In particular, there is one sequence where he spends over 3 minutes making sure that his door is locked (extending a similar scene in the film). It is absolutely crushing to watch, and would probably be tragic if it wasn't so hilarious...or frightening.

As for the alternate narrative track, we get a decent if rather derivative discussion on many of the surface issues in the film. Even though he tries to explain it, Vistorino still can't convince us that he wasn't up to some type of mysterious, movie-related con, while Stephenson and Tan admit they became fast friends with their subject - possibly to the detriment of the film. Over and over again, the filmmakers question their star about his desire for fame - and again, we never get a really clear or completely straight answer. Indeed, the whole commentary is like a private conversation between parties completely in tune with each other and, as a result, it leaves us out. But it does perfectly compliment an equally inward-looking film.

Final Thoughts:
It's tough to make a critical call on a film that offers up such a cinematic conundrum. As a subject Mark Vistorino is enigmatic, in or out of his Flyerman persona. With his complicated family situation, his unbridled desperation for fame, and his directionless sense of optimism, Mark should be a wonderfully tragicomic character. But somewhere in the process of presenting their story, our filmmakers fumble the project. This doesn't mean that the movie is bad, but for all it has going for it, Flyerman is just not as gratifying as promised. Perhaps the film's failings illustrate the truth about Mark Vistorino's own personal quest for fame. Maybe he's not destined for greatness. It could be that fate has him figured out after all. Not everyone can become the object of their own inner dreams of celebrity. Sometimes, we are just fooling ourselves.

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