When Mike Schank, the unlikely co-star of the cult favorite documentary American Movie, passed away, memorials flooded their way across social media in his honor. Mark Duplass, Taika Waititi, and Edgar Wright were among the many who offered tributes to Schank, with most lauding him as a shining example of what it means to be a true friend. If you’ve seen American Movie, you probably know: Schank was a pivotal and consistent system of support for filmmaker Mark Borchardt throughout the production of his microbudget horror film Coven (pronounced Coh-vin, if you don't remember). As Duplass tweeted in memoriam, one only needed to watch Schank in American Movie to “learn how to be a good friend”.
Mike Schank Stands by His Friend No Matter What
Introduced early on in American Movie as a “Childhood Friend” to Borchardt, Schank is shown throughout the film to be a kind-hearted, lovable man with an affinity for simple pleasures and a passion for his guitar. He laughs a lot, tells candid anecdotes about his past with drug use, and, more often than not, seems happy just to be there. Throughout the documentary, Borchardt’s production of Coven—and the production of his incomplete debut feature Midwestern—is plagued with problems, mostly financial. Borchardt rarely has the money that he needs to accomplish his vision, and without adequate funding, few members of the cast and crew are willing to stick it out.
Mike Schank, however, is one of the only consistent figures of the documentary beyond Borchardt himself. Where many others have left the production, flaked out, or proven to be generally undependable, Schank is always there. In one scene, which takes place amidst a brutally bitter Midwestern winter, Borchardt laments on the fact that all the extras meant to act in one of Coven’s pivotal scenes had fallen through—“except Schank,” he adds. It’s true, Schank’s there, game for anything, and always willing to support his friend. Later, clad in an ominous hooded costume for the scene, Schank calls out to somebody off-camera, asking for them to put his soda somewhere to prevent it from freezing. While some main actors in Coven complain about freezing their asses off in the unforgiving Wisconsin cold, Schank never utters a word of dissatisfaction.
The majority of the subjects of American Movie express skepticism about Bochardt’s potential as a filmmaker, but Schank is never one of them. He seems to believe that Borchardt can make a horror masterpiece as much as Borchardt believes it—the faith he has in his friend’s dream seems to be oriented in something beyond mere logic. It’s as though it’s simply a matter of fact, that since Mark believes it, then it’s consequently true.
He's Just Happy to Be There
Throughout American Movie, Schank never seems to be anything but content with spending time with his friend. Simply being there seems like an effortless choice for him. He likes spending time with Borchardt, and when Borchardt needs help on his production of Coven, he’s there to do what he can. His optimism and amiability are seemingly unwavering, his kindness unshakable. It never really comes into question what Schank’s getting out of it all. It’s not a matter of money or fame, it’s a matter of helping a friend accomplish a life-long dream. While credited as a producer in Coven’s credits, Schank’s list of responsibilities surely far transcends what’s shown in American Movie’s lean runtime: posting fliers across the UW-Milwaukee campus, filling in scenes with semi-autobiographical lines of dialogue, and lending Coven one of the most genuinely impressive screams in any horror film are just a few odd jobs Schank takes on.
Towards the end of Coven’s production, Schank stands around with Mark on the grey-skied winter day through dozens and dozens of takes of botched dialogue. There’s nobody else around. He’s there, watching it all carry out, line after jumbled line, hardly jaded by the seemingly endless obstacles plaguing the year-long production. As Borchardt continues to ride into the uncertain territories of filmmaking, Schank loyally follows: a sort of Sancho Panza to Borchardt’s Don Quixote.
So much of American Movie is about the perseverance of passion and artistry amidst unexpected struggles, but it’s also very much a film about the unconquerable power of friendship. “I didn’t even wanna wake up tomorrow morning...I’m thankful that Mike came over and put a smile on my face,” Borchardt says in one scene, which takes place on Thanksgiving. When the camera cuts back to Mike, he’s grinning from ear to ear. It’s like giving Mark joy is the kind of invaluable gift that makes a person’s week. He’s happy to make Mark happy.
An Unwavering Optimism
Schank’s optimism is never anything but contagious. After sharing a story of a near-fatal drug encounter, Schank seems both completely changed and impossibly calm—he would shortly after become clean and sober, an accomplishment that, according to his Twitter, he stuck with for the last 27 years of his life, but he also shrugs off the incident with impeccable humor. Throughout the film, he’s often laughing and never complaining, and in one scene, he discusses being thankful for winning a couple of bucks off some scratch-offs and having some good food to eat on Thanksgiving. American Movie is a deeply poignant meditation on artistry, passion, and perseverance. It’s also a tragicomic character study, a family drama, and, thanks to Mike Schank, a buddy film. It’s the type of movie best watched with an old friend, or, if watched alone, it’s a movie that might make you think of a pal you haven't talked to in a while. If you’re lucky enough to have a friend like Mike, one who’s there when you really need it most, you'll know that it's like pulling the jackpot from a lottery ticket.
I’ve lived in Milwaukee for a decade, and over the years, stories about Mike Schank seem destined to have made their way to me and practically every other seasoned Milwaukee resident. The stories I’ve heard are unanimously comic, endearing, and they always paint a nearly identical portrait of a gold-hearted and lovable goofball who takes the concept of supporting friends in need very seriously. He was a staple at Milwaukee’s Alano Club, a non-profit organization to aid with sobriety and recovery. I’ve never met Mike Schank personally, but I’ve seen him around, most frequently standing around outside the Alano Club, talking to friends, bidding greetings to passersby.
A Film Figure That We'll Never Forget
Schank's recovery and continued sobriety—along with his kindness and loyalty—make him a film figure worth admiring. He was the type of documentary figure that seems neither hyperbolic nor misrepresented, yet he had a truly one-in-million personality, the kind that stays imprinted in your mind long after the credits roll. He was also a particularly talented musician, lending his guitar-shredding talents to the original soundtrack of American Movie.
It’s practically impossible to watch American Movie without being moved by the sweetness at its core. From the start, Coven was doomed to face a seemingly insurmountable set of obstacles stemming from underfunding and unreliable collaborators, but Borchardt was ultimately able to complete the film, largely thanks to the loyalty and support of his best friend Mike Schank. He didn't need to share Borchardt's vision to share his passion for it. The fact that his friend had a dream was enough. There didn't need to be any sort of personal gain. That wasn't important. At the end of American Movie, after Coven's grand premiere, Schank appears happy, proud, and hopeful for what the future holds. When asked about his friendship with Borchardt—and the production of Coven—he seems to shrug off his endless efforts in helping make the film a reality. “I value his friendship and enjoy doing stuff with him. Making movies is what he does, y’know, so I make movies with him,” he says with a smile. And he means it. He very clearly means it, and there’s something pure in that. Something beautiful, too.