Indestructible
Atom age weirdness wrapped up as a kid's adventure

I think everyone will be the better for having seen Indestructible, so I’m trying to avoid saying something that might make people dismiss it. Something like, "It’s a film about death, but in spite of its subject matter, the film is ultimately life-affirming." Bleccchh. Such a horrible cliché: "Oh, god, not another life-affirming film. I’ve seen enough of those to last a lifetime."

But sometimes the best way to get past a cliché is to acknowledge that it is there. The film IS about a young man who is dying, and it is also about life and living and facing the inevitable with dignity and courage. But more important, I think, is that, perhaps strangely, I found the film restoring my faith in humanity.

Ben Byer is the dying young man. An actor and playwright, he was casting around for something to work on when life handed him a doozy of a project. Diagnosed with ALS (more commonly known as Lou Gehrig's disease), he grabbed his video camera and began recording his story. ALS is a degenerative nerve disorder, a slow killer which relentlessly, over a period of 3 or more years, removes muscular control from its victims until they succumb. There is no known cause, and no known cure.

I think the strength of Indestructible can be traced to its simple honesty. As a playwright and actor, Byer would undoubtedly be aware of the many ways such a story can drift into the maudlin, but as a filmmaker he remains remarkably clear-eyed about his plight. He pushes his story in certain directions at times, but the film’s true narrative emerges almost organically into a perfect three-act structure, dictated by the grim reality of the situation. For me, who has long held the idea that story telling is intrinsic, something hardwired into our identity as humans, it was fascinating to watch Byer’s narrative develop so perfectly.

As the film begins, Byer is the cocky young artist. A person doesn’t chose a life as an actor and expect a lot of stability and security. It’s a constant hustle, and Byer begins as if his diagnosis is just another thing he can bluff and bluster through. His opening blogs are almost like he’s off on a larky lark. His entries are mundane: “Here’s my son, John. Wave to the camera, John!”

By his second year, Byer has moved into his advocate phase. He travels the world meeting other ALS patients, and also explores alternative treatments. This was a particularly powerful section of the film, seeing how the disease attacks each person in a different way, and the various coping mechanisms each person has developed. In Greece, he meets a man who is taking care of his wife, and their devotion to each other is a love story so touching that it reveals Hollywood tripe such as Twilight to be the shallow sham it is.

In China, Byer gets involved with a controversial treatment that his father recommends to other ALS patients, a couple of whom die from complications following the procedure. Byer doesn’t try to sugarcoat the issue. Are they culpable? Might they have died anyway? Desperate for a cure, was he really in search of answers or just staking his, and the hopes of others, on taking reckless chances?

In the film’s third act, as his condition worsens and the inevitable looms larger, Byer leaves advocacy behind and turns toward spiritual matters, contemplating the traditional big questions: Why did this happen to me? Is there meaning to be learned, or is life and God merely random and cruel? Byer travels to Israel, seeking to reconnect to his long rejected Judaism without compromising the reasons that he walked away. He consults with a rabbi, who refreshingly guides him without relying on dogmatic literalism. The questions are there, but it is up to each person to find the answers to their own satisfaction.

I mentioned earlier that the film restored my faith in humanity. Byer’s journey is not an easy one to follow, but more often than not it brings out the best in his friends and family, but even when the results are not as flattering their motives are clear and easy to forgive. They are, after all, merely humans, neither saints nor sinners, doing their best to deal with a bad situation. Perhaps the worst cliché of all in these kind of movies is that the dying are always expected to transcend their disease, become almost saintly, possessing a forbearance that is almost unbearable. But with his film, Byer consistently refuses to accept that role, instead insisting that we consider the possibility that the dying are no different than anyone else. They are just human beings on the exact same journey that everyone else on the planet is — no different. We are all the same.