



This is a different take on the documentary genre with mixed results. While its fairly easy to investigate recent or current events with today's media, the 1890's lack such facilities. Making this attempt fairly unique.
James Marsh has incorporated the original photographs and audio readings of the local newspaper reports. These have been wound around recreations in atmospheric B&W, which are startling and effective. The only drawback is the colour modern day footage which feels out of place. Perhaps its inclusion should have been left until the very end, for a final chapter entitled 'Black River Falls Today'.
Ultimately you're left with the feeling that we've all missed out on the Wild Wild North, in favour of the more infamous West. From window smashing to insanity to lost opera singers. Wisconsin Death Trip is a bizarre ride.
Feels less like a documentary and more like a séance. Wisconsin Death Trip drifts through a plague of madness, murder, and melancholia in a small Midwestern town, all narrated in the kind of deadpan that makes it somehow more unsettling. The black-and-white recreations have a strange power—static, eerie, almost dreamlike—and the reputation of death, decay and despair starts to feel perversely hypnotic.
Much of it plays out like a Nick Cave murder ballad: doomed characters, gothic detail, and a certain bruised beauty under all the misery. There’s a dry humour too, if you’re attuned to the absurdity of arsenic-laced pastries and window breaking epidemics. It doesn’t build to anything grand, but that’s sort of the point—just wave after wave of personal apocalypse.
It can feel a little mannered at times, and the modern inserts are more curious than essential, but it casts as spell. Bleak, beautiful, and oddly poetic—a scrapbook of American sorrow set to funereal strings.