This past winter quarter, Block Cinema invited its undergraduate student workers to take on a new kind of assignment: to respond, in their own voices, to films in the Exhausted America series. The series, inspired by the work of Professor Heather Hendershot, gathered films that hold a mirror to moments of national weariness and disillusionment.
Nashville (1975) 35mm
Harin Jeong, Philosophy (2027)
Robert Altman’s Nashville (1975) is not a film to be seen just once. Its hefty ensemble of twenty-four characters is evidence enough. If seen only once, however, there have been few better opportunities to do so than at Block Cinema with an introduction by Professor Heather Hendershot. Nashville was screened as part of Block Cinema’s “Exhausted America” series, inspired by insights by Hendershot herself, who penned a book about this very film. The theme emerges immediately in the opening scene, as Nashville star Haven Hamilton records a bicentennial anthem, singing, “We must be doin’ something right to last 200 years.” As he periodically interrupts himself by snapping at his accompanist Frog, we see in the room next door Linnea Reese leading an all-black gospel choir—or rather perhaps, the black choir leading Linnea—in joyous harmonies. The unaddressed disparity in experiences across the wall, combined with the ironically celebratory lyrics, is symptomatic of a broader, nationwide apathy that proves relevant to the film’s end. Nashville closes on a concert and campaign rally for presidential candidate Hal Phillip Walker. The image of a bloodied Barbara Jean carried off stage in front of a wide banner of Walker will remain with audiences even after the film finishes. Taking advantage of this chaotic moment, Albuquerque, an aspiring country artist, begins to sing: “You may say I ain’t free, but it don’t worry me.” Slowly but surely, the crowd of hundreds follows along. This is a crowd that has been forced to become used to such tragedies in the wake of Vietnam, Watergate, and multiple assassinations. Nashville‘s exhausted America is one of disillusionment, of an ignorance, maybe willful, that compels them to gather for this campaign event without the candidate even present. As an undergraduate here, I took from this screening a singular experience: sitting among community members who hold memories of this period, just as the celluloid holds these scenes at the very moment they were captured. I was also surrounded by peers, who hold these memories, but in a parallel, exhausted 21st century. Watching Nashville at Block Cinema meant reckoning with this cross-generational connection, sharing in laughs as Jeff Goldblum cruises across the screen on an eccentric tricycle, in silence as Keith Carradine slyly but publicly confesses his love for Lily Tomlin through song, and in gasps at the very moment the first bullet at the campaign rally is fired. It also meant gaining valuable context about the film that would have been inaccessible without a second or third watch or external research. Together, the audience learned about the wide yet constrained success of this ambitious ensemble film that mirrored the politics and culture of its time, the number of characters added by Altman to Joan Tewkesbury’s original screenplay, and Lily Tomlin’s invaluable advocacy for the female characters in the making of the film. Despite the film’s grand scale, Block Cinema’s screening offered a rather holistic understanding of Altman’s exhausted America.
Hands on a Hardbody: The Documentary (1997) Digital
mira middleton, Learning Sciences (2026)
I enter the Block Cinema auditorium as an Exhausted American. In my final few months as an undergraduate, I’m working four part-time student jobs, completing a full courseload, and balancing the ongoing scales of personal sustenance, family needs, and community health. In between wake and sleep I see my weariness reflected in the eyes of these other Americans around me—I’m glad to belong somewhere, but lately can’t avoid the question: how do we all stay standing, and what for? This particular Thursday evening, though, I am simply glad to close the auditorium door behind me and sit with a film that promises to reflect the American Absurdity we are living through. I am glad to be amongst people also searching for rest in this auditorium as Benny Perkins’ voice tries to prepare us for the experience, saying, “This is a human drama thing.”
It is a human drama indeed. As the only documentary in the “Exhausted America” series, I’m particularly struck by the sense of immersion and spontaneity that only comes from real life, which the film communicates so authentically. Bindler and the team place us in Longview, Texas and the culture contributing to the Hardbody competition with a swiftness and solidness I could feel. Each contestant needs a truck and is introduced with the same care, keeping their personalities centered and shining. When the timer begins, you can feel everyone in the audience place part of their heart on the truck as well. As 24 hours became 48 became 72, the energy in the room shifted to match—as the health of each contestant grew questionable, I felt a tightness in my own chest and in the auditorium’s silence. As the movie progresses, it becomes clear that every contestant who lasts has a team behind them. Whether a husband with a 10-ton cooling unit, hundreds of fellow churchgoers, or someone to rub aching feet, there is no one who keeps their hand on the truck who does not have or create connections keeping them upright. Through the course of the film, even the camera and documentarians become caring participants and sources of support—people lean on the camera as an arbiter of fairness and truth, and by the end the filmmakers are running with a frenzy that belies how much they, and all of us, have come to care for the humans undergoing an exhausting and inspiring drama in front of us. The film’s finale, where human connection is both the source of victory and great material loss, leaves me with welling tears.
Some time ago, as we discussed working hard while exhausted, kin of mine told me that we are all in debt to greater things. Sometimes these things are like trucks, and sometimes these things are like crying into the shoulder of a new friend. We stay standing, with our hands on the task at hand, because those who we share love with are there to help. As I thank that night’s Block team (especially Malia and Warren!!) and head home, it lands on me like sleep-deprived laughter that every exhausted American is someone to love and be loved. While I work for my people to find rest, that’s enough prize for me.
They Shoot Horses, Don’t They? (1969) 16mm
Ixchel Held-Villasenor, Radio, Television, and Film (2029)
Sydney Pollack’s They Shoot Horses, Don’t They? (1969) is a slow but hard-hitting selection within Block Cinema’s “Exhausted America” series. Projected in a rare 16mm format intended for broadcast television, the film’s presentation itself was a marvel. The film was screened in this way due to a lack of 35mm or 16mm copies in the United States. In the past few decades, the film has remained unavailable in any theatrical format, which motivated The Block’s desire to heighten the material experience of the film by showing it on print. The materiality truly enhanced the viewing experience, building a closer connection between the film and the audience.
Set in the Great Depression Era, contestants have gathered for a dance marathon in a desperate battle for $1,500 cash. True to the series’ theme, the film wears you out in its editing, sound, and drama, yet in the most perfect way imaginable. For instance, the particular music that continuously plays during the marathon, paired with the circling of participants, works to disorient the audience.
The contestants begin with their hopes high, each character coming from a unique walk of life, among them “a retired sailor, a pregnant young woman, and an aspiring movie star.” Fatigue creeps into every movement as the spectacle spins around, heightened by the shining mirrorball. The poster itself tells a powerful story: contestants’ groaning faces are reflected in the facets of the faded mirrorball.
The circumstances of the contestants grow increasingly grim as they make their way around and around the ballroom (doubling as a racetrack for grueling derbies). Comparisons to cattle arise, yet they conclude cattle are luckier because they are unaware of their fate. The conniving emcee Rocky has no regrets in creating a spectacle of the marathon to profit from suffering. They Shoot Horses, Don’t They? represents the values that American society upholds, one where the dreams of everyday people are sacrificed in favor of profit and entertainment. The rather gruesome end is guaranteed to leave a strong impression on your mind and on the American system.
These responses were written by Block Cinema’s undergraduate student workers during the winter 2026 run of the Exhausted America series.
