There’s an odd tension in every niche between acceptance and exclusivity. This has happened countless times: a fanbase is devoted to some book, film, TV show, or band that is not that well-known or widely celebrated. Then that cultish, small property breaks through to the mainstream and suddenly that original core base isn’t sure how to react. On the one hand, there’s validation in everyone finally understanding what you were passionate about — plus that slight superiority of discovering it before the masses. But on the other hand, that small group is suddenly full of people less devoted or less interested in being a “purist;” what was your special thing suddenly gets Starbucked and is omnipresent. It’s a difficult dichotomy to traverse, and one that seems to especially run afoul of nerds. For example, there was that fake geek girl meme not too long ago, when female fans were accused of not being true nerds about some comic or sci-fi enterprise; even though the audience was becoming larger and more diverse, there were still purity tests being applied (of course, there’s also the larger problem of misogyny in many nerd cultures, but that’s another point).
How do you bridge the chasm between having what you love experienced and beloved by others and still keeping it yours? This issue isn’t at the heart of Farzad Nikbakht’s documentary Mudbloods, but it is an interesting subtext that arises out of the subjects on whom the filmmaker focuses. Nikbakht follows the UCLA quidditch team as they train and fundraise to attend the 2011 Quidditch World Cup, but he also tracks the league commissioner as he coordinates the event. One storyline is the small clique of athletes who are clearly not the usual jock types. The other is a man with a goal to get quidditch into the Olympics. If Nikbakht had focused on that tension, that fleeting moment when a subculture has designs on becoming something larger, then the film would have been better; or if he had pared down his subjects and focused more on the team members, then it would be more emotionally investing. As it stands, it’s a fine movie that’s technically well-made, but it lacks enough narrative or emotional impact to truly engage audiences.
For those not in the know, quidditch comes from the Harry Potter books and films — it is the main sport of the wizarding world and involves flying brooms, various balls going into hoops, and an enchanted automaton that flies around and has to be caught. It was adapted into the real world (where it is also known as “muggle quidditch”) in 2005 at Middlebury College, becoming a modified version that combines rugby and dodgeball, and yes, involves people running with a broom between their legs. The game is co-ed, played mainly on college campsuses, and is a full contact sport; Nikbakht does an excellent job of underscoring just how brutal that last fact can be as multiple players are laid out by a truly powerful check. In Mudbloods, Tom Marks is the coach/captain of the UCLA quidditch team. He leads in practice and games against other college teams, while also spearheading campaigns to raise money to attend the world cup in New York City. The team puts a lot of energy into their sport, and into defending their sport from people who think it’s weird or nerdy. Unfortunately, this highlights one of the film’s main flaws: there’s a defensiveness from UCLA team members and from Intercollegiate Quidditch Association founder/commissioner Alex Benepe, but there’s never any signs that people are denigrating them or the sport. Nikbakht interviews people in the sport, those who already “get it” and proselytize about its greatness; there’s no outsider perspectives that find the whole thing odd, or insult it in any way. Instead, it’s people saying why this sport is a real endeavor and should be respected — which is redundant as Nikbahkt’s game footage already shows how committed the athletes are and how exacting the matches can be.
The documentary is well shot, and those featured all have an awkward charm about them as they embrace their (apparently) social pariah of a pastime. Using scenes from real gameplay and some lo-fi animation, Nikbakht excellently explains the rules of the game so it’s very simple for someone who doesn’t know the sport to follow. If only such care for explanation had gone into the people in the documentary. There’s very little about the actual team members (a few of them rap, two of them are dating, one is a first generation immigrant), so it’s hard to get emotionally involved in their stories. They all seem friendly and social, so there’s no sense that this is the only club that will have them or that they are “freaks” who find power in their unity. They’re defensive about their sport, but they never truly explain why quidditch over anything else. With the exception of a completely unnecessary detour to interview the #1 Harry Potter fan, J.K. Rowling’s franchise is barely talked about at all, so it’s not as if the players are necessarily huge fan of the books or films, either.
Yet, with all of that said, Nikbakht still is able to create some compelling narrative hooks, particularly when the World Cup comes around and UCLA finds themselves up against the then reigning champions, Middlebury College. When it comes to crafting story through the games using camerawork and editing, the film is on point and very engaging. But it’s not as confident or competent in telling interesting tales once the players leave the field. If the film was whittled down to just following the path of the UCLA team, then Mudbloods would make for an enjoyable and offbeat installment of ESPN’s 30 for 30 series. In its current state, with a lack of focus and depth, it resembles Rowling’s famous boy wizard as he desperately seeks to find the golden snitch.