Like Chris Smith's American Movie before it, Mule Skinner Blues documents the sometimes depressing, sometimes laughable, sometimes moving lives of eccentric amateur artists who struggle to express themselves by making a short, no-budget horror movie. Also like American Movie, Mule Skinner Blues comes uncomfortably close to mocking these unlikely filmmakers, raising questions about its director's intentions and his respect for the subjects' humanity. The film centers on an elderly recovering alcoholic named Beanie Andrew, who practically has "local character" tattooed on his forehead. The film alternates his colorful monologues on everything from shrimping to the joys of his bathroom with shots of him and his Florida trailer-park neighbors planning and assembling a bloody slasher called Turnabout Is Fair Play, in which the garrulous Andrew fulfills a vision he says he's had all his life. "I wanted to go down in the mud and come back as a gorilla and scare the heck out of somebody," he explains, gravely. "I know it sounds freaky, but I'm a freaky person." The first half of the movie introduces Andrew's foible-heavy neighbors, including yodeling singer Miss Jeannie, who describes herself as allergic to fresh air; Annabelle Lea Usher, a one-time costume designer with a trailer full of leftover costumes and a beloved pet dog stored in her freezer; and grizzled Vietnam vet Steve Walker, a five-time divorcé who gave the film its signature line, "I want a woman who will take me for what I am… a drunk musician with a future." First-time feature director Stephen Earnhart doesn't just observe these characters; he slices their strange stories into rambling monologues, then adds background video effects, stock footage and film clips, dreamlike re-creations, and eerie B-movie music. Andrew and his cronies are serious when they say there's a lot of unrecognized talent in their small town, and they're earnest about their positivist, do-what-you-love, hang-on-to-your-dreams beliefs. Earnhart does them no service by using their sincerity to fuel his garish, reductive psychedelia, but the latter half of the film takes a different tone. When Earnhart and crew return to Florida after a three-year break, many of their subjects have been through painful life changes. But the Turnabout première stands as a testament to their creativity and their ability to follow through on their visions, no matter how crude, gory, and filled with muddy gorillas. Thankfully, Earnhart plays the latter half of Mule Skinner Blues straight. Maybe, like his subjects, he learned some life lessons during the intervening years. Or maybe the film's needlessly flashy first half is a response to Andrew's touching core message: that honest creative expression is more important than what anyone else thinks of the results.