Sanity, as they say, often thrives in the mundane. A balanced routine is considered healthy for our mental well-being. However, for some, the ordinary is simply not an option. Dominic Murphy’s film “White Lightnin'” delves into the complexities of a fractured mind, using the electrifying and often chaotic life of Jesco White, an Appalachian trailer park resident, as its focal point. Known as “The Dancing Outlaw,” Jesco White is a folk legend who has inspired countless alt-country songs. This film reimagines his tumultuous and tragedy-filled life, presenting a fictionalized ending where Jesco (portrayed by Edward Hogg in his first lead role) spirals into madness and violence – events that could have transpired had his inner demons completely taken over. The film’s creator describes it as a “dark fairy tale that explores a mind spiraling out of control,” incorporating hillbilly dancing, biker gangs, the raw energy of trailer park life, and even a cameo by Carrie Fisher.
Parts of the American South have long held an aura of eccentricity, and Jesco “The Dancing Outlaw” White stands as a prime example. His psyche was marked early by gas sniffing and heroin use, further eroded by years spent in and out of prisons and mental institutions. His life story includes numerous confrontations with law enforcement and the trauma of his son’s kidnapping and his father’s murder—an event from which the film’s Jesco never recovers. Yet, amidst this turmoil, Appalachian mountain dancing serves as a constant thread, a skill passed down through generations. This unique dance form involves maintaining a cool demeanor while energetically moving one’s limbs to the rhythm of hillbilly music. Jesco continues to perform today, touring intermittently and maintaining a MySpace page where he shares his favorite videos from the past, including one featuring country music icon Cousin Emmy performing “You Are My Sunshine” using the sounds of a deflating balloon, accompanied by Pete Seeger on guitar. Pure eccentricity indeed.
Jesco, the dancer, is a genuinely unique character. Ed Hogg notes that “he seems to burn brighter than those around him when you meet him in the flesh.” In moments of calm, he embodies the persona of a Southern gentleman, devoutly religious and a father to his many children. He also embodies different alter egos, shifting between them seamlessly. He becomes Elvis, donning the iconic jumpsuit and re-recording Elvis’s hits in his “home studio”—a simple tape recorder hanging in his living room. Occasionally, he even channels Marilyn Monroe.
When Jesco’s temper flares, it differs from the film’s depiction. The real Jesco’s outbursts are more marked by sarcasm and a glorious irreverence than outright violent rage. Famously, when county authorities refused burial for one of his numerous uncles in the local cemetery, Jesco responded by purchasing a ride-on lawnmower, dousing it in gasoline, driving it into the morgue, and setting it ablaze. This act, unsurprisingly, caused quite a commotion.
However, while the real Jesco has managed to hold onto a sense of light, the film’s Jesco teeters on the edge, ultimately succumbing to the darkness. He grapples with and fails to control his rage over his father’s brutal murder—an act committed by two men who dragged the old man behind their pickup truck. This anger and thirst for revenge clash with an intense jealousy, which destroys his marriage to the refined Southern Belle, Cilia (played by Carrie Fisher). Dominic Murphy explains, “We simply took Jesco’s real-life temper to its logical extreme.” This extreme manifests as the graphic murders of his father’s killers and a police officer who intervenes in his rampage.
Ed Hogg’s portrayal of Jesco is a compelling mix of Charles Manson and a demonic Neil Diamond, complete with a sparkly black shirt. His frenetic dancing captivates audiences in roughneck bars. However, his volatile temper and jealousy are critical flaws in his unstable character. In one scene, he leaps from the stage, attacking a man flirting with his wife and nearly killing him. Hogg’s performance is remarkable, effortlessly transitioning from a soft-spoken Southern charmer to a bloodcurdling psychotic screamer. “I felt some sympathy for Dominic’s Jesco,” says Hogg, “He’s a man who is constantly pursued by trouble; it relentlessly hounds him.”
“White Lightnin’” marks Ed Hogg’s debut feature film role, following his training at the National Theatre. Dominic Murphy describes him as “a highly technical and well-trained actor” who needed to be guided away from his inclination to meticulously plan each scene. Such detailed preparation hindered the spontaneity required for a role that seemed tailor-made for the “method” acting approach, though decidedly un-British in its origin. “Method acting is about training oneself to access an emotional state, whereas British actors tend to represent emotion. I deliberately avoided physical rehearsals to induce anxiety, which, in turn, fueled the rage in his performance.”
The film paints a bleak picture, perhaps perceived as colorful by outsiders, but presented by Murphy in muted, rusty tones. This color palette evokes a sense of unease, akin to the moment one realizes they are trapped in a hopeless situation, and all color drains away. This pervasive feeling of impending doom suggests that hell is not a distant place but rather just beyond the Appalachian mountains, its embers dimming one’s vision.
Amidst the grim atmosphere and violence, the film presents a religious dichotomy, wavering between deep-seated faith and dismissive indifference. In one scene, Jesco asks Cilia where she is going as she leaves their trailer. “To church,” she replies, her tone suggesting it is the last place she wants to be. Yet, following the murders, Jesco seeks refuge in a remote shack in the Appalachian forest, engaging in self-punishment and seeking redemption. The film concludes with a shot of him lying in a field in a crucifixion-like pose as “Amazing Grace” plays in the background.
Ed Hogg interprets these final scenes as depicting “a man trying to find common ground with his God.” In many ways, it is self-flagellation, an attempt to endure the pain he has inflicted on others. It implies that self-reckoning is inevitable. A person can endure personal hell without ever seeing a prison cell; that is societal punishment, not self-inflicted justice. The film’s harrowing conclusion posits that a tormented conscience can be its own form of purgatory. Jesco confronts this truth in a solitary mountain cabin, where bloody isolation purges his mind.
Beneath the surface of Jesco’s persona, Appalachian dance, religious undertones, and the mythos of the American South, lies a fundamental story of a man teetering on the brink of sanity. His anger isn’t directed at existence itself but at the relentless cascade of misfortune. He embodies the classic male depressive figure of literature, haunted by the specters of revenge, jealousy, lost love, and the relentless march of time, pushed to the edge of mania until, like Hamlet described, the world becomes “nothing but a stale promontory, a foul and pestilent congregation of vapors.” When one reaches such a desolate point, the choices are stark: either lash out at the world in a Jesco-esque explosion (not recommended) or, like the real Jesco White, take a breath, put on your Elvis suit, and watch Cousin Emmy play “You Are My Sunshine” on a slowly deflating balloon.
