‘The History of Concrete’: Forget the title, sit back and enjoy

By ALISSA WILKINSON

When the idiosyncratic and hilarious HBO show “How To With John Wilson” ended in 2023, its eponymous creator found himself at loose ends. “The space between projects is hard,” he says at the start of “The History of Concrete” (in theaters). “Time becomes unstructured. You settle into some of your worst habits.” And that, in his typically roundabout way, is how he ended up making a documentary about concrete.

It’s not just about concrete, as any “How To” fan might have guessed. “The History of Concrete” plays like a feature-length episode of the show, with all of its hallmarks. There’s a meandering, associative through line and a lot of documentary footage, which is often comically juxtaposed with Wilson’s narration. Which is to say: This is a weird, fun movie that goes in some very unexpected directions.

For a long stretch, “The History of Concrete” is a documentary about how difficult it is to get financing for a documentary, especially if it’s about, well, concrete. But it’s about a lot of other things, too: mortality, affordable housing, chewing gum on sidewalks, a 3,100-mile race that takes place in Queens annually, the weirdness of becoming a minor celebrity. During the 2023 Writers Guild strike, Wilson attends the only workshop the union is offering then, an overview of how to write a Hallmark movie; he then wonders if he can apply those lessons to this film. At least Hallmark movies are successful, right?

If essays are enjoyable to read because you see the writer’s mind at work, then a lot of the pleasure of a Wilson documentary is following along as his interests sprawl. When an assistant director of Hallmark movies explains that they “just continue to tell the same boy-meets-girl story over and over again,” it leads to a diversion into an account of the 3,100-mile race, which consists of competitors running for 18 hours a day around the same block for 52 days straight.

You can see the connective tissue, but it’s still a surprise. The visual jokes are as funny as ever, too: As he wryly says (about himself), “You’ve never tried to finance something yourself, and you realize you need a little help,” we’re looking at a woman wearing a baseball hat with the words, “Put it on my husband’s tab.”

My favorite thing about Wilson’s work has always been its humanism, the way he manages to show the peculiarities of people — especially fellow New Yorkers, but not only them — without stripping them of their dignity. There’s a gentleness to his approach that comes off as affection. Often, a shot lasts a beat longer than you might expect, and the camera captures the subject in an unguarded moment after answering Wilson’s question.

In “The History of Concrete,” he forms a particular relationship that leads the film in a poignant direction and manages to tie up all of the loose threads, sometimes seemingly serendipitously. You’re left wondering how a movie about concrete could leave a lump in your throat. But that’s how Wilson works, making us see what we might not have otherwise. We can hope there’s less space between this project and the next.