The problem with the recent spate of autobiographical documentaries is that such films invite comment on the lives of their creators, which means a knock against the filmmaking seems like a knock against the filmmakers' troubles. John Cadigan's People Say I'm Crazy risks harsh judgment throughout, yet what's so remarkable about the movie is how matter-of-fact it is. It's not that Cadigan wouldn't care if his audience thought badly of him—in fact, he'd probably be pained to hear it—but People Say I'm Crazy makes it clear that outside opinions won't change anything. Cadigan is what he is: a diagnosed paranoid schizophrenic.
Cadigan has been filming his life (with his family's help) off and on since his first psychotic episode at 21, about 10 years ago. People Say I'm Crazy lingers on his recent daily routine: going to therapy, running errands, sleeping, and taking advantage of rare moments of uplift to work on his elaborate woodcut art. All of this is presented with a minimum of exploitation; mostly, Cadigan narrates his life in a drowsy, medicated voice, detailing the effort of getting from bedtime to bedtime without slipping into catatonia.
Along with the narration, Cadigan spills his philosophy and fears, while the edited footage contrasts his carvings of detailed, gothic, snake-like figures with the mundanity of, say, having dinner with his parents. His situation is most poignantly expressed in simple monologues where he describes taking his mind off his demons by watching TV and listening to music—anything to keep from having another episode and becoming a burden to a family that's been almost too willing to help him.
People Say I'm Crazy was produced by Ira Wohl, whose Oscar-winning 1979 documentary Best Boy had a similarly compelling "this is the way it really is to live with a disability" naturalism. Cadigan's plainspoken explanation of his "morning dread," and the way everyday feelings of being slighted become monumental to him, accumulate into a moving portrait of how mental illness can feel like a common case of the blues, multiplied a thousandfold.