Review of Don`t Die: The Man Who Wants To Live Forever

Anyone who has ever navigated the vexing maze that is the American healthcare system (and even those who haven't) has wondered what it would be like to have seemingly limitless resources and time to not only diagnose but also prevent the complications of disease. Self-medication. The Netflix documentary "Don`t Die: The Man Who Wants To Live Forever" answers this question, if not in an otherwise compelling way. This movie is available on myflixer movies

Directed by Chris Smith, the film focuses on Brian Johnson, a tech entrepreneur whose life's mission is to target the pesky biology of aging. The result is a work of endearing curiosity rather than a poignant social inquiry, an enjoyable, if superficial, work. The flaws are neither technical nor creative, but rather problems of organization and philosophical engagement.

Johnson made his fortune in mobile and web payment systems as founder and CEO of Braintree, which he sold to PayPal in 2013. Since then, he has invested in venture capital and seems to focus most of his energy on just living longer.

The vehicle of his single-minded obsession is a radical, highly disciplined, personal anti-aging program that he calls "Project Blueprint." Its goal is to slow Johnson's aging and, in theory, even reverse most of the functional decline associated with aging in anyone. The vast, developed infrastructure includes everything from diet, exercise, and hundreds of pills a day to more innovative and experimental treatments.

The first 15 minutes of Don't Die: The Man Who Wants to Live Forever are filled with dizzyingly redundant details (hello, inhaled pulmonary senolytic drugs and penile shockwave therapy!), but those who fear advanced biology classes need not fear, as businessmen use certain jargon to sound wise. Don't Die is not actually a complicated exercise, and it deviates significantly from the specific science of the Johnson Therapy in general.

Instead, the film features Johnson's teenage son Talmage, who reunites with his father after the divorce. From there, he examines various aspects of The Blueprint and its protagonist's life, including Johnson's decision to give all of his health data to the public, the commercial exploitation of this open-book document ("It's not science, it's just attention-grabbing," Johnson says), doctor-shaming, intergenerational plasma therapy, and more.

Smith first gained attention in 1996 with his sharp mockumentary American Job, which portrayed the difficulties of living on minimum wage. But it was his 1999 Sundance hit indie film American Movie, a compassionate look at an eccentric aspiring film director from Wisconsin, that really got him noticed. Smith has had a varied career, and in recent years he has made money with non-fiction, directing high-profile, multi-episode non-fiction projects.

While Smith's early work seemed to herald the arrival of a new chronicler of talented, unconventional, and skilled working-class struggles, many of his later works (Fire, Branson, Mr. McMahon) have focused rather on the lives and problems of the super-rich, the wealthy (and often those caused by them). In this respect, Don't Die fits well into Smith's filmography.

Although the film has no defining parallels with the crime element, Don't Die actually has a lot in common with Smith's four-part series Bad Vegan, which chronicles the bizarre downfall of New York vegan restaurant owner and aspiring influencer Salma Melungailis. On a macro level, both projects tell the story of fundamentally unhappy, deeply conflicted people searching for someone or something that can give their lives greater meaning.

While "Bad Vegan" fails to penetrate Melungailis's cold, emotional distance, "Don't Die" is adept at portraying Johnson as fully human. In a world where billionaires often seem clueless and socially bankrupt, Johnson (who is only 400 times the billionaire) is refreshingly self-aware. He speaks candidly about his past mental health issues and has an affable, self-effacing demeanor. "It's a cult -- it makes you go to bed early," he admits, either jokingly or sincerely.

But like Bad Vegan, the film is both fascinating and frustrating in its intricacies. This is mainly because Smith never seems to fully understand that Don't Die's various subplots are actually the driving force behind Johnson's strange quest. Co-editors Daniel Koehler and Paul Trewartha frequently find compelling parallels and commentary in certain scenes, but many elements of the story seem to be pushed to the forefront in order to paint a more holistic portrait. The way it's packaged makes Don't Die feel more like a collection of individual songs than an album with a coherent theme. For example, the inclusion of journalist Ashlee Vance (who also serves as a producer) seems half-hearted, as she doesn't fully use her tech expertise to categorize Johnson's venture as part of a larger trend in which the wealthy make vast fortunes in ventures like this toxic mix of fame projects and unwanted social change.

Don't Die also never addresses any aspect of its protagonist's flawed worldview, instead accepting ostensibly rational-sounding statements as existential truths simply because Johnson speaks them calmly and eloquently. "As a species, we have come to terms with our inevitable decline, decay, and death," Johnson says -- despite the fact that entire industries and trillions of dollars of economic spending are devoted to denying aging, and despite the immutable truth that knowledge shakes humanity's interest and concern with aging. Perhaps it is that very death that provokes potential self-destructive behavior more than any other factor.