SXSW Review: Cornbread Mafia is a slice of colorful homegrown true crime

A kind of documentary I really enjoy is "good storytellers tell stories." Think last year's Endless Cookie. A new addition to that very specific canon is Cornbread Mafia, which premiered at SXSW last week, and is a rollicking good time. It's a hangout movie, a crime movie, a stoner comedy. It has a lot going on, and a lot going for it.

I came upon this doc, from directors Evan Mascagni and Drew Morris, because it was the only feature playing at SXSW this year that was marked as animation. Which, like, shame on the festival. But I'm glad it brought this wild ride of a story to my attention. This isn't a fully animated doc like Endless Cookie or Flee, but is more in line with something like A Paradise Lost or I Was Born This Way. 

Because of the nature of the story, and when it was all playing out, there isn't a wealth of archive footage to bring some of the movie to life. So the filmmakers (quite smartly, I think) have turned to animation to present a lot of the tales we're told throughout Cornbread Mafia. The animation isn't super sophisticated, not a ton of movement or detail, but it all looks good and does what it needs to do. It's fun seeing the characters (who you will grow to love) presented in the medium, looking more like charming comic strip characters than hard-partying marijuana farmers, and it's certainly more interesting (to me at least) to watch these animated scenes and sequences rather than live-action reenactments or slant-rhyme stock footage. 

And it feels like it vibes with the overall feel of the movie. Which is to say, this is a really fun watch. From the opening moments, you know that this is a movie that isn't going to take itself too seriously (although it manages to slow down and give proper reverence to some heavier scenes toward the end). We start off meeting two of the eponymous group, brothers Joe Keith and Jimmy Bickett, as they attempt to roll up in their truck and introduce themselves. Only Joe Keith screws up his words. Then screws them up again. Then Jimmy's phone starts ringing. It's goofy, endearing, and tone-setting. 

For those who don't know (like me), the Cornbread Mafia refers to a group of Kentucky marijuana farmers whose operation stretched across four decades and a dozen states. It's the largest domestic marijuana operation in US history, and as you can imagine, that distinction comes with a lot of crazy stories. There's the stuff you. might expect: hard drugs, parties, careless spending, police chases. And then there's the stuff you might not expect, like pet lions. It really is a miracle that these guys survived such a roller coaster of a life, and came out with (most of) their faculties intact.

If this was merely a story about a group of dudes sticking it to the man, that would be great, but man, these guys just really seem awesome. Sure, they were in it for money, but it wasn't a purely selfish affair. By bringing this whole machine to life, they were also spreading the wealth, and helping these communities that were overlooked and forgotten, languishing in poverty and being mistreated by law enforcement, to take control of their own destinies and to make a way for themselves in the world.

And what better way to hear this story than from the mouths of the Mafia members themselves? I tell you what, I could listen to these guys talk all day. They're all such colorful characters with fantastic delivery, funny turns of phrases, and unique perspectives on the lives they've led. And yes, the accents help. Took me back to our family vacations down to Tennessee when I was growing up. 

While this is by and large an extremely fun watch, it also does it due diligence in providing the weight that the story also deserves. The film includes contributors from "the other side," such as DEA agents and a federal prosecutor, and explores the injustice of how drug-related crimes are prosecuted, and how communities of color are punished more harshly. The film's main concern might be spinning an entertaining tale that feels like a slice of American mythology, but it makes room for texture that takes it beyond being just a thrilling bit of homegrown true crime.