John Maggio, the writer, director, and coproducer (with Lindsey Megrue) of the documentary Bonnie and Clyde, seems committed to avoiding the mythologizing that permeated Arthur Penn's 1967 classic of the same name. The absences of Warren Beatty, Faye Dunaway, and Earl Scruggs's banjo help considerably in that regard. Far from glamorous, Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow are shown as “two-bit Texas hoods” more likely to rob gas stations and grocery stores than banks. And viewers do not see them expressing solidarity with dispossessed farmers or refusing to steal the money of a poor bank customer. Nevertheless, the film builds its own mythic portrait of the outlaws. Almost everything in its evocative account of their hardscrabble early lives prefigures their doomed romance and criminal notoriety. Barrow's parents were itinerant farmers who moved their large family to a riverside encampment on the outskirts of Dallas—a location so grim that locals called it “the devil's back porch.” Among the other impoverished rural migrants nearby was Parker, living with her widowed mother. Both youngsters yearned for Dallas's beckoning attractions from the wrong side of the Trinity River. Eager for escape, Parker wrote poetry, sought excitement in Dallas picture houses, and, against her mother's will, left school at fifteen to marry a small-time criminal—a relationship memorialized in a tattoo on her thigh. Her husband was physically abusive and soon disappeared, leaving Parker to bemoan “the unending boredom of poverty.” Barrow, we are told, had “a taste for expensive suits and little interest in hard work” and, like Parker, “chafed at the prospect of a life of poverty.” Inevitably, it seems, by his teen years he graduated from stealing chickens to automobile theft and armed robbery. “Clyde Barrow didn't see stealing so much as a crime as almost an obligation,” asserts Jeff Guinn, the author of Go down Together: The True, Untold Story of Bonnie and Clyde (2009). When the rebellious pair fatefully meet, Parker filled with boredom and Barrow driving a stolen car, “you could see the sparks fly right there.”
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