Mark Reviews Movies: INMATE #1: THE RISE OF DANNY TREJO

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Review by Mark Dujsik | July 6, 2020

Just as Danny Trejo became the most unlikely of character actors to become something of an icon, Inmate #1: The Rise of Danny Trejo becomes a surprisingly inspiring and thoughtful documentary. One doesn't see it coming, even if a person possesses some awareness of Trejo's past.

The man lived a lot of life before he showed up on his first film set around the age of 40. Most of it wasn't good or enviable, and some of it, namely a chunk of 11 years, was downright terrifying.

There aren't many certainties in life, and Trejo's history proves that. One's path can, unfortunately, seem set by the luck of the draw of one's birth—into which family, what socioeconomic circumstances, which specific area, whatever immutable characteristics of a person's race or ethnicity. Others may set down a certain path for an assortment of reasons, and the end of that road may appear inevitable.

Such was the case with Trejo, who was born into a fairly dysfunctional family in a poor neighborhood that was more or less written off by certain segments of society. Because of all of this and more, he latched on to a life of crime, which at least seemed to hold the promise of fulfilling his immediate wants and needs. As a result of that, he became addicted to whatever damaging substances were in front of him.

By all accounts, including his own, Trejo's life should have continued like that until it ended. The ending for such a life, as experience has since proved to him, is either rotting in prison or an early death by alcohol, drugs, or violence.

The only certainty about life, though, is that it isn't finished until it's finished. Trejo, in his 70s at the time director Brett Harvey sat down and drove around town with the actor to tell his story, is still going with no signs of stopping.

Somewhere and somehow after his incarceration, the actor had become sober, became well-known within the world of support groups for substance abuse, became recognizable as a "that guy" in Hollywood and independent film, worked with an assortment of screen legends, starred in a couple of high-profile movies based on a character created for him when he was in his 60s, and, at the time of making this film, had over 300 screen credits on his résumé. Since then, Trejo has added about 50 credits, either filmed and released or in some planning/production stage, to that list.

The point, acknowledged a few times by Trejo, is that none of this success should have happened, if the man's life was defined by what he did, where he came from, where he ended up for more than a decade, and how people saw him. "I'd be scared to meet me in an alley," the actor jokes at one point, and if you know Trejo from his film work, you know that statement is accurate. The man, even is in 70s, is tall and muscular, and when he's playing a tough guy, there's obviously no illusion to the act. He never took an acting class, and for his early acting roles, where he was often credited as some "inmate" or "prisoner," instruction wasn't necessary. An actor doesn't need to learn what he or she has experienced, and no instructor can teach that kind of experience.

Most of the film simply has Harvey either talking to—on a set or in the actor's car and around the neighborhood where he grew up (and still lives)—or watching Trejo go about his off-screen life. The conversations are, save for a final segment, entirely about the man's past. He's frank about his life in a way that only comes from thoughtful reflection.

Events are so clear in his memory, and he conveys them without a lick of nonsense. Trejo jokes about some of it, because it must seem quite removed and absurd given his current life (not to mention vice versa). He laughs about a revolver falling apart during a robbery and, mirroring the naïve enthusiasm of his youth, recalls the first time his uncle gave him cocaine. He wasn't even a teenager for that second, questionable milestone.

The film's tone is wholly defined by its subject, and in Trejo, Harvey has a natural-born storyteller. His tales are vividly communicated, not only in describing what happened in vibrant detail but also in terms of why they happened, how he felt in the moment, and what they meant to him at the time and mean to him now.

Of all the stories, Trejo's time in prison—well, multiple prisons, since he was regularly transferred as guards started to fear his involvement in protection gangs—is the most horrifically compelling. The sensation of constant fear (No amount of strength can match a few inches of metal) and what that does to a person's mind are almost, if not, as frightening as the close calls and the random violence. It was there, though, where Trejo, facing the possibility of a death sentence after assaulting a guard, had a moment of clarity—a moment that has lasted for decades.

One could describe the experience as witnessing a confession, although it wouldn't be accurate. Trejo clearly has come to terms with the mistakes and choices of his past, and as a counselor for members of support groups and prison inmates, he sees his role in telling these stories as serving as an example. These are the mistakes and choices a person might and could make. He did, and now, you don't have to.

There are the show business stories, too. As amusing and fascinating as they may be, these tales seem frivolous compared to Trejo's detailed descriptions of his childhood, his criminal activities, and his time in incarceration. That's another joke for Trejo: None of the drama of being on set or living a public life can hold a candle to what he has experienced.

Inmate #1: The Rise of Danny Trejo allows the actor a well-deserved spotlight. The man is so grounded in knowing how fortunate he is (The implication, of course, is that too many others haven't been afforded that chance), so certain of the life he wants, and so determined to help others that his very presence becomes an inspiration.

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