A mere three years ago, the idea of a journalist whose entire job was to report on cannabis was pretty far out. There might be someone at High Times reading this and saying, “We were doing pot journalism before it was cool, man.” But let’s be real, guys, you weren’t doing pot journalism like Ricardo Baca is doing pot journalism. You see, Ricardo Baca is the marijuana editor for the Denver Post. Indeed, he may have been the first full-time marijuana journalist in the country. His story is told in the new documentary Rolling Papers, which opens February 19 at Sundance Cinemas.
Rolling Papers is, essentially, a Baca biopic, though it is sprinkled with other interesting oddballs from his circle. As a burgeoning pot journalist myself, I was expecting the film to bestow upon me all the wisdom necessary to become a successful marijuana editor at a major publication, complete with a sweet Arcteryx jacket, a modern shoulder bag, and a downtown condo with clearstory windows.
Unfortunately, the film seems to have a lot of trouble deciding whether it is about the people or the journalism. It flits between characters, following them for a few steps in pursuit of a scoop, but never quite to the end. And though equal screen time is dedicated to interviewing the interviewers, I didn’t leave with the feeling that I had truly gotten beneath the surface.
To wit, the film introduces us to two freelance marijuana-strain reviewers—another first for a major news outlet—and then sets up a competition between them, something akin to quarterback squabbles in the NFL preseason. After that, this drama is never explored. Instead, they become wandering, disjointed subplots.
One of the reviewers, Brittany Driver, is a new parent and, like every new parent, is really obsessed with that. She writes a parenting column for the paper, and frets constantly about Child Protective Services coming to take her baby. The other reviewer, Jake Browne, is a former budtender who just looooooves weed. Like any good freelancer, they’ve got dreams of nailing ambitious, signature stories. Unfortunately, those signature stories are not followed to any meaningful conclusion.
It is difficult to discern whether the documentary’s short attention span led to a lot of hard-hitting, diligent investigative journalism being cut out in favor of shorter, stonier clips, but watching these two work is an exercise in frustration. Apparently, my theory about waiting to toke up until your work week is over is a good one.
In one tragic interlude, Baca and Browne discuss Browne’s pet project: an inside look at Denver’s black market.
“Keep on him, stay on him, and don’t be afraid to apply pressure, too,” Baca coaches Browne before sending him out to see a source. Browne, on his way to the interview, jokes, “Maybe I should google ‘investigative reporting.'” Too late for that, bud!
Dressed in the type of streetwear outfit that screams “undercover cop,” he shares a blunt of “Death Panda” with the source—a tatted-up street-dealer. The interview does not go well, thanks mostly to Browne’s awkward attempts to get him to admit to drug trafficking on camera with no prior discussion of anonymity.
Later, we see Driver attempt to pursue her investigation into Child Protective Services’ policies on potheaded parents… at 4:08 pm without an appointment. She then launches into a tirade about how CPS “says they want to talk” but really doesn’t.
Given that there is no employee of any human service department anywhere in America that will talk to you after 4 pm without an appointment, it’s a little hard to take her accusation seriously. Her CPS story dissipates into a heartstring-tugging side quest to find cute little sick kids who have been saved by CBD oil.
The issue seems to be that both reviewers are way too stoned to do journalism. However, the paper’s two staff reporters on the pot beat, John Ingold and Eric Gorski, more than make up for that reporting deficit. They look like a pair of carefully calibrated reporter bots, complete with arm-mounted public disclosure request cannons and sensible button-ups.
However, unlike the reviewers, they seem to have great difficulty relating to actual pot users. Sent to cover High Times’ Cannabis Cup, they wander stiffly around with notepads, awkwardly refusing proffered bong rips and basically being the biggest narcs possible. Browne, however, is in the trenches, dabbing his brain cells into oblivion and making friends.
Baca, to his credit, seems to be the best of both worlds. The film ends with a fact-finding mission to Uruguay, which sees Baca interviewing top officials by day and toking up with locals by night. Indeed, it seems to be his ability to walk both sides of the line that has made his fledgling department such a success. And success it is. His bosses are thrilled with the extra traffic his pot content brings in, waxing poetic about its potential to solve the thorny problem of of newspaper mass extinction.
One last warning: the music supervision is almost criminally bad. Ironic juxtaposition is great and all, but must we be subjected to bad trap music whenever Ingold appears on the screen? Like, we get it, he’s a total Poindexter, he’s got a goofy center part and—gasp—he’s a pot journalist.
That said, for anyone who gives a shit about journalism, weed, or both, Rolling Papers has got plenty of opportunities for knowing laughs. And, despite the many potheaded foibles and awkward moments, it does something very worthwhile: It reminds viewers that, novel though it may be, pot journalism is real journalism. Now if only I could convince The Stranger to send me to Uruguay…