Netflix knew what it was doing when it slotted Chris Smith’s new documentary “Don’t Die: The Man Who Wants to Live Forever” to release on Jan. 1. We want to start the new year working towards “better” versions of ourselves, and that usually means starting a new health regimen regarding diet and exercise. But before we eat a salad and hit the gym, perhaps we want to check in on Bryan Johnson, the wealthy entrepreneur who has turned himself into a guinea pig in his quest to live forever. Is he the picture of health or is there something a little sadder and lonelier beneath the washboard abs?
To Smith’s credit, he doesn’t dismiss his subject as an outright kook even as Johnson goes through the rigorous amount of pills, tests, procedures and other routines in his quest to slow and reverse the aging process. There’s a genuine curiosity at work even as Smith intersperses the movie with voices of Johnson’s critics who observe that this wealthy man using his immense resources towards the benefit of himself and those around him feels both insular and self-serving. Smith also explores what would drive an individual to this level of obsession surrounding their health. How can we say this is a healthy individual if they’re willing to risk their health with risky experiments?
Unfortunately, Smith hits a snag from the outset by never questioning or seeking to define the terms set by Johnson and the anti-aging movement. Johnson, various doctors, and scientists in the anti-aging movement mention “biological age,” but that’s never adequately defined. When people talk about how quitting smoking can add years to your life, that’s a folk shorthand, not science. It would be like studying the effects of digesting apples and if they repel medical professionals on a daily basis. However, people in “Don’t Die” treat the human lifespan as something one can acquire or diminish through their actions like they’re the people with the digital arm counters in the sci-fi movie “In Time.” Quitting smoking and picking up exercise will probably add to your longevity, but there’s no way of knowing precisely how much, especially as every person is different.
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The movie also stresses how Johnson’s body is “optimized,” but optimized for what? Smith never interrogates the tech-based language Johnson uses or the dangers of viewing human physiology not as a diverse range, but as hardware working at peak performance. This kind of language is also confusing because people pursue different goals in life. Michael Phelps had to eat a certain number of calories and swim a certain number of hours every day to become an optimal Olympic swimmer. But as others have observed, genetics yielded Phelps the “perfect body for swimming.” Why should we assume that what “works” for Johnson (assuming it’s even working) would be of benefit to anyone else?
This leads to the other major problem with Johnson’s project. He says he’s at the cutting edge of anti-aging science, but he’s a study of one. Although one doctor points out that all the experimentation funded by Johnson is only on himself and therefore far less useful than funding a controlled study, the movie is largely content to accept its subject’s premise that what he’s doing is medically rigorous and for the good of mankind. The film can never fully accept the fairly obvious truth that this is a sad, lonely rich guy forming a new obsession over his health and taking medical risks with his body. Instead, it wants to show that while Johnson may be controversial and perhaps even emotionally damaged, he is also at the forefront of a worthwhile health movement.
Smith can never square that circle because the health claims here only seem backed up by Johnson, his team and people who want more funding and support for anti-aging science. We are being sold something here, and what we’re being sold doesn’t even make a lot of sense. The movie acknowledges how few people have the time or funds to emulate Johnson’s “Blueprint” health regimen. Even if we did, why would we?
When the film ends with people surrounding Johnson and wearing his “Don’t Die” shirts as they go for a hike, I couldn’t help but wonder why Smith played the moment as a triumphant one. The film and Johnson are still resting on the lazy claims that we’re miserable because we’re eating junk food and not sleeping enough. But for Johnson and his ilk, the solution isn’t to fund healthier options in food deserts or promote teleworking so that people don’t have to get up early for tiresome commutes. It’s certainly not to combat climate change because you can’t exercise your way out of floodwaters taking your home. The “victory,” such that it exists, is that a lonely individual feels less lonely because he’s surrounded himself with people who share his fear of morality.
“Don’t Die” may want to be empathetic towards Johnson, but it overshoots its mark. The film lends far too much weight to his claims and takes advantage of an audience that may not go to the same lengths as Johnson but would be willing to accept his premise of extreme diet and exercise as a way to happiness. Should we eat better and exercise more? Sure, but there’s no need to couch these ideas in the trappings of quack science. If anything, “Don’t Die” may work better as a cautionary tale of what happens when you give your entire identity, thinking, and online persona to playing an avatar of fitness. It’s a shame that Smith seems to see such radical actions as mostly harmless.
“Don’t Die: The Man Who Wants to Live Forever” is now streaming on Netflix.
