Documentary preserves charm of beloved dance hall
The singer-songwriter Bruce Robison must slouch and crook his head to the side to fit on stage at Austin’s beloved honkytonk the Broken Spoke.
Ray Benson — the equally tall ringleader of the western swing band Asleep at the Wheel — stands in front of the stage; otherwise, he wouldn’t fit. Concessions must be made sometimes in the name of tradition, and artists like these will make them for the Broken Spoke, a honky-tonk on South Lamar Boulevard that has been presenting hard-core country music for more than a half century.
The venue’s story gets reverently told in the new documentary “Honky Tonk Heaven: The Legend of the Broken Spoke,” which screens Thursday at the Houston Cinema Arts Festival.
For filmmakers Brenda
Greene Mitchell and Sam Wainwright Douglas, making the film was a necessity — an attempt to capture a cultural touchstone and the family that created it before it slipped away. Both directors have experience with old Texas music venues.
“My real love for the dance hall started in childhood,” Mitchell says. “I grew up in Smithville, so we went there on Saturday nights. It’s just what we did, with my Czech grandparents. And then as a teenager, it’s still what we did. So I have a real heart for that culture.”
With her husband, Mitchell bought the Wunsche Bros. Cafe in Spring in 1982 and successfully staged shows there by performers such as Townes Van Zandt, Jerry Jeff Walker and Lyle Lovett.
Houston native Douglas fondly remembers visiting the beloved venue Blanco’s, which closed in 2013 and was leveled earlier this year.
Their film is the story of a family that grows up alongside a honky- tonk, two arcs that twist together into one over the course of decades.
James White opened the Broken Spoke in 1965 when he was 25. He soon married, and his wife, Annetta, has run the venue with him since. Their daughters grew up in the business: One teaches newcomers to dance before the shows. The other is a general manager who also crafts James’ brilliant and sparkling western shirts.
“It’s a family business through and through,” Douglas says. “And their temerity and wit and charm and soul is what keeps that place thriving. They are the spirit of the place.”
The place has hosted all sorts of honky-tonk heroes in its 50-plus years, from Ernest Tubb and Willie Nelson to subsequent generations of performers. As presented in “Honky Tonk Heaven,” the Spoke operates on old tradition: The dance floor is for dancing. James trades his ball cap for a Stetson, ties a ribbon around his neck and takes to the stage for a wellrehearsed introduction about the venue each night. But the Spoke also proves welcoming to any reverent patron. In one scene, a spindly kid in a New York Yankees cap with big black eyeglasses dances alongside those in cowboy hats.
Country music, cold beer and dancing: This is the scene for most of the film’s running time. The Spoke is seen as both intimate, with its low ceilings, and boundless, with a dance floor that is in constant motion. It’s both rustic and larger than life.
Then musician Jesse Dayton — who used to have a weekly gig at the Spoke — talks about the inevitability of change that comes with a population boom, whether it’s global or in Austin. Mitchell and Douglas zoom out and show the rickety venue — patched together a piece at a time over the years — now flanked by two bright, modern and enormous condo complexes.
Three years ago, Mitchell thought the venue’s story needed to be told in a documentary.
“Years went by, and I never thought it would be me to do it,” she says. “But the landscape kept changing in this wildly urbanizing city. I saw the construction nearby, and my heart just jumped. So I jumped in.”
Rather than vilify the developers, she and Douglas allowed them into the film. One talks about attending his kid’s soccer game. A conversation among parents turned toward the awful people who would build a large structure in that part of the city. The developer went silent.
Mitchell and Douglas know “Honky Tonk Heaven” can’t halt progress. The Whites’ daughters are so deeply involved in the business that there’s hope for it after James and Annetta are gone, but Austin’s growth has made the real estate’s value a financial problem. So the filmmakers opted to preserve history while it still can be documented.
“I still remember the first time I walked in there,” Douglas says. “It was the most amazing honky-tonk. It was the real deal, lots of cowboy hats and people dancing. It was like walking into 1965.”