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Norwegian director Monica Strømdahl spent years traveling across the United States, documenting life in cheap hotels also known as flophouses. Then in 2017, she met 11-year-old Mikal in a hotel lobby. Strømdahl had met many children in flophouses, but Mikal was the only child whom she had met born into the situation. Eventually, after building a mutual trust, Mikal and his parents agreed to let Strømdahl film them in their home, where the bathroom doubled as a kitchen, for three years.
The result is “Flophouse America,” a documentary about Mikal, his parents, and the small home that they share. Amid addiction and chaos is a surprising amount of love and hope. The doc makes it clear that Mikal’s heartbreaking situation is more common in the U.S. than many people may think.
Statistics read by Mikal at the beginning of the doc make that clear. “The official poverty rate in the U.S. is 11.5%, meaning that approximately 34 million people live in poverty,” Mikal says. “Many low-income families resort to long-term stays in hotels or motels due to a lack of access to affordable housing. About 1 in 10 children, 7.5 million, live in households with at least one parent who has an alcohol abuse disorder.”
“‘Flophouse America’ is filmed in America and in one bedroom, but it’s important to remember that millions of children fall through the cracks of society worldwide,” Strømdahl told Variety. “As documentary filmmakers, we have a duty to hold up a mirror to those cracks. Only by showing what the problem feels like can we begin to do something about it.”
Since he was underage while the footage was being shot, Strømdahl waited three years after filming was complete for Mikal to become an adult and to get his consent to share his story. In March, “Flophouse America” had its world premiere in the main competition section of Copenhagen’s documentary festival CPH:DOX. This was followed by screenings at Visions du Réel in Switzerland, Movies That Matter in the Netherlands, and Docville in Belgium. Ahead of the film’s screening at Poland’s Docs without Gravity fest next month, Variety spoke with Strømdahl.
Why do you think Mikal’s parents let you capture their life and all of its struggles?
Strømdahl: Mikal’s parents let me film because they wanted to be understood. There was a lot of pain in their lives, but also a lot of honesty. They knew they were struggling, but they were also proud to have given Mikal a better upbringing than they had. In their eyes, he was protected from the life they had to endure, and in that sense, they had been very successful. I think they saw the film as a way to tell the truth about addiction, about poverty, and about trying to give the next generation better chances in life. They also trusted that I would treat them with care, not judgment. It was important to me that they knew they had the power in the room, when I was filming or not.
How do you think Mikel felt about you and the presence of your camera in his life during some of his most vulnerable moments?
Mikal saw the camera as a way to be seen. He’s a very perceptive and emotionally intelligent boy. In a home where adult emotions often dominated the space, the camera became a way for him to claim some of it back. He used it, in a sense, as a mirror to show his parents how he felt and what he was going through. He had a hope that the film would help them understand his perspective. We talked about this throughout the process. He was never passive; he was very aware.
There are many scenes in the film where I wanted to reach into the screen and help Mikal out in some way. Did you ever feel the desire to “rescue” or “save” him?
This dilemma, whether to keep filming or step in, is as old as documentary itself. I never feared for Mikal’s immediate safety, but I was deeply concerned about the long-term impact his environment could have on him. That’s why I spent so much time with the family: to understand their dynamic, to move with care and intention. And honestly, I think I did intervene by making this film together with the family. I wasn’t absent. I stayed in close contact with them throughout, and we made a care plan ensuring Mikal received long-term therapeutic support. I do believe he felt seen and empowered by the process, and by my presence. In a way, making audiences want to rescue Mikal is the point.
In the midst of addiction, acrimony, and viciousness, there was a surprising amount of love expressed in Mikal’s household. Did that surprise you?
It didn’t surprise me at all; the love was always present. From the very beginning, it was important to me to show the family not just as statistics, but as full, complex human beings. Mikal’s parents had a clear goal: to give him a safer, more emotionally open upbringing than they had themselves. They wanted him to feel loved, and they gave him space to express himself at all times. Their way of communicating, their openness, and their emotional honesty are qualities many might envy. That’s what I tried to show in the film, not just the struggle, but the connection, the intent, and the humanity that persisted through it all.
Mikal and his father have seen the film. What was their reaction?
One of Mikal’s motivations for being part of the film was to connect with his parents and help them understand what life was like for him. When we showed the footage to Jason and Mikal together, it became a powerful moment where they were able to connect in a new way. They had conversations they had never had before. It opened up a space for honesty, and I believe it helped in the process of healing. It brought them closer in some ways. This new connection between them will, for me, stand as one of the most important moments in the whole process of making this film.
Sales agency Lightbox boarded “Flophouse America” in March. The film is seeking distribution.
