And, along the way, they created one of the finest, most moving, most precious documentary films I have ever seen: Darius Goes West.

The story of Darius begins in Athens, where he lives in public housing and, until the journey, had never crossed the county line. Spending all of his waking day in a wheelchair, Darius is in desperate need of a “new ride.’’ Naming their movement Darius Goes West, the eleven teenagers set their sights on West Coast Customs, the extreme auto-body shop featured in the MTV show “Pimp My Ride.” Their goal was to pimp Darius’s wheelchair, to outlandishly customize it with spinners, leather seats, subwoofers, and Xboxes. But more importantly, they were going to use the MTV show as a platform to educate millions of teenager viewers about DMD.

As Darius says: nobody knows who Jerry Lewis is anymore.

It was a noble cause, and a noble journey. One of the most striking aspects is to see the eleven young men practice such gentle compassion and brotherhood with Darius. Teenage males are so often viewed as unemotional and stoic, as young Rambos in training. But this film highlights the deep love these friends had for each other, and for Darius. Unable to move most of his body, he depended on his comrades as they lifted him into bed each night, carried him into the Gulf as he touched the ocean for the first time, sat together on the edge of the Grand Canyon, held on as they wheelchaired down Lombard Street in San Fran, advocated and fought against the lack of wheelchair accessibility in the US, and wept in the face of Darius’s crippling disease and impending death. They were as graceful and compassionate caregivers as I have ever seen, and if you are looking for role models or hope in dark times, look no farther than this film and these men.

My hunch, though, is that they would shake off those compliments – “caregivers’’ and “role models’’ - for each and every one of them credits Darius as the hero, Darius as the one who taught them the meaning of life. Darius, a teenage boy who had never been across the county line, who was in a wheelchair and can barely use his limbs, who may or may not go to college, or make a lot of money, or even live to see his thirtieth birthday – he is the teacher, the healer, the one who helps us understand the meaning of life. To care for each other. To laugh. To give thanks. More >>