“I wish New York had cobblestone streets, like in Spain. They [would make it easier] to water the city, the trees would thrive and, on top of that, people could interact with them: lift the stones, reposition them, move them around.” John Wilson – with his blond beard, thick-rimmed glasses and faded red t-shirt that depicts Yo La Tengo (an American indie rock band) – is trying to recover from a hangover: “I drank a lot of wine and ate a whole rabbit.”

The film director is best known for creating How To with John Wilson, a cult comedy-docuseries. In May, Wilson was in Barcelona, presenting his first feature-length documentary – The History of Concrete (2026) – at the DocsBarcelona Festival. In it, the New Yorker reflects on the omnipresence of concrete (the second-most-used material on the planet, after water) and how it has become both a symbol of decay and the dominant landscape of any contemporary city. “I think it’s something very political that people don’t realize is political,” he points out. The film is now being shown on the festival circuit.

In Spain, during the years of the real estate boom, nearly a million homes were built each year: more than in Germany, France and the UK combined. In Barcelona, there’s hardly a vacant lot left to build on. If the city continues to grow, the panots (the iconic, flower-patterned paving tiles) could end up overflowing past the city limits.

The filmmaker addresses the tendency to solve any urban planning problem with concrete, be it to homogenize a city, repair sidewalks, fill tree pits, or patch up artificial fish ponds when there’s a leak. But this material isn’t eternal: it wears down, gets covered in chewing gum (“gum is like the birdshit of people,” Wilson remarks, in the documentary’s voiceover), and also cracks and breaks. “The constant renewal [of concrete] creates a cyclical pattern, as if cities maintain a lifetime subscription model with cement companies,” the director adds.

This idea of what endures and what cracks is repeated throughout the documentary as a stream of consciousness. He previously developed this format through How To with John Wilson, produced by Nathan Fielder for HBO. Over the course of three seasons, he teaches viewers how to erect scaffolding, how to cook the perfect risotto, how to be spontaneous, or how to observe birds.

In his new documentary – as in his previous work – he jumps from idea to idea through everyday scenes, meeting characters who have outlandish jobs and hobbies. For instance, there’s the man who works for GumBusters, a company that specializes in cleaning various surfaces. Every time he peels some hardened chewing gum off the concrete, the employee celebrates by declaring: “That gum is busted!”

With humor — and without resorting to caricaturizing or mocking people — the visual chronicler plays with the line between what’s acceptable and what’s uncomfortable in each conversation: “There’s something very primal about watching people doing boring things and recognizing yourself in them. Seeing yourself reflected might soften some of the ethical conflicts that something like this can generate. Of course, it’s not up to me to decide whether [documenting people in this way] is cruel or not; that’s up to the viewer.”

The film unfolds in small snippets, some of which Wilson has saved up over the course of his career, with others having been shot specifically for this project. From the subject of cement, we move to a workshop on how to write and sell a Hallmark movie, to men who preserve and frame the tattooed skin of dead people (turning the pieces of flesh into decorative objects), to documentary footage of a rocker. The clips reveal that these kinds of stories are the ones that are truly profitable.

The housing crisis also runs throughout the film. Wilson shows the house he bought: he rents the first two floors out to friends. The building is plagued by leaks, breakdowns and other defects. “Now that I own the place, [I’m] very interested in putting solid figures on what I charge in rent, because I still feel like it’s a kind of black box that almost no one talks about openly. The satirical news site The Onion once ran a fake headline that could be true: ‘Landlord forced to raise rent due to thinking of bigger number.”

The fame that the filmmaker achieved with his HBO series didn’t necessarily translate into financial stability. While his unique blend of observational documentary, urban essay and awkward humor made him a recognizable figure within the cultural scene, he continued to struggle to finance his projects. In making his latest film, for instance, he found that concrete sells better as a material than as an idea.

The contradiction becomes absurd when, in the documentary, he appears as a guest at the event where Kim Kardashian was named one of GQ magazine’s “Men of the Year” (specifically, “Tycoon of the Year”) while he was still trying to raise money to get the project off the ground and pay the crew. “I didn’t know if I was really a successful documentary filmmaker,” he admits. “I was being celebrated and invited to these strange parties when, at the same time, I was struggling to survive.” He pauses for a moment, before adding: “I’ve forgotten your question.”

“What’s the connection between Kim Kardashian and concrete?”

“Well, I wanted to connect the pursuit of profit with a broader critique of capitalism. She represents something that’s very much a part of American pop culture, but she’s also a political figure in many ways. Just like with Donald Trump, there’s this mix of real estate and entertainment. And I think we need to strip the real estate sector of that celebrity aura, because the idolatry surrounding these figures can be very damaging.”

Interestingly, New York City Mayor Zohran Mamdani’s team recently asked Wilson for an audiovisual collaboration, in order to address the mayor’s new policy proposal to reduce the amount of scaffolding that floods the city. Mamdani understood, from the beginning of his campaign, what kind of videos he needed to connect with voters and compete with figures like Donald Trump for media attention. “Mamdani is very smart,” Wilson notes. “I really like what he’s doing. In fact, I told him he had to watch this documentary and take note of certain things.”

Wilson is surprised by the amount of bags of concrete, rubble, stones and garbage scattered around Barcelona. The director is fascinated by waste, scaffolding and cranes. And, in this strange fondness for what everyone else ignores, there’s an aura reminiscent of filmmaker Agnès Varda’s The Gleaners and I (2000), the documentary in which the French director portrays those who make a living by gathering objects and food that others don’t want. “Of course, she’s a major influence on me; I always have Agnès Varda in mind,” Wilson says.

In the making of The History of Concrete, there have also been discarded elements: all the images that didn’t appear, that were thrown away. For instance, everything he filmed in Barcelona two years ago, much of what he recorded in Rome and, above all, the footage that pained him the most to discard: a story about jellyfish experts trying to stop a plague on the New Jersey coast caused by jet skis (attributed to all the mansions). The situation had resulted in the perfect breeding ground for the creatures. Perhaps this could be the starting point of his next film: a sea of jellyfish, like the sea of concrete expanding from New Jersey to the Big Apple.

The director delves into how to talk about concrete, how to see what no one else sees and how to find value in the most absurd objects (and the most unclassifiable people). But at a time when we Google (or ask an AI) how to do even the smallest, most everyday tasks, John Wilson admits that he can’t remember the last time he needed to look up instructions for something. “I don’t know. Nothing comes to mind… how to get to Barcelona? How to have a good night?” He did the latter by drinking wine and eating a whole rabbit for dinner.

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