Eager to hold on to power, in 1812 the Democratic-Republican-dominated Massachusetts Senate redrew the state's electoral districts in a gambit to guarantee future victories. One was so brazenly reengineered that political cartoonists represented it as a salamander. So, when Governor Elbridge Gerry signed a bill making the new districts official, the practice of redrawing to one party's advantage took on a new name: gerrymandering. Ever since, political partisans have created district boundaries in outlandish shapes reminiscent of mythological monsters and cartoon scenes (see Pennsylvania's "Goofy kicking Donald Duck").

Every 10 years, state legislatures redraw these maps. Following the sweeping Democratic wins of 2008, the Koch brothers and other Republican strategists poured money into seemingly random elections across the country—particularly in swing states like Michigan, Wisconsin, North Carolina, and Pennsylvania. Their goal: to elect politicians willing to redraw electoral districts in a way that guaranteed no Democrat would win again. That campaign, called the REDMAP project, is the subject of Slay the Dragon, a fast-paced documentary from Participant Media and Magnolia Pictures hitting theaters in March.

The film opens with an aerial view of a Michigan town. As the narrator explains, the drinking water debacle in Flint—one of the most severe public health disasters in recent history—had everything to do with crooked lines drawn on a map.

Directors Chris Durrance and Barak Goodman were moved to create Slay the Dragon after reading Ratf**ked, David Daley's 2016 book-length investigation of the political right's successful strategy of using big data and analytical tools to redraw districts with precision. By no means a partisan manifesto, the film also documents the dragons in Democrats' closets, including one California representative's boastful description of his 1980 redistricting as a "contribution to modern art."

One consequence of gerrymandering, Durrance says, is that it creates a huge disconnect between people and politicians. "The simple act of drawing lines on a map has resulted in all this polarization; it's why the fundamental essence of electing representatives feels like it's not working."

Durrance and Goodman also document the grassroots resistance to REDMAP, telling the stories of citizens like Katie Fahey, a 26-year-old program manager at the Michigan Recycling Coalition. In 2017, Fahey's exasperated Facebook posts went viral, sparking Voters Not Politicians, a group of neophytes from across the political spectrum. Despite legal and logistical setbacks, VNP created a ballot initiative to put an Independent Citizens Redistricting Commission—made up of voters, not politicians—in charge of drawing Michigan's Senate, House, and US congressional district maps. In an emotional denouement, the group succeeds in changing Michigan's state constitution.

Slay the Dragon acquaints viewers with REDMAP's Chris Jankowski—a consultant bound to go down in history as a mastermind behind Republicans' greatest political heist. Jankowski is only slightly uncomfortable as he reveals the levers he pulled to manipulate races in order to grant his party—a party that was dying out, according to census data—the power to fully reshape US politics.

Alternately enraging and triumphant, the film features well-known political theorists and journalists. But its most riveting player remains Fahey, whose VNP is now being replicated in Colorado and Pennsylvania. "I think Flint is what woke people up," she muses, driving through Michigan. "We were just watching politicians, officials who felt untouchable, blatantly disregarding the will of the people."

Essentially, this film is about activism—why it matters and how it works. Despite moments of history-class-esque didacticism, Slay the Dragon offers an exciting, well-earned message of hope. In 2020, it should be required viewing.

This article appeared in the March/April 2020 edition with the headline "Partisan Monsters."