A Doc on Doc

by Memo Salazar

I’ve been a “New Yorker” going on six years now. Before then, New York was just a big city to me, and New Yorkers were these creatures who had convinced themselves that they could never live anywhere else, because they had already discovered the Greatest Place On Earth. Yawn, I thought, who wants to live with such snobs? Next thing I knew, I found myself here, among the rich and the insane, and quickly discovered that those New Yorkers were kind of right- this is a city that never stops giving. There’s always something new to discover, something waiting for you to learn, and someone fascinating for you to bump into. I’ve lived in bigger cities, but, despite its overpriced real estate, its annoyingly rich patrons and its occasional pretensions, New York gets under your skin in a good way.

H.L. “Doc” Humes was a New Yorker, too. Other than being remotely familiar with the name, I had no idea who this guy was, or why I should care to watch a full-length documentary on the man. But I did, anyway; Doc, lovingly made by Humes’ daughter, Immy, is both a riveting tale of one of the most fascinating people I’ve ever heard of, and a tribute to a father by a daughter who clearly loved him, despite the difficult and challenging life he crafted for himself. As with My Architect and Tell Them Who You Are, this “first-person” portrait of an influential creative person from the point of view of the subject’s offspring provides an intimacy (and access to some wonderful interviews) no one else could achieve. Doc is different than those other films in that it’s really not about the parent/subject - child/filmmaker relationship, but rather a simple, chronological biography of Humes. Nothing flashy, nothing clever- which is just perfect, as there is so much substance to the story, a straightforward approach is just what the doc… er… doctor ordered. Immy Humes wisely lets her father’s peers, and not the editing room, do the talking.

And what a list of peers! Interviewed are such fascinating figures as Norman Mailer, George Plimpton, Tim Leary, and Paul Auster, not to mention Hume’s own family and illegitimate offspring- all in all, a really diverse group of human beings. And that’s what the film is really about- one of the most dynamic human beings to emerge out of our 20th Century culture, a man so full of energy and creativity that his mind had clearly left his psychological and emotional selves far behind. Humes wrote 2 acclaimed novels, shot an independent film, hung out with great artists like Ornette Coleman and Richard Wright, founded one of the most influential literary journals (The Paris Review), designed and built low-cost paper houses as aid to third-world countries, experimented with LSD way before it was considered “cool”, was an avid supporter of the legalization of cannabis, communicated with clouds, hung out on college campuses dispensing words of wisdom as well as thousands of dollars in cash to whomever happened to come by… I mean, this guy clearly had a restless soul, one that hungered for whatever challenge life could throw at it. As is often the case, one’s devotion to such a lifestyle doesn’t jive well with structure, whether the societal structure of jobs and the law (being arrested for protesting a citywide ban on folk music is one of his several inspiring arrests) or the interpersonal structure of a family. Doc clearly loved his children, but his mental state was simply not the ideal one to be in while fulfilling the role of father. Even so, Doc is a dignified portrait which never dips into the easy button-pushing of scandal and daytime-TV faire; the film doesn’t shy away from detailing his darkest moments, but it doesn’t linger or milk the story for dramatic effect. Yes, he was paranoid, but yes, he had every reason to be- Doc does a wonderful job of bringing the viewer around to see the world through Doc’s eyes, so that, by the end, you really feel like you, too spent time with the guy, shooting the shit every day in Harvard Square for hours. I actually do have vague memories of seeing a man very much like him hanging around that area in the late 80’s while I hunted used records… though, perhaps, it’s just wishful thinking. Even in death, Doc’s magnetic personality is in full effect.

Doc is, ultimately, a story of redemption- for Doc, after a lifetime of stubborn self-fulfilment, spends his last few years with the people he loves the most, developing relationships that had been put on pause decades earlier. The fact that his own daughter- someone who could have resented him the most for his negligent role as a father during her childhood- had, at this stage in his life, the presence of mind to be lovingly celebrating his final few years of life by way of a video camera is evidence of Doc’s powerful and positive influence on the people around him. Though his body was on its way out, his mind was as sharp as ever, providing one of Doc’s best lines in the film, when he insightfully proclaimed that you never really stop loving people- after all the anger and animosity recedes, the love is still there, waiting for you to pick up where you’d left off. It’s as much a statement about himself as it is about the amazing collection of people Doc had gathered across the decades and continents of his journey, all of whom speak of the man with a combination of admiration and compassion- a testament to Doc’s mind as well as his heart.

I have no idea where or when you’ll be able to see Doc, but the film’s website might be of service in that regard. Check it out, as it’s definitely worth your time.

Tellin’ The Truth Can Be Dangerous Business

by Dan Tester

 

It has been 20 years now. It is time to come out of the closet.

It is time for me to openly admit a dark secret. This is kind of a momentous occasion for me. It is not easy to reveal such private inner feelings in public, and certainly not on a little-read blog base. I assure you, it is not because I am ashamed, but it is because I know I will be judged. I will immediately be scorned, and disdained, and possibly pitied. But I don’t care any more. I am tired of living in this secrecy, and I will no longer allow ignorance to regulate my lifestyle. So I say it now…I say it loud….I say it proud…I scream it from the hills……

I LOVE ISHTAR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I still remember the day I first saw the theatrical trailer for ISHTAR. I was at a high school party in a classmate’s house and I was sitting next to Alex, a Mexican exchange student. It was 1987. It was a low point of the party, and the TV was still audible. The ISHTAR ad came on, and I watched. And I was intrigued. So was Alex. I think he was intrigued. I exclaimed “I gotta see that one” and he turned to me and said “Si, Si.”  Just to test him, soon afterward I turned and said “The crockpot is cookin‘ that ham quite nicely Grandma, and a burrito is really just a glorified taco with some added Poop-Poop-de-Doop!!” And Alex turned to me and said…”Si, Si.” Honestly, I am not sure how he was even in our high school. But I sure loved his camaraderie.

I remember about a week later, I went on a date with a nice girl named Anne. Well, it wasn’t really a date I guess. We were at another high school party, and it was kind of a dud, so I asked Anne if she wanted to see ISHTAR. She said “Uhhhhhh…you mean with you?” So we went, and we both loved it. But then, nothing happened between us. I was a geek unable to understand the connections that could be cemented from such a potentially aesthetically physically bonding mutual experience. About a week later, I lied to my best friend Matt, and told him that I hadn’t seen it, and that I really wanted to, so he went to see it with me as well. And Matt liked it too. Somehow, I found a way to see ISHTAR a few more times in the theater.  I just couldn’t get enough. I loved this smart, funny comedy. And I still do.

The plot is not deep. ISHTAR is about two horribly untalented New York singer/songwriters named “Rogers and Clarke” (Dustin Hoffman and Warren Beatty) who are so bad they can only find a booking in Morocco. So they book it. They are dreamers. Of course, upon arriving to the desert, they become the pawns in a power struggle between the CIA and the evil dictator of the neighboring nation of Ishtar…a situation that can completely destabilize the status quo of the Middle East. You see, these two nincompoops, through a series of misunderstandings, are mistaken as the two “Messengers of God” who have been predestined to stabilize the region, and thus must be stopped at any cost. I will take a step back now and allow you to make your own analogies, 20 years later, to George W. Bush and Dick Cheney.  As far as I can tell, neither of those two knuckleheads can carry a tune either.

Speaking of tunes, the songs of “Rogers and Clarke” in this film are brilliant. It is hard to write stupid as smart. But Elaine May and Paul Williams obviously put great time and effort into perfecting the naïve amateurishness of the songs in ISHTAR. It would have been easy to just write dumb songs, and then allow the protagonists to appear as simple fools. But it is something else to write dumb sounding songs that are so perfectly representative of the innocently non-cynical nonsense from untalented creative types out there who think they are writing the next “Bridge Over Troubled Water.“ And ISHTAR allows us to see the birth of these songs, as we watch Rogers and Clarke toiling over their tortured art, struggling to make each word sound just right, resulting in Hoffman castigating Beatty to forget the word “herb,” because there has never been a hit song with the word “herb” in it. May and Williams really capture the inner struggles of a couple of schnooks who have no talent whatsoever but have really put their heart and soul into potential hits such as “The Lawnmower Song,” “I‘m Leaving Some Love In My Will,” and my personal favorite, “Wardrobe of Love“…. “She Said Come Look, There’s A Wardrobe Of Love In My Eyes. Take Your Time, Look Around, And See If There’s Sumthin’ Your Size.”

As I have told people for 20 years (well, those that cared to listen), the true beauty of this film is in the performances. Dustin Hoffman and Warren Beatty are great trading filmic personas, Charles Grodin is at his dry witted best as a duplicitous CIA agent, and Isabelle Adjani is as cute as she is subversive as the Ishtari freedom fighter who complicates matters for our fearless duo.  Due to time constraints on this review, I will just leave this point at that. I mean, if I really have to push this aspect of the film to convince you…just stop reading and go rent RUSH HOUR 3 immediately, now available nationwide on DVD, Blu-Ray and Betamax. It has a really, really funny Black guy in it, and a hilarious Chinese guy too, and they never understand what each other are saying!!!!!  And there‘s lots of car crashes too! I’ve been told it is “3…3…3 TIMES THE FUNNY AND WHITE PEOPLE WILL LOVE IT!!!!!!!!”

(This has been a paid political advertisement from the CONFORM AND SUBMIT GROUP, a political action committee affiliate of the ELECT RUDOLPH GIULIANI FOR PRESIDENT consortium.)

But back to focus here…

The writing and direction of Elaine May is evidence that ISHTAR is…brace yourselves now… the last great 1970s film. I defy you to watch the first half hour of ISHTAR and not think “70s.” ISHTAR has classic ’70s cinema written all over it. Unfortunately, it was released in the budget-aware apocalypse of the 1980s. 

And on that note, I would like to address a personal message to my dear sweet Elaine May.

Dear Elaine May:

I love you. You made great films in the 1970s - MIKEY AND NICKY, THE HEARTBREAK KID, A NEW LEAF and HEAVEN CAN WAIT (oh I am sorry, Elaine, you only “co-wrote“ that one…my mistake). An impressive list amongst your contemporaries of the great 1970s. But in an unfortunate set of timing, you were a “female” directing a major film in the soul-sucking decade of the 1980s. Had you been a man, you would have survived, as did your male contemporaries of the ’70s who had similar “profit margin” diversions in the 80s - Scorsese had THE KING OF COMEDY and AFTER HOURS. Coppola had THE COTTON CLUB and ONE FROM THE HEART. Georgie Lucas had some nonsense about a DUCK. But I still love you, Elaine May. You should have gotten the second and third chances these fellows got. Because you are wonderful.

Love, Dan

A lot of hoo-hah was made about the budget of ISHTAR, long before the film even graced the screen. I remember as a youth reading stories about how horrible ISHTAR was, months before it ever even premiered. I will be proud to go on record here and say…brace yourselves…that the authenticity the budget allowed for makes ISHTAR that much better. The wide shots of the Moroccan desert, as Rogers and Clarke try to negotiate their blind camel to safety are not only beautiful, but they accentuate the import and reality of their dilemma. I guess you could have shot this film on a Hollywood soundstage, utilizing cardboard cacti and Gilligan’s Island lagoon sand, but ISHTAR wouldn’t have been as good. The location shooting was vital for the import of the tale to work, particularly in reference to the classic “desert gunrunner” sequence. I dare you not to laugh during this scene.

And if we are really talking about budget ramifications here, then Kevin Costner should have been executed for THE POSTMAN. Kevin Costner should have been hung by his neck until he was dead for THE POSTMAN, if we are really talking about the penalties of financial deficits and creative self-indulgence. If Elaine May was blackballed in Hollywood for ISHTAR in the mid-1980s, then I am sorry, Kevin Costner should have been put out of our misery in the late 1990s. And this scenario only works if we all assume that Costner actually survived the firing squad he faced for WATERWORLD. But Costner is still going strong, ain’t “he”? Where is my beloved Elaine May????? Unfortunately, “she” is gone.

In conclusion, I will leave you with this…

If you watch ISHTAR, and hate it, then all I will say is…thanks for taking the chance.

If you watch ISHTAR, and like it…please send an email. I would love to correspond.

If you haven’t watched ISHTAR, and still say it sucks…GO FUCK YOURSELF. (Twice)

At the bottom of this article will be a link to a great ISHTAR fan website. Please do an old white boy a favor…click the link below, and when the page appears, click on the “Watch The Trailer“ option. It is the original promotional trailer that I saw on TV that day in 1987 while I was sitting on a sofa next to a Mexican exchange student at a high school party, and I was hooked. I mean, come on. It’s Dusty Hoffman!! And Warren Beatty!! And Chuck Grodin in his prime!!! And…and….well, either check it out or don’t.  There is nothing more I can do.

http://www.ishtarthemovie.com/

ISHTAR is also available for your Netflix queuing, by the way…right here!!!!

http://www.netflix.com/Movie/Ishtar/60035967?trkid=189530&strkid=1775528404_0_0

In the immortal words of Rogers and Clarke - “Life is the way we audition for God. Let us pray that we all get the job.”

Turning the Tidelands - why Terry Gilliam’s most despised film is actually one of his best

by Memo Salazar

I know my title is a stupid pun, but it’s also very true. Perhaps the best film I saw in 2006 was Terry Gilliam’s Tideland. I walked out of that theater thankful that Mr. G had, once again, reinvented himself and the world around him. Imagine my surprise, then, when every review that emerged from the sad pit of insecurities collectively known as “movie critics” gave Gilliam big zeroes for his effort. I’ve never heard such vitrol from such “professionals”:

“An endless, pointless drone with characters like bacteria and dialogue like an untuned radio.”

“Horrendous and terrible.”

“It’s just a bad movie.”

“You watch the film feeling abused and exploited.”

“As unwatchable as a train wreck.”

“Ugly, disturbing, and misguided mess.”

“Tideland is borderline unwatchable.”

“Pointless and an excruciating bore.”

Entertainment Weekly gave it a flat-out “F”, and Gene Siskel’s watered-down replacement, Richard Roeper, actually chimed in with : “I came very close to walking out of the screening room. And I never do that.”

In fact, most of the reviews shared the same basic phrases and reactions, almost as if they had all been copying each other during a math test. These guys aren’t just disappointed by Gilliam’s effort, they are pissed; they feel cheated and abused. They’re convinced Gilliam has gone bitterly postal, and that this film is his way of getting the industry back for 30 years of abuse towards his career. How can this be the same film that not only I, but almost every person I’ve met who has seen it, really enjoyed? How can Tideland be “most depressing” to a bunch of critics, yet fascinating and inspiring to all seventeen of us who actually saw the film?

Gilliam himself anticipated the backlash. He introduces the film on camera, explaining what we are about to see. I quote from memory: “Some of you will love this film. Some of you will hate it. Others won’t know what to think- and that’s okay, as long as you are thinking.” He then goes on to advise that, in order to appreciate the film, one has to get in touch with one’s inner child, and see things, in this case, through the eyes of a little girl. It’s not just a cute introduction- it is a literal truth. If you can’t remember what it’s like to be under ten years of age, if you can’t appreciate what kids have that most adults have long forgotten, and if you can’t appreciate the creative survival power of the human mind, then you will definitely not understand (and will probably hate) this film. Apparently, this includes every major American film critic.

Is that such a surprise? I’ve met many prominent film critics, and, by and large, they all fall into the same stereotype- insecure, frustrated writers who haven’t an original thought rattling in their mind; a group of people with such little confidence, that everything they write down must first be rationalized and justified by precedents, never daring to do something original and insightful, lest they make a mistake for the world to note- these are our critics. Let’s hear it for a bunch of mental weaklings who’s only source of ego-boosting is the belief that there are people out there who give a shit about what they have to say! Sadly, they’re partially right- there are people out there who actually give a shit about what they have to say.

I generalize, of course. I’m being unfairly harsh, but only because critics by and large have done more harm than good in this world. Hey, I’m quite aware of the apparent irony in my words, since I, myself, am playing the role of critic as well- but it’s not the concept of criticism I’m attacking, it’s the execution. Criticism should be an attempt to analyze a work objectively, not merely a projection of one’s clearly subjective tastes onto someone else’s work. It’s like saying you don’t like a movie because there’s not enough olive green in it- hey, olive green can be your thing, but it’s a completely irrational, unhelpful bit of criticism to the general public. This is the mistake most critics make- they’re so stuck in their “critic” shtick they forget to just shut the fuck up and understand where the artist is coming from. There is the occasional review (or reviewer) out there that is willing to accept a film on its owns terms, critiquing it for what it’s actually doing rather than what the critic wants it to do… but this kind of critic isn’t common, and Tideland is probably the best case in point.

Tideland is rich and challenging, but its heart is incredibly simple. Thematically, it shares much with the more popular Pan’s Labyrinth, though structurally, they are quite different beasts. When life shits on you as a child, you find a way to get by. In Pan’s Labyrinth, our young heroine survives by transplanting herself into the fairy tales she loves to read. It’s a surprisingly wonderful film that eschews cliche while it blends historical fiction with classic fantasy. Tideland, however, reaches this theme via a much more alternate path. Yes, it too is about a little girl who escapes into her fantasy world in order to survive life’s ordeal, but this fantasy world is a truly unique vision, rather than the familiar, comforting fantasy world of princesses and fauns. Gilliam serves us a darker, more bizarre and unpredictable meal, but that’s exactly what makes it such a masterpiece. Every scene takes you to places you’ve never imagined; not once can you guess the pattern or predict the resolution. It all makes sense, but within a logic you’ve never dealt with. Gilliam never cheats us with formulaic solutions and “twists”, which seems to be a problem in the eyes of our critical pals. We’re never given anything to grab onto, any type of cinematic landmark that brings the film back into the realm of “I’ve been here before; I know how this thing works.” It is exactly like poking around in a pitch-black cave and having to figure its layout using only your fingers. Probably not the kind of “fun” people expect when they watch a movie, but definitely an experience worth savoring over and over.

And Jeliza-Rose, our protagonist… what a girl! Played by Jodelle Ferland, this is easily the greatest performance by a non-adult actor I have ever seen. It is amazingly subtle, yet strong enough to literally carry an entire film by itself. Gilliam throws her into a sparse Canadian landscape, where nothing much is happening, and dumps the responsibility of keeping the audience’s attention on her lap. She interacts with other characters at times, sure, but most of the film involves her and her imagination- nothing else. That’s a lot to ask for from anyone, let alone a “mere child”, but Ferland proves that kids can be much stronger than adults… which is fitting, since that’s one of the points of the film.

Like Terry says, if you can’t put yourself in Jeliza-Rose’s shoes, if you can’t grasp the beauty of her childish resilience, and if you can’t understand that this film is not showing the world as a horrible place, but rather, why life is so beautiful and amazing, then you just don’t get it. You don’t just misunderstand this film, you’re misunderstanding what living’s all about. I know them’s fightin’ words, but that’s exactly what this culture needs- something worthwhile to fight for. In this dormant, bland culture of ours, it’s rare that you will watch a movie that shakes up your comfortable little version of reality. Most things fit nicely into the compartments we’ve been taught to distinguish, giving us a sense of control over our chaotic lives. Along comes Gilliam, throwing us a giant curveball in a constantly-shifting shape we can’t begin to describe, and we’re expected to catch it? Who does he think he is?

Please, watch one of the most ignored, but greatest, films of our time. Watch it twice before you send it back, because once is probably just not enough to really appreciate what it’s all about. It’s simply that kind of film.

Ken Loach Can’t Get No

By Memo Salazar 

Many years ago, when I was a wee lad working in a video store, amongst all the films that opened my mind in many directions, there existed six filmmakers that captured my heart as well. One of them was Ken Loach- a somewhat obscure Brit who’s strong, clear politics and ethics helped him transcend the world of BBC television into that of feature films. Though he remains one of the greatest filmmakers of the past 3 decades, his name- and body of work- remains largely unknown. You’d think that winning the 2006 Palme d’Or at Cannes would have changed all that, and perhaps it did in Europe, but not here in the good ol’ US of A, around which, as we all know, the universe revolves.

I live in New York City- arguably the “cultural capital” of this country, where one can watch obscure art films all week without running out of options… yet even here, Loach’s latest masterpiece (and I do mean masterpiece) is playing on just one screen- one small screen. The show I attended, in fact, found the theater merely half full. Half full? Where the hell are my fellow art-loving New Yorkers? And where the hell is the rest of the country?

Ken Loach’s The Wind That Shakes the Barley is certainly deserving of Cannes’ top award- moreso than Pulp Fiction, and undoubtedly moreso than Fahrenheit 9-11, both of which have received this award in past years and went on to become huge hits with critics and crowds all over the world. The Wind… is a powerful, moving, universal story of two brothers and the ideological clashes they encounter. It’s a historical film, shedding light on the rarely-discussed Irish Revolution and how the IRA was born; yes, Loach is unapologetically left-wing, but he’s so good at showing why his politics lie where they do that his compassion for humanity is impossible to resist. You’d have to be incredibly dense or closed-minded to watch one of his thoughtful, well-argued films (especially this thoughtful, well-argued film) and not understand where the man and the people he speaks for are coming from. Loach is especially adept at putting himself in the shoes of the everyman and helping us understand the small details of human existence that feed into the greater political context being discussed. He makes you feel quite deeply, and then he makes you think just as critically, in the hopes that such a combination will bring forth the truth of the matter at hand.

Perhaps, if American audiences had been given such a chance, their minds might have expanded just a tad more while watching this film… but, whether it was poor marketing or a glut of other releases or who knows what, The Wind That Shakes the Barley has arrived on our shores with barely whisper. Usually “Winner - Palme D’Or 2006″ is all you need to garner an overwhelming amount of art-film media buzz, so where was the art-film media buzz? Where was the hype machine that usually inflates mediocre films into can’t-live-without successes? Why does our culture go nuts over shit like Napoleon Dynamite instead? I know, I know, the answer’s pretty obvious. But still, if you have any desire left to learn, grow, and feel something more than a cheap thrill, watch any of Ken Loach’s amazing films and gain a greater understanding of your fellow man. Sweet Sixteen, Land and Freedom, Hidden Agenda, Ladybird, Ladybird… netflix any of these brilliant films by Ken Loach, and give this septuagenarian artist a little satisfaction in his twilight years. He’s struggled long enough.

Films We Seem to Have Ignored: “De-Lovely”

By Memo Salazar

One thing about technology that gets to me is the way it caters to our impatience. The faster we can get our media fix, the less patient we are with the world’s artistic offerings. Our never-ending hunger for something new keeps us always looking forward, never back, and rarely allows for the thoughtful introspection many films and pieces of music (to name a couple of mediums) demand for in order to truly understand and appreciate them. It’s sad, because lots of great stuff slips through the cracks, while not-so-great-stuff rides a wave of hype that only later crashes with a “what-were-we-thinking?” sense of sobriety.

Which brings me to “De-Lovely,” producer-turned-director Irwin Winkler’s 2004 musical biopic about the late, great Cole Porter. This film was pretty much ignored when it came out a couple of years ago, and when it wasn’t ignored, it was described as…

“Stiff, lifeless and incomprehensibly dull.”

“‘De-Lovely’ is pretty standard, run-of-the-mill stuff.”

“I don’t know what I was more bothered by, his smirk or his strut.”

…and the always-hilarious twist on a title, “De-lousy.”

I saw “De-Lovely” on a lark, having no idea it even existed, simply because it was the only film that didn’t sound like absolute shit in the megaplex I happened to be at, while visiting a friend in good ol’ suburbia. I didn’t know it was a musical, but I love Cole Porter’s music, so “De-Lovely” it was. The film begins with an arguably-silly conceit of having Cole Porter (Kevin Kline), at the end of his life, sitting in a theater with an imaginary director (Jonathan Pryce) basically reviewing his life as it were a grand musical production. They speak theatrically about his life while actors recreate it on stage. Not only does this sound somewhat ridiculous, it’s also a watered-down twist on another brilliant film about music and theater, “All That Jazz.” So, ten minutes into the film, I was preparing myself for the worst.

But then the story began its slow unravel, sucking us deep into a love story like no other… and, in an industry which basically regurgitates love stories over and over, finding a fresh one is a delicacy one rarely gets to savor. It was such a delight that, by the end, even the cheesy “Porter looking back on his life in the theater” gimmick didn’t seem so gimmicky. Rather, it was earnest, sweet, and touching.

“De-Lovely” is many things. It is a musical about a man who’s life was musicals. Again, this is treading on All That Jazz territory, except Cole Porter was a real man, and all this really happened. Cleverly, the filmmakers took it a step further- not only did they tell the story via the musical genre, but they actually used Cole Porter’s song lyrics as commentary on his life and state of mind. Even if you’re familiar with his charming music, hearing his songs in this context gives a whole new meaning to this enigmatic artist; “Let’s Misbehave” and “Don’t Fence Me In”, for example, are much more revealing when Kline transforms the songs into expressions of his personal philosophy and sexuality. They transcend being merely whimsical tunes into insightful revelations of Porter’s lifelong fight against society’s restrictive ideas.

But that’s not all, folks. “De-Lovely” is also a love story between a homo (or bi, it’s never quite clear) sexual man and a heterosexual woman. This is truly the heart of the film; it is a story of how Linda Thomas (Ashley Judd) loved Porter so much that she gave up many of the traditional “benefits” that one expects from a relationship, such as fidelity and sexual fulfillment, giving Porter the freedom he craved and emotional support he needed to navigate through the difficult life he had chosen for himself. This is truly a love story, not a lust story; there is a genuine commitment and appreciation between the two that transcends the typical carnal desire Hollywood usually sells us as fodder for our minds.

Add to that several amazing performances by our famous thespians, an incredible amount of craft put into every scene (sets, lighting, cinematography, costumes…) and wonderful music that’s only occasionally butchered (hello, Alanis Morissette!) and you have one of the most unique biopics you’ve ever seen.

So why the commercial and critical could shoulder? Well, critics are a pretty insecure lot, rarely straying (whether consciously or not) from the “party line”, usually getting a feel for what the buzz is on a film before they jump into a review. And, since their livelihood depends on coming up with something entertaining to say every week about their subject, let’s just say it’s easy for them to lose sight of what really matters in art– having something to say, and saying it in an original way. “De-Lovely” manages both while sticking to a very “Hollywood” sensibility, a rare feat indeed. It’s accessible & commercial, yet intelligent & complex. It’s one of those movies that I fall in love with more and more as time goes on, and one that will undoubtedly gain critical favor as time passes, and critics realize just how damn beautiful this film really is.

Beat the critics to the punch and check it out for yourself.