Jonas Åkerlund ‘s rock doc is a fairly straightforward portrait of William Michael Albert Broad, noted member of the Bromley Contingent. Okay…you know him better as Billy Idol, and “The Bromley Contingent” (which featured future members of The Clash and Siouxsee and the Banshees, among other seminal punkers) was basically an unofficial fan club that followed the Sex Pistols around on their earliest UK gigs. Billy, of course, was destined for bigger things, so he did not remain a mere fanboy for long.
Mixing archival footage with present-day ruminations from Idol (still alive!) Åkerlund retraces the rocker’s trajectory from co-founder of Generation X (one of the first punk bands to perform on the BBC’s Top of the Pops program) to MTV superstar and beyond.
The price of fame is paid in full along the way; sex, drugs, and rock and roll takes its toll…but like some kind of sneering, leather-clad Energizer Bunny, Idol somehow just keeps going, and going. The present-day Idol is thoughtful, self-reflective, and surprisingly candid about where he’s been and where he’s headed. Being partial to Idol’s pre-MTV output, I found his punk era to be the most absorbing portion of the doc, but overall it should be an enjoyable ride for fans.
Rimmer: [pretending to be interested in art to impress Legion] Now, this 3-dimensional sculpture in particular is quite exquisite. Its simplicity, its bold, stark lines. Pray, what do you call it?
Legion: The light switch.
Rimmer: The light switch?
Legion: Yes.
Rimmer: I couldn’t buy it, then?
Legion: Not really. I need it to turn the lights on and off.
– From the comedy series Red Dwarf (written by Rob Grant and Doug Naylor)
That exchange is chiefly played for laughs of course, but it also makes a point about the subjectivity of “art”. In my 2007 review of the documentary My Kid Could Paint That, I wrote:
Whose judgment determines the intrinsic and/or monetary value of a painting-a local newspaper reporter, a New York Times art critic or Mike Wallace? Does the eye of the beholder still count for anything? Does it really matter who painted it, if you feel it’s worth hanging on your wall? Who wrote Shakespeare’s plays-Francis Bacon or the Earl of Oxford, and do you care? Does it really matter that the Monkees didn’t write any of their hits or play their own instruments?
How about an artist whose “art” was literally garbage? Would you label their work as same? In this fascinating documentary, director Toby Perl Freilich profiles the life and work of performance artist/self-billed “eco-feminist” Mierle Laderman Ukeles, who holds the title of (unpaid) Artist in Residence at the NYC Department of Sanitation.
That is not to say all of her work is garbage. Frelich mixes the septuagenarian artist’s recollections with archival footage to glean what led to Ukeles’s decades-long obsession with transforming the mundane tasks of everyday housewives and maintenance workers into a form of socially-conscious high art.
Ukeles didn’t pop out of the box fully formed. Early in her career, she experimented with everything from abstract sculptures to inflatable “air art”. But it wasn’t until after her marriage in 1966 that she discovered her path. In a 1969 manifesto, she stated in part:
Maintenance is a drag; it takes all the fucking time (lit.) The mind boggles and chafes at the boredom. The culture confers lousy status on maintenance jobs=minimum wage, housewives=no pay. […] Everything I say is Art is Art. Everything I do is Art is Art. “We have no Art, we try to do everything well.” (Balinese saying). […]My working will be the work.
Maintenance Artist is a thought-provoking film worth hanging on your wall.
Within a 17-day period in the early fall of 1975, President Gerald R. Ford survived two attempts on his life-both taking place in California. One could argue that the first would-be assassin, Lynette “Squeaky” Fromme is the only one people remember, by virtue of her well-known association with the Manson Family.
The second shooter, Sara Jane Moore, has remained a relative cypher. For one thing, she wasn’t a member of a high-profile death cult, and in stark contrast to Fromme’s psycho daisy couture, Moore looked for all the world like a buttoned-down housewife who had strolled straight out of a John Cheever story (although in this case, a buttoned-down housewife armed with a .38 Special).
Not that she didn’t have a screw loose…which became apparent (to me) as Robinson Devor’s documentary unfolded. Mixing archival materials and a present-day interview with an evasive and truculent Moore (now in her 90s), Devor tries to piece together the jigsaw of her bizarre journey from suburban mother of four to FBI informant, self-proclaimed revolutionary and would-be presidential assassin.
Moore (released from prison in 2007, after serving 32 years) is too cagey to drop any real bombshells here, so her motivations remain foggy. What I found even more interesting than Moore’s story was the adjacent retrospective on a politically tumultuous period in San Francisco (e.g. Moore has a tie-in with the Patty Hearst debacle). Despite leaving a number of questions unanswered, Suburban Fury is nonetheless a worthwhile watch for political junkies and the curious.
(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on May 17, 2025)
Just in: From the nanosecond you log in to a social media platform, you are being tracked. Not only are you being tracked, but you are being filed, stamped, indexed, briefed, debriefed, and numbered (YOU are Number 6). In short: you are being bought and sold. That smart phone, laptop, or tablet in your hands is not the “product”. YOU are.
I know. In this day and age, any internet-savvy 8 year-old could tell you that.
Consequently, it was hard for me to be shocked, shocked by the revelations in Babis Makridis’ “torn from the headlines” investigative documentary. Although to be fair, his film does take a slightly different tack from similar exposés I’ve seen about how we’ve all become slaves to the algorithim; this one focuses on the proliferation of digital ad fraud.
To demonstrate how easily cyber scammers can cash in, Makridis enlisted a former tech executive to form a team of software developers to create a digital ad fraud operation, and basically documents thier step-by-step procedure (don’t try this at home, kids).
Unfortunately the film stalls out once the team starts getting hits and picking pockets (we are assured they did not bank the revenue). I suppose it’s interesting to learn how everyone from advertisers to phone users are getting screwed (except for Google and Meta, who still reap massive revenue-whether ad click data is legit or artificially inflated) but it leaves you wondering what you’re supposed to do with this information (maybe switch off and go touch some grass?).
(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on May 17, 2025)
Director Lisa Immordino Vreeland utilizes a non-linear collage of film clips, archival interviews, and a present-day actor reading from letters and diary entries to create a vivid portrait of the avant-garde poet/visual artist/playwright/film director. It’s an enlightening study; I picked up a number of new tidbits on his life and work (I was familiar with him mostly from his films – e.g. Blood of a Poet, Orpheus, and Beauty and the Beast). The address he made in 1960 “to the youth of the future” is a mind-blower. I found it particularly interesting how his “apolitical” stance made him a pariah to both the Left and the Right at various junctures. Absorbing and rewarding.
(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on May 17, 2025)
There were many horrors endured by the citizens of Argentina in the course of that country’s “Dirty War” period (1974-1983). Nicolás Gil Lavedra’s documentary primarily focuses on just one them: the methodical, State-sponsored extermination of dissidents (or those accused of being such) wherein people were kidnapped, tortured, drugged, and thrown to their deaths from airplanes.
These “death flights” included the kidnapping and murder of the “twelve of Santa Cruz,” a group of Mothers of Plaza de Mayo, human rights activists and two French nuns captured in December 1977, which Lavedra covers in detail, mixing archival and present-day testimonials from former detainees, eyewitnesses, and journalists.
There is some redemption when you learn how a few (if not enough) of the perpetrators were eventually brought to justice. Interestingly, this was precipitated by the fact that, not unlike the Nazis, they kept meticulous records of their crimes (in this case, vis a vis dated flight logs that notated passenger counts).
Chilling and moving, this relatively understated film brings the human cost to the fore; making it a good companion piece to Luis Puenzo’s 1985 political drama The Official Story.
This is also a cautionary tale. When you consider that the term “Dirty War” was coined by the military junta, which one would assume was its way of self-justifying its atrocities, recent statements by government officials in our own country suggesting that habeas corpus “may” be suspended under the umbrella of “war powers” (what ‘war’?) should raise a red flag.
“Free Leonard Peltier!” has been a rallying cry by Native American rights activists for decades; in fact so many years have passed since his trial, conviction and sentence for the murder of two FBI agents that the circumstances surrounding his case have become obfuscated to the general public. Even those who have lobbied 50 years for his release (predicated on the government’s arguably flimsy evidence and dubious witness testimonies) didn’t see Joe Biden’s January 2025 commutation of Peltier’s life sentence coming. It wasn’t the full pardon his advocates had wished for, but they certainly welcomed it with joy and relief.
It’s been a long road for Peltier (now 80), with many twists and turns, but co-directors Jesse Short Bull (Oglala Sioux) and David France do a yeoman’s job of telling not only his story, but putting it in context with the activities of the American Indian Movement that flourished in the 1970s.
The filmmakers recount the Mt. Rushmore, Alcatraz, and Wounded Knee occupations, takeover of the BIA headquarters in Washington D.C., the Trail of Broken Treaties march, et.al., culminating with the 1975 incident at Pine Ridge Reservation involving the execution-style murders of the two FBI agents.
This is the most comprehensive study I’ve seen on Peltier’s case and the history of the A.I.M. movement. What you learn from this film is by turns enlightening and maddening, but ultimately inspiring and moving.
Never heard about Oscar Wilde Don’t know about Brendan Behan Know anything about Sean O’Casey Or care about George Bernard Shaw Or Samuel Beckett Won’t talk about Eugene O’Neill He won’t talk about Edna O’Brien Or know anything about Lawrence Stern
Being the proud middlebrow that I am, I will freely admit that the only two things I previously knew about Irish writer Edna O’Brien was 1) she was name-checked in my favorite Dexy Midnight Runners song (“Dance Stance”), and 2) that the 1964 UK kitchen sink drama Girl With Green Eyes was adapted from her novel “The Lonely Girl” (which I haven’t read).
However, I’m happy to report that Sinéad O’Shea’s engaging documentary portrait of the outspoken novelist, playwright, poet and short-story writer (who died in 2024 at the ripe age of 93) has set me straight. Now I want to read everything she wrote.
What a life. She was raised by an abusive father; left home and married writer Ernest Gébler when she was 24 (he was 40), and was garnering universal critical acclaim for her debut novel (“The Country Girls”) by age 30.
That book (and several of her subsequent works) were banned in Ireland, due to their sexual frankness (and anti-patriarchal stance, no doubt). Undaunted, she pushed onward with her career, becoming the toast of the town in London, and eventually selling her work to Hollywood (in the film, the nonagenarian O’Brien bemusedly recounts escapades with Robert Mitchum and Marlon Brando). A film as provocative and uncompromising as its subject.
Patton Oswalt, Takashi Miike, Alexandra Heller-Nicholas, Stephen King, and Karyn Kusama walk into a rundown farmhouse…and their lives change forever. At least according to the idiosyncratic appraisals by those luminaries regarding Tobe Hooper’s no-budget 1974 cult classic The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Alexandre O. Philippe’s documentary transcends its subject to not only become a treatise on what defines “horror”, but illuminates the sometimes elusive elements that constitute a great work of cinema-regardless of genre (or budget).
(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on April 26, 2025)
Fame (fame) what you like is in the limo Fame (fame) what you get is no tomorrow Fame (fame) what you need you have to borrow
– from “Fame” by David Bowie (backing vocal by John Lennon)
I’ll never forget the first time I saw Billy Wilder’s Sunset Boulevard-although I wish I could.
Allow me to explain.
I was all of 24, living in San Francisco. I didn’t own a VCR (they were exorbitantly priced), so I was still watching the tube in (*shudder*) real time. Perusing the TV Guide one December evening, I was excited to spot Sunset Boulevard on the schedule for 8pm (I believe it was airing on independent Bay Area station KTVU).
For the uninitiated, Gloria Swanson’s turn as a fading, high-maintenance movie queen mesmerizes, William Holden embodies the quintessential noir sap, and veteran scene-stealer Erich von Stroheim redefines the meaning of “droll” in a tragicomic journey down the Boulevard of Broken Dreams (I’ve seen it many times since).
At any rate, I was comfortably ensconced on the couch, really digging the film (despite myriad commercial breaks). Approximately 20 minutes into the broadcast, the station unceremoniously cut away from the film for a news bulletin: former Beatle John Lennon had been shot and killed in New York City.
It was eerie kismet, as the film opens with the shooting death of the protagonist/narrator (played by Holden), and is ultimately a rumination on the dark side of fame.
Being an avid Fabs fan, it kind of harshed my mellow. Still does, actually-whenever the subject comes up.
It’s hard to believe that was 45 years ago (5 years longer than Lennon’s lifespan). Over the ensuing decades, there has certainly been no shortage of documentaries and biopics covering Lennon’s life and work. At this point, I think I’ve seen most of them.
Consequently, one would assume that there are very few secrets, revelations and angles left to explore. Yet, 2025 has seen the release of no less than two new Lennon documentaries (and the year is still young).
First, there’s One to One: John and Yoko:
I haven’t seen it yet (it will be available to rent on streaming platforms beginning on May 9th).
This is the other doc (more on that in a moment)…
Directed by Alan G. Parker, Borrowed Time promises to “…set the record straight on the truth behind many famous Lennon moments, brought to life by rare archive footage, including never-before-seen interviews.”
So does it deliver? Well, in a fashion. As Lennon himself once implored, “All I want is the truth…just gimme some truth.” In context of the director’s approach, you may have to settle for “benefit of the doubt”.
I make that qualification because the lion’s share of screen time is devoted to talking heads. As promised, there are indeed “never-before-seen interviews” with former musical collaborators (Vinny Appice and Earl Slick), as well as music industry insiders, presenters, writers, and journalists (the BBC’s “Whispering” Bob Harris, Anthony DeCurtis, Barry Miles, Pamela Des Barres, Apple Records CEO Tony Bramwell, et.al.).
However, their stories are purely anecdotal; the backstage tales are engaging enough at first, but by the 2-hour mark they began to feel redundant and were not necessarily revelatory. Archival interviews help mix things up a bit, but overall it’s a static affair.
Then there’s the elephant in the room: zero Lennon music. I realize it can be challenging and/or simply too cost-prohibitive to secure permission to utilize copyrighted material in a film; but when you try to paint a portrait of an artist without any paint on your palette, more often than not you are likely to end up with an empty canvas.
Note: the version I previewed is the 134-minute theatrical cut that will be opening in the U.K. only on May 2. However, there is a 3.5 hour director’s cut out on the same date, which will be streaming for a month on the Icon Film Channel and also available to subscribers of the Amazon Prime Video Channels.
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