POLY STYRENE: I AM A CLICHE (B) - This moody documentary studies the rough life of Poly Styrene (nee Marion Elliott), who made a splash in the late '70s with the short-lived punk/new wave band X-Ray Spex. It was created by her daughter, Celeste Bell, and Paul Sng as an homage to the singer-songwriter who died a decade ago at age 53 after long struggling with mental illness. The film itself has a bit of a personality disorder, not sure how to frame the biography.
But it's often a compelling story. Poly Styrene, with her teenage braces and outlandish outfits, was a powerful force, with a voice as brassy as Joan Jett's and a talent for writing catchy hooks, some with roots in the songs of R&B girl groups. The first hour is straight backstory charting the rise and fall of Poly Styrene from dabbling in ska and reggae to an epiphany at a Sex Pistols show and a record deal in 1977, giving her a megaphone for her rants against a plastic society. She seemed to be triggered by her first trip to New York and the city's visual onslaught of bright lights and consumerism -- and getting slipped some drugs that sent her into a tailspin. (She also seems to have been affected by the recent birth of her daughter.)
The structure of the documentary can be troublesome. We often see Bell staring off into the distance or flipping through the 2018 book about Poly Styrene, as if this were a mere infomercial. Bell's narration can be distracting; she has the energy and cadence of a heroin addict. And most of the talking heads appear only in voiceover (a COVID issue?), and those voices tend to run together, as a result. But in the end, this can be a moving character study by a daughter who was neglected as a child by a mother misdiagnosed at first and then hooked by Hare Krishna and other mysticism. Despite the rocky production, a powerful personal story emerges.
MR. SOUL! (B+) - The niece of Ellis Haizlip pens a refreshingly clear-eyed valentine to her uncle, the guiding force behind the groundbreaking PBS show "Soul!", which celebrated black culture in the late '60s and into the '70s before getting shutdown as part of President Nixon's crackdown on public-affairs programming.
The tale unfolds leisurely, at first not necessarily centered on Ellis Haizlip, who was a producer of the show who eventually stepped into the role of host, bringing an untrained and awkward authenticity to the proceedings. The show dug deep into arts and politics, with guests including Louis Farrakhan to the poet Nikki Giovanni to the mother of prisoner George Jackson. Some of the performances, especially the musicians and dancers, are refreshingly raw and even outre. We see Rahsaan Roland Kirk play three saxophones at once. We get urgent renderings by Al Green ("Let's Stay Together") and Stevie Wonder ("Superstition"), and incendiary polemics from the Last Poets. (There's even a snippet of a 15-year-old Arsenio Hall performing a magic act.)
The portrait of Ellis Haizlip (gentle, soft-spoken but intense) unfolds organically, as plenty of talking heads are present to fill in any blanks. Ashford and Simpson (who don't seem to have aged since the '70s) are among those who speak fondly of Haizlip, who gave many entertainers their early break. Haizlip's journal entries are voiced by actor Blair Underwood. The consensus is that Haizlip was broad-minded and adventurous when booking guests, a keen cultivator of black culture -- or, as one observer notes: "Ellis was a gardener."
Obscure, charming anecdotes from little-known acts come back to life. One member of a trio recalls, 50 years later, that he was so nervous backstage before going on "I had to chew on a button." It is details like that which make this a coveted time capsule.
BONUS TRACKS
From the opening shots, the trippy "Germ-Free Adolescents" from the debut by X-Ray Spex:
And the urgent howl of "Oh Bondage Up Yours":
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