Konterr Brilliant and touching

ChicRawIdol A brilliant film that helped define a genre

Doomtomylo a film so unique, intoxicating and bizarre that it not only demands another viewing, but is also forgivable as a satirical comedy where the jokes eventually take the back seat.

Janis One of the most extraordinary films you will see this year. Take that as you want.

Frankie Sez Who cares. That's all I kept thinking while watching this. A love story about some random gay couple in the 40's. And? I found it incredibly boring and found nothing about either one of these two guys particularly interesting. Being gay in those days I will admit was pretty much the only interesting thing about this story otherwise I see them as nothing more than a pair of nerdy guys who are really not worthy of filming an entire documentary about. Not only that but it's just another old story of a couple with a big age difference. Control, dominance and the like. This story falls short mostly because of the lack luster characters, there's just nothing special or engaging about either of them. I just don't see it

moonspinner55 An exquisite memoir! Portrait artist Don Bachardy, still active in his seventies, reflects on his 30-year love affair with British writer Christopher Isherwood, who was 30 years Bachardy's senior. Meeting in early-1950s Southern California, the immigrated author-turned-screenwriter and the bright-eyed, star-worshiping young man seemed to have little in common, yet their attraction and devotion to one another proved all their naysayers wrong. Although intriguing as both a microcosm of homosexuality (and the ways in which it was greeted by the heterosexual community) in the 1950s as well as an enduring gay love story, the piece also touches tenderly on age, on talent, on family and friends, and on reflections of the past from a still-sharp and brilliant mind. Bachardy is a colorful character, a sweet and sentimental fellow, and his thoughts are heightened visually by wonderful old home movies of his journey with Isherwood, days both blissful and turbulent. Michael York narrates succinctly from the diaries Isherwood kept from 1939 to 1960, and several celebrities and biographers recount their experiences in knowing or researching the two men. This is as complete and satisfying a documentary as you're likely to see. It's also an extraordinarily moving testament to the human condition. ***1/2 from ****

Stephen O'Donnell This was just a beautiful, fascinating, really touching film. And the filmmakers nearly destroyed it. Like so many of the other commentators, I have to add that the use of recreations and animation - as little as there was - was a grave mistake. They had a wealth of - gorgeous - archival footage to work with. Truly, the quality and aptness of the Isherwood/Bachardy footage they were able to use was quite remarkable. So they had no need at all to add poorly shot bits of recreated narrative. It was obvious and completely unnecessary. As there was so little of it, it might have been overlooked. But the cringe-inducing cartoons could not be. They were used to illustrate the personal pet-names the two men would use with each other. Many of us tend to wax infantile when lovingly addressing our spouses or partners; they were no exception. That's fine. That's lovely, really. But to ratchet up the "cute" by morphing their messages and drawings into animation was a stupid choice. And to actually end the film with one of these sick-sweet cartoons is really unforgivable.I wish I had been told about those missteps. I wish I'd been told to be ready for them and do my best to ignore them. If the viewer can do that, this is a fantastic film.

sandover What is love? And how does it exercise us? As, regardless of age or experience, we grope, or dance, or trot, or what you will, our way in life, is there not at some point, for some of us, a deep impact encounter with another person that challenges our expectations, our fears, even our love? Let alone the fact that, for example, a friend's fleeting remark can trigger an unpleasant memory. That much for frailty, for I do not want to deliver any kind of portentous philosophical or psychoanalytic sketch as a response to the film, but there was one thing, one thing if you may, that touched me profoundly, and although it shows, I think, an immense refinement and spontaneity of affect, it is of the simplest logical necessity!First things first! you may say, if you still read this.Like, this is a documentary concerning two men, two artists, in love, in a relationship for more than thirty years, along with geography, exile, backgrounds, celebrities, chronology, hilarity, love and its discontents making for a (dual) portrait. Like Chris Isherwood, a somewhat canonical writer, mostly for his Berlin stories, living the 20th century passion in an insouciant pre-fascist Germany, ends up in Hollywwod, California coming from rural upper-class England, and, past middle age, he encounters a charming adolescent who ends up the love of his life. A worthy artist, also. Like all that this entails, what is influence, what are the stakes, of youth coming into age, into art, jealousy, manhood, disgust for mushrooms (and even worse, where this, combined with canned breakfast, can lead to!), shock treatment, and what is the use of a horse being with a cat, along other matters. Or even why love is as rare as guts. I felt my saliva freeze in my neck and tears at the back of my eye-bulbs, when Don Bachardy raised to the camera the first drawing of Isherwood's dead head. Or why love is as frequent as ideology. If one bothers about the same sex marriage issue, thumbs up or down, mildly or not, that is if such a story can trigger a political, ideological statement or pronouncement, then one should bother also for re-balancing the debt towards people shock-treated. Recall how a broken, elderly Ted, Don Bachardy's brother, comes just a couple of minutes after the sly editing of his former, radiant and handsome self. And, even more sobering, how his brother's voice says, in a tone hurt, with all the could-have-beens of a life muffled, and still matter of fact: the shock treatment ruined his life. But as this, too, begins to smell of ideology, I turn to what, how shall I put it, elevates to a higher degree the linear, ideological, biographical data of the film. The day Chris Isherwood died, Don Bachardy commenced reading his diaries backwards. He wanted to reach back to their meeting. Now, for me, if there ever was an effective and affective definition of Jean Baudrillard's awkward phrase "Things get their full meaning when played backwards", this is the case!To make first things last, a true, a truly meaningful act of love!Like a poem by Elizabeth Bishop, namely her last one, simply and aptly called "Poem". I would like to quote it in extent:(...) Our visions coincided - "visions" is too serious a word - our looks, two looks: art copying from life and life itself, life and the memory of it so compressed they've turned into each other. Which is which? Life and the memory of it cramped, dim, on a piece of Bristol board, dim, but how live, how touching in detail the little that we get for free, the little of our earthly trust. Not much. (...)Thank you.