Reviews

This film only confirmed feelings about Johansen I've had for decades. He's a cultural phenomenon and vocalist-not a singer-couldn't carry a tune in a Dolls handbag. Don't get me wrong. I like Dylan. I like Beefheart. I like plenty of vocalists. Might even prefer them to singers. But Johansen was smart to go Poindexter and get into films where his over the top persona could play to his strengths as a vaudevillian.

The movie itself should've given more (any?) screen time to Iggy, surviving regulars at Max's KC, John Cale, the Dolls-influenced such as Debbie Harry (shown in the Carlyle crowd), John Lydon, Mike Ness, Billie Joe Armstrong anyone but the insufferable Morrissey (ancient footage, at that).

Having Johansen's daughter handle the offscreen interviews is a tad soft. Scorcese seemingly phoned this one in or Covid put it on a ventilator.

Unless your a fan of Johansen's "singing." Lot's soft easy listening performances from a guy lionized as a punk rock pioneer.

Check out the doc/bio of Arthur Kane for some engrossing viewing.

Vague. Dubious correlations. Unfocused. Lurid of images of terrorist acts and human tragedies. Broad generalizations. No cogent thesis. Pointing fingers at Kissinger, W., Trump, the Assads Sr. And Jr., Khoumeni, Tony Blair, Reagan, and even Jane Fonda is like shooting fish in a barrel. Three-plus hours of this "narrative" and we've learned what? That heads of state spin and lie to hold onto power? That the lives of ordinary people are debased by their leaders? That many of these same civilians are gullible and foolish? Wow! Thanks for opening my eyes.

This is a documentary, people! This means that the filmmaker is not to be blamed/credited for the enlightened/unenlightened beliefs/behaviors of the subjects depicted in the film. I praise the director for the creativity, guts and follow-through necessary to produce a film exploring the Israeli-Palestinian conflict through the eyes of two mothers--one whose daughter died at the hands of a suicide bomber and the other the mother of the bomber. Bravo! This is the very definition of documentary film-making: something that throws a light on the inner- workings of humanity. Through what, I'm sure, were very trying circumstances, the filmmaker gives both women full range of expression. You may, like myself, find contempt for this party or that, but this movie stays neutral and lets the cards fall where they may. I will keep my opinions of both the Palestinian and Israeli mothers to myself, and simply dare others to seek out this heart-wrenching film at their library, video store or on-line, for some compelling viewing that I guarantee will not leave their consciousness' unscathed.