It’s the movie that begins with one of the country’s most famous singers sitting for a radio interview with a zesty white gossip named Reginald Lord Devine, with at least one mustard stain on his shirt. It’s like It’s the kind of film that’s feminine, sometimes swallow, sometimes bald, with a bald best friend handling her outfits and personally assisting her, and a big one-eyed companion offering hair care and proper advice. It is she who sobs and warns Holiday after one of her dogs has a grand funeral in the cathedral. That’s why she choked. It’s a movie where for most of its run time, the camera moves like a buoy or toy boat, and the lights seem to be emitted from Wesson’s bottles.
Yes, this is the kind of movie that doesn’t tell the story straight of Billie Holiday sitting on the toilet, singing “Solitude” in a shot of her sitting lazily. When Lord Divine asks another prying question (“Someone will tell me”— [Insinuating Pause No. 1]”You are so tight” [Insinuating Pause No. 2]”With Tallulah Bankhead”), says Swallow and Bald-Headed Assistant leaning forward. …’ This is the sort of movie where Holiday’s future husband runs into her at her park and she’s certainly out with Bankhead.get into some black [expletive]”
“The United States vs. Billie Holiday” is the kind of cinematic biopic that honors its subject matter in a different way than the conventional Hollywood way. I prefer stain to stained glass, and saltiness to sanctity. That irreverence is a form of reverence. It’s a movie that doesn’t care about the achievement of cinematic greatness, or frankly, even the very good ones.
Holiday’s drug use is an excuse for both the FBI and Daniels. Her sin is not heroin. I’m singing “Strange Fruit,” written by a white Jew that speaks about America, that speaks the truth about America. Its central metaphor is terrifying. Lynched corpses, burns, and figures hanging from trees are naturally twisted. They belonged to black men and hunted, for example, her lust for white women, suspicions of seeing her. Less. Mobs catch them, chop them up, set them on fire, hang them from trees, and photograph them. The FBI didn’t want Holiday to sing a song about it because the song was too loud for American ears.