True Stories

Of all movies that seem to, for some reason, want to glorify the 80's - this film shows us simply how we were. Should be placed in the Smithsonian.

Don't compare it to Guffman or any other movie. I doubt Byrne thought of it as any sort of genre piece - in fact it's hardly a movie at all. It's simply what happens when a talented performance artist is given a lot of money.

I weep, however, for Warner Brother's marketing department as they tried to sell it. All in all they failed. Tag line should be: "We gave David Byrne a lot of money to make a movie, come see what he made."

Follow the "external review" link to Roger Ebert's excellent review.

The film itself is rich in it's look and content. True stories is Set in A fictional small town in Texas, celebrating the 150th anniversary of the state in it's own small way. Byrne points out how many small American towns shape themselves politically and culturally from the inside. The scenes of the vast Texas landscape reflect the isolation of little Virgil. Byrne drives past a row of brand new houses with four car garages and asks "who do you think lives here?", much like he does in some of his TH songs such as "Big Country" and "Dont Worry About the Government". When we do meet who lives there we are greeted by a quite eclectic bunch; the world's laziest woman, Louis the desperate bachelor, Ramon, the voodoo priest. Often when we visit small unassuming towns, we are surprised by what we find. Byrne's character obviously had some assumptions about Virgil, Texas. He walks around town in a stetson hat and cowboy shirts and wonders why everyone else doesn't dress the same way. The songs are terrific in the film. I was well familiar with the TH album of the same name before I saw the film, but many of the renditions are on par with the unofficial soundtrack, particularly "papa legba" and Goodman's "people like us". The movie is an homage to Byrne's fascination to small town America and folk art. Byrne's commentary over a series of photo montages are great too, like when he gives the history of Texas in about 3 minutes noting that "the Spaniards offered the indians a chance to become slaves. The indians thought about this, decided it was not a good idea, and killed the Spaniards" Those that really dislike this movie are, on some level, just not getting it.

That's what he told me, at the end of the movie. The sophisticated New Yorker, the witty Kubrick fan with his degree in film, sat there stunned on the floor; I could almost see the smoke coming out of his ears.

To try and describe it is something like attempting to nail Jell-O to the wall. There's no plot, really; but there are a lot of things going on, threads of peoples' lives, loosely connected. The film describes itself as being "about a bunch of people in Virgil, Texas" and it is, but actually it's about the wonderful absurdity, lunacy even, of "normal" American life. David Byrne's Narrator character isn't condescending or snide. He's innocent, wondering, matter-of-fact. He looks at the cookie-cutter tract houses and asks, "Who can say it isn't beautiful?"

This is a very unique little movie, and people either seem to get it, or not. I can never predict who will or won't catch the humor. But, if you're not smiling by the end of the intro sequence, this probably isn't the movie for you. Personally, I was laughing my butt off by then. I can't say that this movie made me a better person, but it did add something to my world and gave me a great appreciation for the mind of David Byrne.

At this late date, TRUE STORIES – the lone feature film directed by renaissance man/rock-n-roll artiste/ex-Rhode Island School of Design student David Byrne - is viewed (if remembered as all) as a cerebral artifact from the 80s. TRUE STORIES is a far from flawless film, and its' influence is highly debatable. But the 90s saw an explosion of films wrapped in an aura of aloof, ironic cool – bits of very low-key postmodernist voyeuristic glimpses into the day-to-day lives of 'ordinary people' – either lauded or ridiculed for their 'authenticity.'

Simultaneously, a number of feature films were also exploring the limits of a dubious sub-style known as faux-documentary. And – great or not – this fascinating film reworked the possibilities of both long before most of the competition. In essence, this is a very detached take on the musical – set in fictional Virgil, Texas – a small-but-growing prairie boomtown notable for its antiseptic normality. Each of the principal characters are based upon people Byrne (who co-wrote the screenplay) had read about in tabloid newspapers – hence the man so lonely he buys commercial time to advertise himself on TV (John Goodman), the laziest woman in the world (Swoozie Kurtz), the world's worst pathological liar (Jo Harvey Allen), and spectacles like the mall fashion show, where we get to see (among other treats) a 3-piece suit made entirely out of lawn clippings (What?!?! No macramé, velvet paintings, tractor pulls or decoupage?). Byrne – who appears as a travel guide/narrator - gently escorts the audience through this offbeat parade, as the varied denizens of Virgil do what they do, occasionally pausing to sing one of the numerous songs (genre exercises well-matched to the characters - watch for a great 'Papa Legba' performed by the late Pops Staples) written by Byrne for the film. At worst, TRUE STORIES could be viewed as the enthusiastic and genuinely inspired work of an ambitious, intellectual urbanite who really, really ought to get out more – and Byrne should be credited for not indulging in the sneering, aloof insularity that has occasionally infected more recent films of this variety.

But at best it comes across as a genuine attempt at presenting a unique variety of homegrown, Americana-style surrealism – something that might possibly qualify as a specific strand of folk art and culture that would be a rural counterpart to what folks like Keith Haring, Laurie Anderson, Barbara Krueger, Spalding Grey – and Byrne – were doing in the insular world of Manhattan in the 1980s. TRUE STORIES looks amazing – thanks to the sparse cinematography, and Spalding Grey, John Goodman (as Byrne's comic foil) and Pops Staples are all great. A genuinely seminal, if flawed film.

Although some scenes (like the fashion show) are clear absurdist parodies, Byrne tends to approach his topics more as an observer than a critic. Often the tone is sympathetic, never critical.

Although much of Byrne's commentary is at best cryptic or anticlimactic ("Personally, I believe -- I can see Ft. Worth from here."), there is much profundity beneath the absurdism. Byrne's reflections on forgetting are particularly apt.

This is not a film to approach with any expectations. Just watch and absorb, and let what you see percolate in your mind.

John Goodman's character is also the most charming Everyman to grace the screen since Marty.

The music sequences are also among the best I've ever seen.

Rent it and watch it on a big screen TV. Watch sober. Watch under the influence of your favorite mind-altering substance. Watch alone. Watch with friends. Watch when you're alert and rested. Watch when you're tired. Watch again and again.