Hank Williams: The Show He Never Gave

Damn son! You done it! Whoever's responsible for this movie, you done it! I been drinking and listening to Hank for 50 years. And this is the real deal. Forget all them hats you hear on the radio today. They ain't. That's all I'll say about that. They just ain't. My mama listened to Hank on a battery powered radio cause they didn't have no electricity. But he pulled more heart and more soul out of that $10 radio than all these wannabes today who spend $10K on the clothes they wear onstage trying to make you believe they're country. Like hell. If they don't got an Academy Award for getting the most out of an audience, they ought to. And the interplay between 'Hank' and the audience in this film speaks volumes about a time and a place and a people that are just about gone. This is real country. Give it a look-see.

I saw this about a decade ago, at Christmas, on HBO. I don't follow country music, but I knew of Williams from my sister. The story is almost a "Twilight Zone" tale; even as Williams, dying in his alcoholic haze, imagined an ideal concert, his fantasy is plagued by the demons that haunted his real life. The demons include the casual racism of country music of that time (although black music and country were intertwined), the celebrity-hungry fan who wants to seduce a famous person, and (as I recall) the basic despair of the audience, who have no other way to spend Christmas than to go to a bar and get drunk. The end of the fantasy, with Williams's haunting song about being deserted even by God, was devastating. I knew country music was nearly always sad, but I never thought it could approach existential despair. An unforgettable character portrait.

I am the guy in the doorway, bar patron Lonnie Jewks, having a cigarette in the opening shot and patting Hank on the back as he enters the bar. I had a great view of Hank's performance as the director positioned me directly behind the bandstand. Say what you will about his lack of resemblance to Williams, Sneezy was channelling Hank. The director allowed us to improvise our movements. My buddies, actors John Corbett (Pee-Wee Hupple) and John Novak (Soldier) scuffled and I attempted to intervene and break them up. They handed out unfiltered Camels and the beer was real, folks. I also appear, with my back to the camera, coming out of the bathroom and getting in the way of my dear, departed friend, singer-actor Tex Konig, O"H. Most of us were hired for the entire shoot, which not only helped pay the rent, but made for some memorable after-parties at John Corbett and John Novak's place on Oxford Street (affectionately known as The Baths) in Kensington Market ( Toronto, Canada). The director and Sneezy were professional and friendly; no "star" nonsense. I was there when the shoot wrapped and the producers presented Sneezy with his costume as a gift; he accepted it with sincere gratitude and humility. (The janitor) Jackie Washington's guitar-playing, beautifully recorded in a studio and over-dubbed, sparkles and forges a true-to-life link between Williams and his childhood teacher, Montgomery street- musician, Tee-Tot. Peace and Love, Wolf Krakowski www.kamea.com

@ lechuguilla: Williams was on his way to Canton, Ohio.

I also saw this movie over a decade ago, and enjoyed it very much. I knew very little about Hank Sr. before this movie and feel as though I know about a very talented and self destructive person, who was not really an alcoholic, but rather due to his spinabifida was addicted to morphine and drank heavily. Either way Hank Sr. drove around the country from town to town performing his songs even though he was in a great deal of pain. Then he died tragically in the back seat of car (I think) many years to early. This story does tell about the show behind the scenes but doesn't get to bogged down in the addiction but rather weaves that part of Hank Sr.'s life into the story. The story did not glamorize his problems. Hank Williams Sr is a piece of Americana to be cherished right or wrong.

This movie takes you far away from the abstract "cat's whisker" sound of the Hank Williams of your youth. It lays an opera of humanity around his songs. It's the songs, the stories, the hypnotic weaving of emotion, but most of all, it's the way the fans were shot. They were real, everyday, unadorned people with all of their own foibles yet the camera catches their private moments of brilliance, an occasional graceful twirl on the dance floor, their unbounded exuberance and glimpses of their facial waves of enthusiasm. The camera shows us the impact of the yarn of music that Hank spins. You can listen and you can watch and you can feel and you can do all of those things and the enjoyment just piles up.