One of last year's biggest cinematic surprises was a little documentary about a convert to the LDS Church. The film premiered with a splash at the Sundance Film Festival in January 2005, then just kept chugging along, gathering impressive reviews across the country.
"New York Doll" — released on DVD this week (Visual Entertainment, 2005, PG-13, $19.98) — tells the story of Arthur "Killer" Kane, who was bass guitarist for the cross-dressing glam-rock band the New York Dolls in the early 1970s. The band had a major impact on the music scene but then imploded after just two studio albums, thanks to ego problems and self-destructive tendencies brought on by alcohol and drug excess.
It's a sad but all too familiar story.
As with his bandmates, Kane was a volatile personality back then, with a serious alcohol problem. He rapidly began a downhill spiral until he finally hit rock bottom.
But when we meet Kane onscreen, he's a soft-spoken, mild-mannered convert to the LDS Church, working in the Family History Library at the Los Angeles LDS Temple. There, a couple of little old ladies who work with him refer to themselves as his "groupies."
The film skimps on Kane's personal biographical details in telling the story of how he got from there to here. A little fleshing out might have given the film some heft. As it is, it feels a little light.
Despite that, however, the film's concentration on the contrasts between Kane's two lives is utterly fascinating, especially as the possibility of a reunion with his surviving bandmates develops into a reality and seems to be a direct answer to Kane's prayers.
Three of the New York Dolls members died quite young, but the other two survivors — singer David Johansen and guitarist Sylvain Sylvain — agree to reunite for the 2004 Meltdown Music Festival in London, an all-day concert event organized by British musician Morrissey (whose interview is expanded for the DVD's bonus features).
Still, there's tension in the air in the weeks leading up to the event, as Kane worries about what his reception will be like, since he and Johansen didn't part on friendly terms all those years ago. And Kane's not completely confident about playing the band's songs again after some 30 years. (There's a bittersweet moment when Kane gets his guitar out of hock at a pawn shop.)
As it happens, one of the film's most powerful sequences comes when Johansen, while smoking, quizzes Kane on the LDS Church's stance against smoking and drinking. Kane doesn't hesitate to calmly explain why the church teaches what it does and why he believes it's a good idea. Before they go onstage, Kane leads a roomful of people in a sincere prayer and remembers their three fallen bandmates.
There are also interviews with many of Kane's peers from the music business, talking about how he was in the bad old days and contrasting that with his current self, and offering honest reactions to his new lifestyle. (And also teasing Kane about his musical style — standing stiffly on stage while playing his bass guitar. "The only living statue in rock 'n' roll," someone says.)
The film follows the New York Dolls' triumphant comeback by telling us that Kane died before the film was completed, and then has Johansen singing a gentle acoustic version of "Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief," with Brian Koonin on guitar. (Johansen and Koonin also team up for a verse of "Come, Come Ye Saints," among the DVD's bonus features.)
A lot of Hollywood movies try to tell stories of redemption, but none can touch this one. If "New York Doll" wasn't true, it would seem ridiculously contrived. But then, truth is always stranger than fiction.
E-mail: hicks@desnews.com