FILM: ‘Janis: Little Girl Blue’
Nearly 50 years after her death at the age of 27, Janis Joplin remains as prominent in the pop culture landscape as ever. She is remembered for her reckless, effortlessly charismatic, unapologetically sexual personality and her unwillingness to bow to the norms of how a woman of her era was expected to look or act. She’s remembered for her distinctive, flamboyant fashion sense, bedecked in feathers and fur and brightly colored baubles, crowned by a frizzy mane of golden brown hair. Above all, she’s remembered for her bruised yet resilient powerhouse of a voice, inspired by blues and soul, but transcending the vocal minstrelsy that often accompanies white singers taking on black music. She lived the pain she sang about, but she also understood how to translate that into something wrenching yet beautiful.
Equally as important to the mythos of Joplin as her brash persona, however, is her vulnerable, self-destructive side. As assertive and in command as she seemed, she struggled with insecurity about her looks and inability to hold down relationships, both with men and women. Her unconventional attitudes and behavior got her bullied out of her home state of Texas, a fact that remained painful for her even after she became a star. She believed in her talent, but never quite accepted the praise from others. She self-medicated with alcohol and heroin, which worsened her darker impulses and heeded her decline.
The new documentary Janis: Little Girl Blue, out today on DVD, deftly explores the two halves of Joplin’s personality: the electric, ebullient performer, and the needy, impulsive, self-perceived ugly duckling. The arc of Joplin’s short life has become the template for the story of the troubled rock star, replicated in both fiction (the 1979 Bette Midler film The Rose) and real life (Amy Winehouse), but director Amy J. Berg (Prophet’s Prey, Deliver Us from Evil) transforms the familiar narrative beats into something specific to the life of a single, supremely talented individual. Berg focuses her interviews on Joplin’s closest circle, including siblings, bandmates, and friends, both famous and not. Each interviewee recalls his or her own version of Joplin, some of which seem to contradict the others. Taken as a whole, however, they present a multifaceted portrait of a complex woman.
One of the most revealing aspects of Janis: Little Girl Blue is the recurring use of excerpts from Joplin’s letters to her family in Port Arthur, Texas, after moving to San Francisco. The letters convey a daughter who yearns to please her parents, even as she defies their hopes for her future; who oscillates between being proud of her individuality and longing to fit in; and who struggles to believe in her abilities, even as she becomes famous and beloved around the world. For an idolized figure who looms larger than life in the public imagination, it accomplishes the seeming impossibility of humanizing her, making her extraordinary talent all the more astonishing.
Janis: Little Girl Blue aired previously on PBS’s series American Masters, and adheres to the template of the network’s documentary house style: the usual procession of archival footage, photographs, and graying talking heads. The most striking artistic flourish is narration by musician Chan Marshall (Cat Power), reading excerpts from Joplin’s letters home in the voice of the late singer. Marshall, a fellow Southerner who has publicly struggled with insecurity and substance abuse, is so simpatico with Joplin that she seems to be channeling her. More forced is the obligatory round-up of contemporary artists citing Joplin as an influence, as if the audience needs Pink or Juliette Lewis to contextualize her importance. (Fortunately, these are largely confined to the end credits and DVD special features.)
Despite its familiar style, Janis: Little Girl Blue feels fresh because it curbs the rampant nostalgia that typically pervades documentaries about the ’60s. Interviewees reflect on Joplin, their youth, and the music scene of the era in specifics rather than trite generalizations, and often with mixed emotions. This intimate, frank approach allows Janis: Little Girl Blue to celebrate Joplin’s talent and influence afresh, beyond her status as a musical icon or the archetype of the tragic rock star.
Janis: Little Girl Blue is out today. Order your copy now on Amazon.
