Jobriath, née Bruce Wayne CampbellJOBRIATH A.D.
(Kieran Turner, 2014, USA, 102 minutes)
I'm a true fairy.
—Jobriath
He out-Queened Queen.
—Eddie Kramer
At a time when the leading lights of glam and glitter rock exemplified androgyny, Jobriath was openly gay (and not bisexual as David Bowie and Lou Reed would sometimes describe themselves*).
It wasn't an act—not that theatricality wasn't part of that world, but walking it like you talked it in the 1970s was a whole 'nother thing than it is now; one fraught with greater personal danger and commercial risk.
Director Kieran Turner (24 Nights) begins his portrait of the classically-trained musician with the debut of the counterculture musical Hair in 1968, in which Jobriath, leader of the now-forgotten rock band Pidgeon, made up part of the Los Angeles cast alongside Gloria Jones, who appears in the film (and in 20 Feet from Stardom). Friends, like GTO member Miss Mercy, remember his talent, his charisma, and his manic drive.
*Or as others would describe them. Reed was cagier than Bowie on this score.
The Midnight Special wouldn't let Jobriath perform S&M number "Take Me I'm Yours."
If Hair became a hit, Pidgeon didn't follow suit, so Jobriath moved to New York to pursue a solo career. In short order, he found a manager in Jerry Brandt, a dead ringer for Peter Gallagher circa The Idolmaker.
Says Brandt, "He could write, he could sing, and he could dance," and so Brandt hyped the hell out of him. The billboard-and-bus approach backfired, though it's not hard to admire the way they made no attempt to hide Jobriath's sexual orientation. Said the artist at the time, "Asking me if I’m homosexual is like asking James Brown if he's Black."
Only after establishing his public persona does Turner reveal details about his subject's childhood. If it comes as little surprise to find that Jobriath wasn't his given name, he had a strong sense of self from the start. In that respect—shaking off the past in order to become his authentic self—he recalls transgender Warhol superstars Candy Darling and Holly Woodlawn, who inspired Reed's immortal "Walk on the Wild Side."
As Turner depicts the photogenic performer recording his self-titled debut, it doesn't take much of a leap to understand his appeal to men, to women, and to the musicians of today. The record buyers and music critics of 1973, however, were a different story, and his records didn't sell. If I had heard his songs on the radio around the time I first discovered Bowie, Queen, and Elton John, I might have picked up his albums, too, but I didn't.
Had Jobriath stuck it out, the times might have caught up with him, but Elektra gave up on him after his second LP, 1975's Creatures of the Street, he and Brandt went their separate ways, and a few years later, he reemerged as a cabaret performer, his final musical configuration.
Turner doesn't push the allusions too hard, but I caught traces of Icarus (Brandt as the master craftsman), Frankenstein (Jobriath as the monster), and Svengali (Jobriath as the artist's model) in their relationship.
I expected a parade of stars to sing his praises during the film, and Turner has delivered a few, but they aren’t necessarily the ones I would've predicted. The Scissor Sisters' Jake Shears and Jayne County? Sure, but I didn't know that Breaking Away star Dennis Christopher was a friend or that Def Leppard's Joe Elliot and Okkervil River's Will Sheff were fans—and yes, that's Richard Gere singing backup on his debut. But Morrissey is notable by his absence; I'll assume he was busy working on his memoir.
I also have mixed feelings about the animation, which feels extraneous, and Henry Rollins seems like an odd choice for narrator, but Turner otherwise does right by his subject, who died in 1983 just as Britain's New Romantics were taking his looks, his moves, and even his ideas to the top of the charts.
Jobriath A.D. trailer (hi-res video) from Eight Track Tape Productions on Vimeo.