Knight at the Movies ARCHIVES
Not so:
De-Lovely
7-7-04 Knight at the Movies column
By Richard Knight, Jr.
Years ago I met an older woman at a gay bar who was fun, sophisticated and quick with the compliments. We
hit it off and hung out together for months. Finally, one night she confessed that she had fallen in love with me.
“But I’m gay,” I said, stunned. “I don’t care. I’ve been married to two gay men. It doesn’t matter to me.” She
meant it. The relationship didn’t progress into a romance but an overriding but subtle control started to appear.
“Let’s not invite him, darling,” she would say, “Let’s just us two go to dinner” or the theatre or wherever. Within
weeks I was drowning in the phone calls, presents, letters, notes, and need for attention-love-notice-me oxygen
of this woman.
“A love that would never die and music that would live forever” is the catch phrase that’s being used to market
De-Lovely, the lavish life story of gay composer Cole Porter and his “unconventional” relationship with his
wife of 35 years, Linda. Would it be 35 years of “Let’s just us two go to dinner” I wondered as the film began?
On the surface it would seem so and seen in those terms, Cole and Linda Lee Porter (Kevin Kline and Ashley
Judd) were the ultimate fag and hag. As the movie tells it, despite Linda’s subtle admonishments and behind the
scene machinations, Cole Can’t Help Himself and soon he's drawn to the male fleshpots in Venice, New York and
most vividly in Hollywood (where at a basement gay bar we glimpse a dyke couple waltzing around amid the
hustlers) as his songs are belted out onscreen by everyone from Robbie Williams to Alanis Morissette.
Adding the pop stars to the movie is a blatant product placement for The Kids and works to varying degrees – the
male crooners – Williams, Elvis Costello and John Barrowman, for example, handle the Porter songs much better
than the ladies. Sheryl Crow, especially, delivers a horrific “Begin The Beguine” and Diana Krall, as always,
seems to sleep while singing (she’s given “Just One Of Those Things”).
For Cole’s repeated sin of homosex he’s crushed by a horse and Linda, sensing that she’s finally, finally needed
for more than doling out cigarette cases and playing hostess, returns to take charge of his recovery. Soon she’s
picked out a house in Connecticut, far away from the boys. But knowing Cole’s true nature, and dying of cancer
anyway, sets him up with her male decorator, who looks spectacular in a light blue sweater and white linen
pants.
“I wanted every kind of love I could get,” Cole says about his desire for men early on and apparently, he wanted
it again and again and again. Linda, seemingly chaste, stays because either Cole is the “rhythm of her heart”
(which she expresses), she likes the reflected glory of Porter’s celebrity or just digs his songs. As the film goes
on, the story of a woman settling for less than what she deserves for reasons that aren’t fully understood or
explained becomes much more interesting than Cole picking up yet another trick.
With the spectacular Judd in the role, the resentment I felt toward the Cole character grew with each passing
flirtation. Judd’s dual combination of sexiness and fierce intelligence make it hard to watch her Linda Lee Porter
literally die on the vine. Judd has the rare ability to instantly cut to the core of her character’s emotions and her
rapport with an audience is the key to her success as an actress. She engenders a lot of sympathy simply
because she’s not afraid to tap into those emotions. It’s terrific to see this beautiful woman dressed in the
gorgeous Armani period clothes and she does her best to flesh out a character that on closer examination seems
like a smothering, well meaning “gal pal.”
Kline, who is one of those performers you cannot dislike, is a wonderful actor and does excellent work here but
is the wrong choice to play the über sophisticate Cole Porter. Kline’s persona was much better suited to the
closeted gay Howard Brackett in the hilarious In & Out. I had trouble matching up the razor sharp wit of the
songs with Kline’s characterization of the man who created them.
The life story of Cole Porter would seem to promise all the fun those bouncy songs with their sparkling
sophistication and bitchy reparteé delivers and it’s in evidence here from time to time. But the fun of the first
half gives way to the slow decline of the second. One does not want to go into a movie called De-Lovely and
come out feeling De-pressed.
De-Lovely
7-7-04 Knight at the Movies column
By Richard Knight, Jr.
Years ago I met an older woman at a gay bar who was fun, sophisticated and quick with the compliments. We
hit it off and hung out together for months. Finally, one night she confessed that she had fallen in love with me.
“But I’m gay,” I said, stunned. “I don’t care. I’ve been married to two gay men. It doesn’t matter to me.” She
meant it. The relationship didn’t progress into a romance but an overriding but subtle control started to appear.
“Let’s not invite him, darling,” she would say, “Let’s just us two go to dinner” or the theatre or wherever. Within
weeks I was drowning in the phone calls, presents, letters, notes, and need for attention-love-notice-me oxygen
of this woman.
“A love that would never die and music that would live forever” is the catch phrase that’s being used to market
De-Lovely, the lavish life story of gay composer Cole Porter and his “unconventional” relationship with his
wife of 35 years, Linda. Would it be 35 years of “Let’s just us two go to dinner” I wondered as the film began?
On the surface it would seem so and seen in those terms, Cole and Linda Lee Porter (Kevin Kline and Ashley
Judd) were the ultimate fag and hag. As the movie tells it, despite Linda’s subtle admonishments and behind the
scene machinations, Cole Can’t Help Himself and soon he's drawn to the male fleshpots in Venice, New York and
most vividly in Hollywood (where at a basement gay bar we glimpse a dyke couple waltzing around amid the
hustlers) as his songs are belted out onscreen by everyone from Robbie Williams to Alanis Morissette.
Adding the pop stars to the movie is a blatant product placement for The Kids and works to varying degrees – the
male crooners – Williams, Elvis Costello and John Barrowman, for example, handle the Porter songs much better
than the ladies. Sheryl Crow, especially, delivers a horrific “Begin The Beguine” and Diana Krall, as always,
seems to sleep while singing (she’s given “Just One Of Those Things”).
For Cole’s repeated sin of homosex he’s crushed by a horse and Linda, sensing that she’s finally, finally needed
for more than doling out cigarette cases and playing hostess, returns to take charge of his recovery. Soon she’s
picked out a house in Connecticut, far away from the boys. But knowing Cole’s true nature, and dying of cancer
anyway, sets him up with her male decorator, who looks spectacular in a light blue sweater and white linen
pants.
“I wanted every kind of love I could get,” Cole says about his desire for men early on and apparently, he wanted
it again and again and again. Linda, seemingly chaste, stays because either Cole is the “rhythm of her heart”
(which she expresses), she likes the reflected glory of Porter’s celebrity or just digs his songs. As the film goes
on, the story of a woman settling for less than what she deserves for reasons that aren’t fully understood or
explained becomes much more interesting than Cole picking up yet another trick.
With the spectacular Judd in the role, the resentment I felt toward the Cole character grew with each passing
flirtation. Judd’s dual combination of sexiness and fierce intelligence make it hard to watch her Linda Lee Porter
literally die on the vine. Judd has the rare ability to instantly cut to the core of her character’s emotions and her
rapport with an audience is the key to her success as an actress. She engenders a lot of sympathy simply
because she’s not afraid to tap into those emotions. It’s terrific to see this beautiful woman dressed in the
gorgeous Armani period clothes and she does her best to flesh out a character that on closer examination seems
like a smothering, well meaning “gal pal.”
Kline, who is one of those performers you cannot dislike, is a wonderful actor and does excellent work here but
is the wrong choice to play the über sophisticate Cole Porter. Kline’s persona was much better suited to the
closeted gay Howard Brackett in the hilarious In & Out. I had trouble matching up the razor sharp wit of the
songs with Kline’s characterization of the man who created them.
The life story of Cole Porter would seem to promise all the fun those bouncy songs with their sparkling
sophistication and bitchy reparteé delivers and it’s in evidence here from time to time. But the fun of the first
half gives way to the slow decline of the second. One does not want to go into a movie called De-Lovely and
come out feeling De-pressed.
A less than delightful diversion
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