Patti Smith documentary is mystifying and dreary
By Phil Villarreal
Pvillarreal@azstarnet.com
Tucson, Arizona | Published: 01.01.2009
A tiresome, misshapen documentary, "Patti Smith: Dream of Life" is a nightmare to sit through.
The 62-year-old artist, poet and singer-songwriter, often credited with inspiring the punk-rock movement, deserves better than a dull, scattered mess of artistic overindulgence.
Director Steven Sebring, a fashion photographer, hung with Smith for 11 years, filming her at performances, with her children and philosophizing.
What's amazing isn't that the notoriously private artist allowed the intrusion but that with more than a decade to work with, Sebring couldn't cobble together 109 minutes of worthwhile footage.
There's no shape or context to the film, which comes off as a randomly assorted smattering of elegantly shot home-video footage. Those going into the film knowing little about Smith will be confused.
Sebring films mostly in black and white, occasionally moving to color, using exotic angles, framing and camera speeds. He aims for artistic dazzle, an approach that might have worked for a music video or short film but wears down at feature length.
The movie is also opening at the wrong time. Smith's many Bush-bashing tirades come off as tired and superfluous. She may as well be griping about Nixon.
It also doesn't help that her voice seems to have lost its spunk through the decades. Her droning monotone narration sounds like Ben Stein in "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" and is one of many reasons this "Dream" puts you to sleep.
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