The Case

"She" was not a transvestite. She wasn't a drag queen or a female impersonator. In his/her mind, Jimmy Slattery was a woman trapped in an attractive, lithe man's body. Before long, he was no longer the beautiful boy from Long Island. Instead, he reinvented himself as Candy Darling, future Hollywood guiding light and luminary…and never looked back. A transsexual by clinical definition (though there was never a desire for gender reassignment), she was a man who no longer considered herself male. Instead, Candy was all woman, and acted the part for the entirety of her short adult life. Yes, this is the story of a promising existence cut short, of disease claiming yet another potential prophet before their time. At 29, Darling lay in a NYC hospital bed, dying from lymphoma. Before that, she was part of Andy Warhol's exciting/eccentric '60s scene. She starred in his movies. She inspired Lou Reed and The Velvet Underground (perhaps most famously in Reed's superb solo outing "Walk on the Wild Side"). More importantly, Candy Darling became an icon of personal freedom and social independence in an era when dressing like a lady could get a man arrested.

All throughout James Rasin's compelling documentary, Beautiful Darling, we are struck by how timeless our subject is. Seen as something of an oddity even among Warhol's clique, today she would be RuPaul-errific! When we learn of Slattery's unhappy childhood, his desire to be part of old Tinseltown glamour, and his no-going-back turn into Candy, it makes sense. Unlike other famous members of the pop artist's posse, such as Holly Woodlawn and Jackie Curtis, there was never a hint of irony. Indeed, Darling maintained her "femininity" even when everyone else recognized the ruse. In her mind, she was a woman, and everyone was going to treat her like the diva she was. Through interviews (John Waters, Julie Newmar, Paul Morrissey) and personal reflections and recollections (portions of her diary are read by actress Chloë Sevigny) we learn of the grown legacy, the desire for one person to change their entire personal perspective from mister to myth. There are a few voices of reason (author Fran Lebowitz being one of the most outspoken) and some who seem bent on venting their own individual sour grapes. But in the end, we get a defining portrait of Darling, something few outside Warhol's Factory scene could ever have understood.

Rasin doesn't spend a lot of time on the whole subversive artist aspect of Darling's rise. While there is brief mention of Warhol working his warped magic on the medium by having men play women—often hysterical, unappealing women—the main focus is squarely on the aura of this superstar. Former friend and confidant Jeremiah Newton (who wound up executor of Darling's "estate") provides the most insights. When people claim that Candy never "sold" herself for favors, he breaks out audiotape from the early '70s suggesting otherwise. When instructed by Darling to return to her home and retrieve as many personal items as possible, he does so under the watchful eye of a oddly disapproving mother (mom would later burn anything left over). From the backroom at Max's Kansas City to the stages of Off-Broadway, there is enough here for several sensational biographies. Rasin never goes too deep, and avoids superficiality by finding the right combination of given and gossip. Homophobia and hate is barely mentioned. Instead, Darling is celebrated as a revolutionary, even if her battles seemed strictly aimed at advancing her own name.

Throughout, Rasin maintains a nice distance. We never feel this is a full-on fawning treatment of Darling's story, nor does much dirt besmirch the image eventually created. Whenever someone tries to criticize her (mostly Lebowitz) a wealth of former compatriots rush to her defense. The result is a complicated portrait with as many inconsistencies as there are continuity errors in any Warhol "epic." At her core, Darling wanted to be adored. She wanted to be famous for the sake of stardom, taken care of because…well, because no one could imagine her not being. Eventually, she strays from Warhol and has a brief stint as Tennessee Williams' last major work in progress (she starred in his Small Craft Warnings) and there are hints that, as the '70s progressed, she would have been perfect Studio 54 fodder. Instead, a swollen stomach lead to the discovery of a tumor, and before she turned 30, Darling was dead. If it lacks anything, Beautiful Darling is missing that one grace note that turns her passing from something singular to a deal far more significant. In her time, Candy Darling was the ultimate "it" girl. Now, she's an artifact who deserves this direct overview.

As for the DVD's tech specs, we get a great anamorphic image, the combination of stock material, old footage, newly minted digital interviews, and creative turns translating into an excellent cinematic presentation. The transfer avoids any problems while placing the important material front and center within the 1.78:1 frame. As for the sonic situation, we get a decent Dolby Digital Stereo mix that can't mask the problems of old recordings utilizing outdated technology and capture techniques. Besides, Darling speaks in an affected sigh which is often hard to understand (there are frequent subtitles). Still, the overall presentation is excellent. The only down side? No real added content—just a trailer.

From her work in Trash and Women in Revolt to her symbolism inside Warhol's world, Candy Darling was a unique and unexpected personality. Beautiful Darling captures this perfectly. It's a fitting epitaph for someone who wanted their life to be documented and remembered.

Case Number 23237: Small Claims Court

Beautiful Darling

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