Swan Song
R, 105 minutes
Violet Crown Cinema
Debating answers to thought experiments is only frustrating when you need an answer: If a tree falls in the forest, do you feel stonewalled discussing the answer? Todd Stephens’ Swan Song is based on a similar riddle. Stephens wants us to enjoy the journey, allowing only one question: Is a story any less beautiful if it is not true?
We first meet retired hairstylist Pat Pitsenbarger (Udo Kier) in an assisted living home in Sandusky, Ohio, where he is far from thriving. The walls are gray, his clothes are gray, his hair is gray. And then Mr. Shamrock (Tom Bloom) arrives one day as the bearer of mixed news. Pat’s former client Rita (Linda Evans) has passed away, and her will includes a request for Pat to do her hair one last time. Pat’s reaction reveals his complicated past with Rita and some unhealed wounds that remain.
Despite his initial hesitation, Pat decides to fulfill Rita’s last wish, and takes off by foot into town the next day. He cashes a check, loads up on cigarettes, and sets off on an emotional journey. The closer Pat gets to his destination, the closer he gets to his former self. He receives a hat from some friendly ladies at a Black hair salon that now occupies his former storefront, then an outfit worthy of his massive personality—little by little, he sheds the gray and regains his color.
Each step of Pat’s self-rediscovery asks the audience to suspend its disbelief and buy into a beautiful lie. Nothing happens that’s too far outside the realm of possibility, but Pat gets quite lucky along the way. He has just enough money, meets kind strangers, his body cooperates when he needs it to, and people from his past reappear when he is ready to face them. The tidiness of the plot might be considered lazy writing without the affection for the film’s characters and a palatable wish to see Pat succeed. Abandoning reality allows writer/director Stephens to have fun without letting plausibility get in the way of the story.
Most of Swan Song’s success comes from Kier’s pitch-perfect performance. Pat is an emotionally complicated character with a simple mission. His confidence and camp are charming and earned, but his underlying grief is never lost, even in his most celebratory moments.
Pat’s infectious lust for experiences and indulgence is mirrored in Swan Song’s levity and dazzle. When Pat looks at the cheap costume jewelry adorning his fingers, we see the pride he feels—he loves it, and we love that about him.
Not to be ignored is Swan Song’s subtext regarding the changing gay experience in America. Pat embodies the forgotten forefathers of gay history, who laid the groundwork for the family with two dads he sees on the beach, and the patrons of a gay bar where Pat grabs one last drink.
The bar erupts into a dance party, serving as the film’s emotional crescendo, and it is both a cathartic release and an arrival at a mutual understanding. Pat’s flamboyance might feel dated, like a caricature of a bygone era of homosexuality, but he is doing what he loves.
Swan Song peeks behind the fantasy curtain from time to time, but it is mostly unconcerned about what is real and what is imagined. In the end, none of that matters. The film confirms that the beauty of reaffirming one’s self without apology is a worthy pursuit, embellished or not.
