I wasn’t really a Prince fan growing up. My cousin used to torment me by playing “Little Red Corvette.” I didn’t really become one until the Batman/Graffiti Bridge one-two punch in 1989 and 1990. Then I got deep. Used to buy records on the day of release. Read a lot of Uptown magazine. I was the whitest Prince fan out there. I even did a university paper on Prince and his predecessors in the blues era. So this makes me qualified as the arbiter of white Prince fandom and criticism.
The musician who wants to be an actor has permeated film for years. Even as Elvis Presley embarked on his career, Johnny Cash attempted his own failed film career. Few wouldn’t argue Cash was a talented songwriter; even fewer would argue that Cash set the screen ablaze. Thirty years later, Prince Rogers Nelson, an up-and-coming R&B/Pop crossover sensation, would launch his own bid at Elvis-type domination of movies and music and for a few brief weeks in 1984, he succeeded.
For those of us who remember the summer of 1984, it was one of the last times where such a flood of great music happened. Week after week, singles broke: “Like a Virgin,” (Madonna), “Born in the USA,” (Bruce Springsteen) and “Private Dancer” (Tina Turner) hit the airwaves and became instant classics. By far, though, the juggernaut of Purple Rain, both album and movie, was impressive. Not only did it serve as Prince’s coming-out party to the world, but it led to warning labels on consumer products, thanks to the Gore family.
Purple Rain summarized everything that Prince was to that point. He cast Morris Day in a slightly exaggerated version of Morris’ “impresario” role, and himself as the beleaguered artist, struggling against the commercial. Morris and Prince were friends and rivals, both unable to exist without the other. Prince produced The Time’s albums and Morris gave him one of his earliest hits, “Partyup.”
Morris would parlay his persona into other acting gigs and would become an icon of cool. Prince took his “artist” persona to extremes, signing a contract (which he apparently didn’t read) with Warner Bros. Records, then turning around and declaring himself a “slave,” followed by that extraordinarily strange period where he became an unpronounceable symbol and tattooed “slave” on his cheek. The issue was ownership of his master recordings, which, considering the rabid fan base and his continued success, would be a very lucrative asset. (Note that with Prince’s latest two releases, he is back with Warner Bros. Records under his birth name.)
Purple Rain, though, ended the first phase of Prince’s career, and he did it on a high note.
The Kid (Prince) is a young man who comes from a tortured interracial household. His father, who used to be a talented pianist (before he started drinking and beating his wife, though we’re never told which one came first), despises The Kid, probably for spending all his money on hairspray and purple glitter. So The Kid grows up with some sort of simmering hatred toward women, which manifests in his treatment of Apollonia (Apollonia Kotero), who rides into town, apparently to slut it up with the tortured artists and the sleazy producers.
When The Kid bumps into Apollonia, it’s impossible to tell which one is wetter. The Kid invites Apollonia to ride on his bike (and probably to compare the way each of their tousled hairdos stay in formation — thanks, Aqua Net!). She is so revved up that when The Kid suggests she strip in Lake Minnetonka so that she may purify herself, she does it without question. After watching her strip, and getting a good look (with the audience), The Kid smugly says, “This ain’t Lake Minnetonka,” and rides off on his bike. If you imply that the large lake behind you is Lake Minnetonka, then whose fault is it? Apollonia just laughs it off, as he comes back, proceeding to tell her, “Don’t get my seat all wet.” The audience is expected to snicker at the double entendre. Instead, Prince just comes off as coquettish.
https://youtu.be/FNISSN5-1yg
In the meantime, over at First Avenue (the club which has three house bands, including The Revolution featuring The Kid and The Time featuring Morris Day), Morris Day (played by… Morris Day, showing the inventiveness of the character names) is convincing Billy Sparks (Billy Sparks), the owner, that The Kid is no good and that The Time will propel him into the stratosphere.
By this time, having seen a performance of “Let’s Go Crazy” and “The Beautiful Ones,” you’re agreeing with Morris, because, let’s be frank, in a club you want a badass band, and The Time is sincerely badass. Prince even seems to concur with this, because the two major Time numbers, “Jungle Love,” and “The Bird” are audience pleasers that get the club hopping. When the audience hears numbers such as “Darling Nikki” and “Let’s Go Crazy,” the audience is raptly attentive, but they ain’t dancing. And let’s face it, a club like First Avenue needs to keep asses on the floor. They drink, they dance, and they spend money… that’s the philosophy of every club owner.
There’s actually a third group that is completely ignored within the storyline: Dez Dickerson and the Martinaires. Dez Dickerson (Dez… oh, screw this, almost everyone plays themselves, okay?) played in Prince’s band until 1983, then struck off on his own. But in the club shenanigans, neither Morris nor The Kid even mention Dez. Dez’s song, “Modernaire” is the only song not on the soundtrack or the companion album, The Time’s Ice Cream Castle. It’s not bad, either. They go on prior to The Kid taking the stage with “The Beautiful Ones.”
I actually preferred Dez’s up-tempo dance number, and I think “The Beautiful Ones” is an unheralded masterpiece! I was grooving along with Morris’ goofy come-ons (“Your lips would make a lollipop too happy”), Apollonia’s generous cleavage, and Jerome’s manservant derrings-do, and then The Kid comes onstage to make us all die a horrible club death. Watch the dance floor part like someone dropped a Milky Way in the pool.
Since The Kid is too petulant to advance Apollonia’s career, preferring to shtup her in the basement bedroom of his parents’ house, she goes to Morris to get some professional nookie. Realizing that Apollonia has certain, ahem, assets that he can use to his advantage, he strips her down, puts her with some lesser talents, and hopes that the view in lingerie will supersede their talent. Having seen Apollonia naked already in the movie means that the audience is constantly teased with something where the goods were already given.
Morris wants Billy to put Apollonia 6 as the other house band, presumably because a) Morris wants to tap her ass and b) he wants a band that he can control. Again, nothing is wrong with Morris’ instincts. Prince has proven himself repeatedly to be a commercial crowd-pleaser, and most of his songs (“Peach,” “P Control,” “Sexy M.F.”) are perfect for bodies too close, rubbing each other in the hot, sweaty environment of the club. “Darling Nikki” is the antithesis of club greatness.
Not everything is happy in Lace and Ruffle Town. As if his home life and club politics weren’t enough, The Kid has to deal with internal mutiny from his bandmates, who can’t stand him. Wendy and Lisa (played by, well, Wendy and Lisa) have tried to express their creative instincts, and get shut down by The Kid in the process. The leaden irony, of course, is that The Kid is tortured because Morris ridicules him and Billy insults him because he wants to explore his creative instincts, and yet The Kid stifles Wendy and Lisa’s.
Whether this was a heavy-handed metaphor for how The Kid felt for his father or whether his father did the same thing to him is left unexplained (probably for good reason). For those of us who follow Prince, there’s an uncomfortable sense of cinema verite due to the internal politics driving Prince’s band at the time. The only reason a “Revolution” even existed was the movie, and the flame-out after three albums was due to inability to keep the fiction alive.
For some reason, all the best scenes in what was, ostensibly, a star vehicle for Prince, belong to Morris Day and Jerome Benton. Jerome, who plays… Jerome, is Morris’ great foil. He was so good at this (he was brought in when Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis decided to become successful producers) that he eventually became Prince’s foil onstage and onscreen too. Morris and Jerome are natural, engaging, and a true pleasure to watch. Compare this with the stilted and dry chemistry between Prince and Apollonia. There’s a reason that Apollonia won the Worst New Star award at the Razzie Awards and Prince won the Oscar for Best Song.
There are literally two movies (plus the covert one with the Revolution feeling slighted) going on at the same time: the ultra-serious family drama, in which The Kid and Apollonia have to fight their instincts and be better than the previous generation (while Apollonia shakes ass in lingerie), and the rollicking buddy comedy, where Morris and Jerome are out to find some fine stellas. There is a magnificent Abbott and Costello homage where Morris and Jerome decide their Mac Daddy password is “what.”
By the end, though, all is well. The Kid’s father shoots himself (but survives to hit another day); he discovers the father’s failed music, adding it to Wendy and Lisa’s song, making it into the title tune. Despite the massive fantasy of any of Wendy and Lisa’s work making it into Prince’s, Wendy actually did compose the opening to “Purple Rain.” After performing it, though, he realizes how crappy of a dance tune it really is (it’s the kind of song you think Buffalo Bill would put on after “Goodbye Horses” and she gets the fucking lotion in the basket!), and runs outside, thinking everyone hates it.
Look, if this weren’t a masturbatory fantasy of Prince’s, everyone would have. Instead, the audience gives him a standing ovation. The Revolution then does a mini-medley of “I Would Die 4 U” and “Baby I’m A Star.”
The best part of this end sequence is the way Morris Day goes from goofy to dangerous. He gets drunk at the Apollonia 6 performance, tries to rape her and then, if this wasn’t enough, while The Kid is trying to keep it together, Morris taunts him about his father’s attempted suicide. It makes you desire some of that character development earlier in the film, like with our two main characters! Instead, we get two charmless cardboard cutouts that walk around Minneapolis.
Purple Rain is not a bad movie. It’s not one for the ages. It’s not one that I’d like for aliens to take a cue from and come down to Earth like in Pixels. (Although it might be pretty darn awesome to see armies of invading ruffled Princes try to kill the human race.) Nevertheless, there’s something about it that I love. Maybe it’s the unchecked aggression of Morris. I know I’m a bigger fan of The Time (“No one better say an unkind word about The Time,” shouted Jay in Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back and I agree!), who was so happy when I was retweeted by them.
But I felt fulfilled. I still buy Prince albums. Then again, I like Under the Cherry Moon.
https://youtu.be/CC-BUoFtZPA
John P. Inloes is a child of the 1980s but watches every television show a 14-year-old girl does… so don’t spoil who “A” is! He’s on season two.
