Jeffrey:

Dear Mike,

A tip of the hat, sir. Quite possibly your finest hour. The phrase “Apollonia is unable to resist the pubic hairs glued to his chest” deserves to go down as one of the finest moments in rock-critic history. That’s like when David Lee Roth said that rock critics love Elvis Costello because he looks like them. (Which I believe Elvis Costello actually said about David Lee Roth talking about Elvis Costello. I wouldn’t put it past him.)

Well, my friend, rock critics love Purple Rain because there is no rock movie like it. Yes, there are plenty of other fictional movies starring rock musicians. From the great (A Hard Day’s Night) to the fun-campy (Rock n’ Roll High School) to the awful-campy (Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Heart Club Band) to the awful (Can’t Stop the Music). But Purple Rain is in a class of its own. It is campy, yes … most of the actors could give Charlie McCarthy a run for his money in a wood contest … but it is also so overflowing with heart and “let’s put on a show!” energy that it will forever deserve to be ranked among the finest rock films of all time.

The thing that blows my mind every time I watch this movie is that at the time that Prince made Purple Rain, he wasn’t even a star. Yes, he’d just come off of 1999, which was a very successful record. It was the #9 record of 1983. Do you know what the #7 album in the country is right now? It is Signature by Joe. Do you know who Joe is? He is an R&B artist who has been releasing albums since 1993. He has scored 7 albums in the top 50, and 4 of those went top 10. Joe is a far more established artist than Prince was at the time he made Purple Rain, and you have never heard of him. Neither have I. No big. The point is, it takes massive, clanging, balls to convince your record company to create a movie about you when you are at Prince’s level of success.

As dated and misogynistic and ridiculous and stilted as Purple Rain is, I still find it riveting from the first frame to the last. The opening sequence, set to Let’s Go Crazy, is as iconic and well-crafted as any sequence in Hard Day’s Night. From the opening shot of The Purple One standing at the mic, silhouetted against a backdrop of fog like a rock n’ roll Jesus, preaching the rock n’ roll Lord’s Prayer that pretty much anyone who has listened to the radio in the last 25 years can recite from memory, Purple Rain fucking OWNS your attention. The movie perfectly encapsulates its time and place in a way that no rock movie has managed to do since. (Author’s note: when I was writing this, I accidentally typed a few letters in the wrong place and created the word “purpencapsulates.” Which is a very happy accident, because that is exactly what Purple Rain does to the 80s.)

The plot is ridiculous. Apollonia wants to be a star. So she moves FROM NEW ORLEANS TO MINNEAPOLIS. That is a brilliant place for people to move when they want to be stars, especially when they already live in one of the most musical cities in America. Besides Prince, can you name any other major rock acts that have come from Minneapolis? The Replacements and Husker Du. Both amazing artists, to be sure … but I doubt Apollonia moved to Minneapolis to be closer to them. And as the movie demonstrates, she clearly has never heard of Prince or The Time. So what the fuck is she doing there?

And then there’s the dialogue. The spousal-abuse subplot between Prince’s mom and dad reads like a very special episode of Diff’rent Strokes. We’re introduced to this subplot when Prince comes home (in his completely appropriate and not-at-all effeminate Louis XIV gear) to find his dad shaking his mom’s shoulders in a corner of the house, just like wife beaters really do. “You keep this place clean!” he shouts, because that’s what wife beaters really care about, is cleanliness. If she only cleaned the place up, maybe everyone would be happy. But no, Prince’s mom has to be selfish and unclean, which, I’m sorry, but with that attitude, doesn’t she kinda deserve to be slapped?

The stilted exposition is fantastically awful, too. Please help me find the subtlety in this patch of dialogue:

Billy (the owner of First Avenue): I don’t understand it. The last 3 bands that came out here went on to be big stars. I thought the Kid was the next one. But now he’s blowing it. Plus, he ain’t even pulling ‘em in like he used to.
Morris: He just plays a lot of shit that nobody wants to hear.
Billy: Yeah, like his old man, Francis Ale (sp?).
Morris: Man, did he ever mess his career up.
Billy: Yeah, ruined his wife’s, too.
Morris: And now the Kid’s doing the same shit.

If I ever saw a script with this dialogue in it, and I was a person who took scripts that were bad and peed on them, I would pee all over this script.

But IT DOESN’T FUCKING MATTER. There are very few movies in which the overwhelming problems DON’T FUCKING MATTER. Purple Rain is one of those movies. NOTHING FUCKING MATTERS. It is untouchable. It exists in a plane of reality that is at once more sophisticated and more childlike than anything any of us have ever encountered.

The first interaction between Prince and Apollonia is a great example. Scene: Apollonia is window shopping. Prince shows up and says, “Gimme that thing on your ankle.” Apollonia gives it to him. Prince walks away. Apollonia says, “gimme that back, that thing I just gave to you.” Prince says, “No. Who gave this to you, male or female?” Apollonia says, “huh?” Prince says, “You’re lying. I can tell just by your face you’re lying.”

Here’s the thing: Apollonia didn’t lie. Maybe Apollonia is a liar, I don’t know. I don’t know the woman. But I can say beyond all reasonable doubt that, as it relates to this scene, the poor woman did not lie. He asked her who gave her the ankle bracelet, and she said, “huh?” That’s not a lie. A vocal tic, maybe. But not a lie.

But who cares? Because the next scene is a video for “Take Me With You.” All is forgiven.

And that’s the essence of Purple Rain. The plot doesn’t matter. The acting doesn’t matter. The dialogue doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is that we are always only a few minutes away from a hearing an amazing, amazing song or seeing a captivating performance.

That being said, there are some really great, believable moments in the film. This isn’t a puff piece where Prince saves the day with his charm and wit. Just like the real Prince, the Kid is a controlling, abusive, egomaniacal troll who just happens to be a musical genius.

Mike says that Morris Day rises above the fray. I’m going beyond that. Morris Day in Purple Rain is fantastic. He’s a superstar. It is an understatement to say he steals the show. If it weren’t for Prince’s musical performances, Morris Day (and, credit where credit is due, Jerome) would be the show. The line that you (Mike) reference as lame re: the “brass waterbed,” becomes a golden bit of comedy as presented by Day. And it’s not just comedy … at the end, when he reveals his regret at having gone too far with just a shake of the head, it’s a powerful moment.

Yes, the abusive dad stuff is lame. The love story is beyond uninteresting. The misogyny is troubling. But as a portrait of its era, Purple Rain is a masterpiece. With its wholesome grittiness, its overslick production value, and its completely fabricated take on the rock n’ roll lifestyle, it perfectly purpencapsulates the 80s.

On the Awkward Press scale of pizzas, Purple Rain gets … 5 1/2 pizzas!

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