“Billie Holiday sang only truth. She knew nothing else,” states fellow singer and friend Sylvia Syms of the late Lady Day (1915-1959) near the beginning of Billie, a new documentary from James Erskine (The Battle Of The Sexes, The Ice King), available now through Sunday via deadCenter’s virtual film festival. But as we learn through the course of the film, truth is a somewhat illusory concept when it comes to the life and experiences of Holiday, whose own autobiography is reportedly filled with factual inaccuracies (apparently by the design of Holiday and the book’s co-author William Dufty). Through taped interviews, we hear bandmates, close friends, and acquaintances tell different versions of the same stories—one, in particular, involving Holiday’s departure from Count Basie’s orchestra, with some saying the singer left of her own accord because she didn’t want to “sing the blues,” while others insist Count Basie fired her because she wouldn’t sing the blues, with still others stating record producer John Hammond gave her the ax for more or less the same reason.
Given this, it seems virtually impossible to obtain a complete and true grasp of Holiday as a person, and as such, it would be futile to view Billie as the definitive documentary on the artist. But this is fitting since Erskine isn’t necessarily trying to make a definitive documentary: he’s also telling, albeit briefly, the story of Linda Lipnack Kuehl, who recorded over two hundred hours of interviews with Holiday’s contemporaries in preparation for a written biography, which she researched for eight years before dying mysteriously in 1978 (police ruled her death a suicide, but members of her family suspect she may have been murdered). Other biographers have used Kuehl’s research material in the past, but Billie marks the first time her taped interviews have been made publicly available. We hear not only the voices of those closest (or as close as one could be) to Holiday—the aforementioned Count Basie and Sylvia Sims, as well as Tony Bennett, Sarah Vaughn, Charles Mingus, and many others—we also hear Kuehl interact with them, laugh with them, and at times even quarrel with them. In this way, the film is the story of Linda, and Linda tells us the story of Billie.
This framing device might seem odd—wouldn’t it be better to focus on one subject, rather than two?—but Erskine makes it work, primarily because Kuehl becomes a stand-in for the audience; her fascination with Holiday becomes our fascination, and we better understand the artist’s beguiling and sensual personality, the enchantment she held over those who knew her, those who heard her, and those who continue to listen to her today.
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Make no mistake, however: not all of Billie is a magical experience. Holiday lived a hard life colored by sex work at a far too young age (around thirteen), drug addiction, and a string of toxic relationships with abusive men. The documentary is difficult to watch at times, but it is essential viewing, especially now, when the hardships Holiday endured—racism, sexism, police profiling, domestic violence—coupled with those aspects that made her the outstanding woman she was—openly bisexual and sexually liberated, preternaturally talented, and fiercely protective of her artistry and career—make Holiday the perfect subject for a film released in 2020.
Billie is now playing virtually for ticket and badge holders at the deadCenter 2020 film festival until its conclusion on June 21st.
