Good , But It Is Overrated By Some

In truth, there is barely enough story here to make a film.

A movie that not only functions as a solid scarefest but a razor-sharp satire.

The movie turns out to be a little better than the average. Starting from a romantic formula often seen in the cinema, it ends in the most predictable (and somewhat bland) way.

There's something about a mincing man pretending to be a woman that for me is the most annoying type of female impersonator. Charles Busch has written some funny plays, but he's extremely obvious in this spoof of the women's picture of the 1950's and 60's. This particularly goes after the type of films that Ross Hunter made, and while there are some mild laughs at the expense of these films, I was left cold by this rip-off of the best John Waters films. Stark Sands, later in Broadway's "Kinky Boots", shows promise as Busch's rather lost young man who sets his sights on his mother's lover (Jason Priestley). With two strange growing teenage children, an old fart of a husband and a creepy lover, Busch gets to pull out all the stops in the melodramatics. Unfortunately, by pulling out all the stops, any sense of parody makes this seem like a badly written, over the top, and extremely overlong Carol Burnett show sketch. With Carol, you expected that, and it was over in no more than 20 minutes. It strives for shock value with issues such as incest and homosexuality dealt with bluntly (and often crudely) and such soap opera staples as infidelity and murder to carry what there is of a plot along. Eventually, Sands and sister Natasha Lyonne plot to take care of mommie dearest....for good. After a while, it wears out its welcome. References to" Gypsy", "Dead Ringer", "Portrait in Black" and "Where Love Has Gone" is peppered with shots of obviously phony backdrops. Lyonne seems intent on imitating John Waters regular Mink Stole and comes off looking like a braying Pia Zadora. The overabundance of bitchy lines, put-downs and snarling delivery of all these lines just results in a tired spoof that grates on the nerves very quickly.

First, I should admit that I've never seen the play on which "Die, Mommie, Die!" is based. If you only hear that the star is a drag queen, then you might have an idea about the movie's content. However, most of it is not particularly flamboyant. Campy, yes, but it has a serious side. Charles Busch (who wrote the play) plays a retired singer whose actions cause an awkward series of events. Despite the focus on the singer and her family, I thought that the most intriguing character was the Bible-quoting housekeeper played by Frances Conroy (of "Six Feet Under" and "American Horror Story"). Despite her religious zealotry, this woman knows a lot more than we realize! Basically, "Die, Mommie, Die!" is a spoof of/homage to movies featuring grand dames. I wouldn't go so far as to call this a great movie or even a hilarious one, but it's worth seeing. I interpreted it as a look at fame's fickle nature and the difficulty of acknowledging the changing world (such as what the singer finds out about her son). Now that I've seen it, I'd like to see the play, as well as Busch's other plays. A fine addition to the pantheon of LGBT cinema.Also starring Jason Priestley, Philip Baker Hall, Stark Sands, Natasha Lyonne and Nora Dunn.

I had been looking forward to seeing "Die Mommie Die". Everything about it bodes well for a great time at the movies. The title is filled with campy promise, the casting fairly intriguing and the reviews pretty favorable too.But despite all this, "Die Mommie Die" is not only remarkably flat and unfunny, it's actually boring.While Charles Busch may be a truly talented stage performer, his on screen presence is surprisingly bland, not what one would expect from a reputable drag queen. It's rare for parody to be able to sustain itself for the entire length of a movie; but this one barely gets off the ground.

Die, Mommie, Die! is either camp, or satire, or a satire of camp, it's difficult to tell. And there lies the problem with the movie. It's a takeoff of the sort of Joan Crawford/Bette Davis movies from both their 1940's heyday and the hagbag pictures of the 60's. The range seems to cover the whole lifespan of their careers. It's about a washed-up singer/actress played by a man, Charles Busch, in female regalia, named Angela Arden (The character is aptly named. Busch, in drag, strongly resembles Eve Arden. If only he had her comic timing and delivery, the performance would have been a tour-de-force instead of just a good female impersonation), whose affair with a young gigolo (Jason Priestley) is interrupted by the arrival of her producer-husband (Philip Baker-Hall), from a Madrid vacation, who proceeds to take firm control of his home and marriage, driving Angela to contemplate murder.From there, the plot twists into a series of murders, potential murders, sexual crises, and identity crises. It's funny in places, and has some truly unique comic turns (Angela trying to dispose of her husband with a poisoned suppository is gleefully tasteless, and a secret language spoken by Angela and her son that her husband and daughter can't tap into is a beauty - replete with subtitles, no less). But it tends to lose its place in its own chronology; eras are confused, and we can't make sense of things - the humor doesn't match the genre it's lampooning. The story is supposed to take place in the psychedelic 60's, but at the beginning, we can't place it. When Angela's son tells her he left school because a student demonstration shut the school down, it seems an anachronistic joke. There's nothing to indicate a 60's dressing-down by the kids - they just dress like spoiled Hollywood rich kids. Natasha Lyonne, as Angela's daughter, is clothed like the TV Patty Duke. And while Angela and her husband seem locked in 1940's wardrobe time warp (we suspect that's part of the joke; these people are washed-up in Hollywood because they can't get out of 1949), Angela's slick young gigolo is also dressed in 40's garb, a la Bing Crosby.Busch is really the center of the movie, though. Oddly enough, he manages to be believable in character without being believable as a woman (he gives himself away when he speaks, his tones in the lower register are clearly that of a man, not a deep-chested woman). He gives Angela a flighty, tawdry charm; we sympathize with him/her when Baker-Hall lays down the law and ends all her fun. Angela is made promiscuous without being trashy; she has style, and one can understand how she must have been appealing in her halcyon days of performing. In the musical number performed by Angela, "Why Not Me?", Busch gives Angela her glory, she looks like a star, radiant and engagingly naughty, Busch suggests Bette Midler in the routine. The dubbed-in vocal doesn't quite work, though, it's too tepid; it should have been more ebullient, boisterous, rousing. Baker-Hall is great playing the synthesis of all the Sam Spiegels and Dore Scharies, he's a robust outcast, a wash-up who still has the imagined clout to throw his weight around at home. The only performance that feels wrong is Priestley's; he's too broad, his line readings too self-conscious. The others are playing camp, he's satirizing it, like an actor employed by Mad Magazine. He gave a more creditable performance as the teen heartthrob in Love and Death on Long Island, maybe that's all he'll ever be. He doesn't have the sophistication to play a gigolo, he lacks a richness and a physical imposition. He's too boy-next-door, even with bags under his eyes that are making him look like Fred Allen.Die, Mommie, Die! does have some good laughs in it, and the performances, especially Busch's and Baker-Hall's, are really a kick. It doesn't quite capture the Crawford/Davis oeuvre too well, though. That province still belongs to the real stars.