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Hit Me (And It Felt Like a Kiss)
The Agony and the Ecstasy of Phil Spector
To know him is to love him? (Photo: Photofest)
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Of all the celebrity court cases since O.J. Simpson’s “trial of the century,” none has brought as much eccentricity and heartbreak as Phil Spector’s two murder trials. Spector, who gave the world so many pop songs that instantly transport us to the moment where we first lost our innocence, also brought us the image of a cracked-up old man with a giant jewfro sitting behind a courtroom desk. If the infectious pop hooks of “Be My Baby” or “Spanish Harlem” have ever caused the weight of the world to swell up behind your eyes, as they have mine, then you will undoubtedly want to know why the man who wrote these simple but deeply affecting lines is the same man twitching uncontrollably next to his defense attorney. Luckily documentarian Vikram Jayanti has directed us towards some answers for these tender questions with The Agony and Ecstasy of Phil Spector.
Phil Spector is a fragile man. In the interview that makes up half of The Agony and the Ecstasy, he seems on the verge of combustion with every breath. And not just the type of combustion that puts a man into such a situation as a murder trial, but also the type that explodes into the sheer rapture of the “Da Doo Ron Ron” finale. His fragility is a unique condition that does not transfer into words and can only be transmitted through those little symphonies created by his artistry. This is a type of mania that causes Spector to outright challenge the genius of Da Vinci and Galileo throughout the film.
With his hair professionally tamed for the camera, misuse of language and a little spittle on his lower lip, Spector bullies his way through twentieth century pop-music, emphatically dismissing Bob Dylan, Brian Wilson, Paul McCartney and many more heroes of plebeian rock fans. His mania is severely megalo as he fixates on celebrated music makers from his generation, appearing mid-explosion when he tells us that he “wishes he had a nickel for every joint Brian Wilson smoked while trying to figure out the engineering techniques used in the production of ‘Be My Baby’.” The thing that conjures my reverence for Charles Masnon’s prison mate is that it is hard to deny that he is, in so many ways, a better writer and artist than Dylan, Wilson or any Beatle. His genius is not one that lets us utilize his art as an icon for a certain period, such as these other artists; Spector’s genius has the power to autonomously create the zeitgeist. If left to his own devices, we could have militant revolutionary groups around the globe fighting to build a sugarcoated world filled with lollipop trees, and girls in mini skirts shouting nonsensical syllables over thickly layered pop-production. (With a short glimpse at contemporary pop-music, it seems that Spector’s army may already be at work: see Katy Perry’s “California Gurls.”) It’s no wonder the conservative forces of America have incarcerated this man.
The other thing that makes this film well worth seeing is that he didn’t do it. Spector is innocent…of murder anyway. Sadly, the major snafu of contemporary celebrity justice is holding captive one of the few American geniuses. This heart wrenching mistake can perhaps best be explained—as Spector did several times during his interview—by comparing his trial to the trial of Galileo Galilei’s. Galileo, who we now know was wrongly put under house arrest for assaulting the fundamental religious doctrine that insisted the Earth is the center of the universe, does in fact share some ground with Spector. They both possess the ability to assault a symbolic reality that has done a great deal to keep society in order. Phil Spector’s music is symbolic terrorism with the ability to annihilate the contemporary sense of reality permanently, and this is why he is imprisoned, not because of a murder. He is a messenger between the unknown and the mundane—of course he is going to be in the company of someone who occasionally puts the barrel of a handgun in her mouth. This doesn’t make him a murderer. It makes him a prophet. Dylan acolytes beware: It isn’t Zimmerman who is bringing America into its destined final great paradigm, it’s Spector and his legions of followers such as Britney, Perry, and, yes, Gaga. When all is said and done, the type of wreckage Gaga’s Spector-inspired symbolic terrorism will leave our culture in will surely be greater than any degenerative counter-culture anti-war movement. Spector knows personally the gods of war, and chooses for himself when to imbibe with them and when to abstain. He didn’t kill b-movie actress Lana Clarkson; he killed culture.
The Agony and Ecstasy is three things: Phil Spector’s murder trial, Phil Spector’s music and one of the most important interviews of any musician ever. For 102 minutes, these three things alone should be able to destroy your current understanding of American pop music.
The movie is playing at the Film Forum.