New York Doll

It made me cry.
Even though I knew what the outcome would be, I struggled to hold back tears.
All of the praise that New York Doll has received is totally deserved. It’s one of the best rock and roll documentaries that I have ever seen and a lot of this is because it is fundamentally different than most rock and roll documentaries that I have ever seen. Sure, there are the obligatory moments where the film reviews Arthur “Killer” Kane’s past, but it is far from an episode of VH1’s Behind The Music. Given Kane’s subsequent financial, emotional, and creative problems that plagued him after the Dolls split, this is a pretty major accomplishment.
I think a lot of this is because the filmmaker, Greg Whiteley, was a brother in the Mormon faith like Kane. It’s very obvious that Kane’s newfound faith played an intricate role in keeping him alive, grounded, and with purpose. Whiteley is not afraid to disclose the very “un-rock” criteria that the church practices. It does nothing to conceal the sheltered qualities of Kane’s Mormon co-workers and fellow members. Instead, it forgoes any righteousness and focuses on how the church’s structure helped Kane and even went so far as to help make Kane’s lifelong dream of having the Dolls reform a reality.
They helped get his fucking bass out of the pawn shop.
That’s right: the Mormon church helped a down and out member get their bass guitar out of a pawnshop so that he would be able to return to one of the most notoriously decadent rock bands in history.
How appropriate, as New York Doll is ultimately a story about faith anyway. Faith in Mormonism. Faith that a fellow Mormon will be able to follow the straight and narrow even in the face of an opportunity-for-sin rock festival performance.
Faith that the band will even get back together.
Kane spent more time wanting the Dolls to reform than actually being in the New York Dolls. But without that identifying band, his life seemed to have no relevance. His apartment was decorated with memorabilia. His conversations littered with glory day stories. His interactions with the remaining band members became nothing more than bitter accusations and envious glances. He was convinced that he was forgotten, unjustly left behind, and his eyes reflected it. His conversations littered with glory day stories. His interactions with the remaining band members became nothing more than bitter accusations and envious glances. He was convinced that he was forgotten, unjustly left behind, and that other bands of lesser talent had taken the same path the Dolls cleared beforehand and made tons of money in the process.
It’s clear that Kane’s prayers must have helped somewhat in making the impossible happen. It’s a hoot to watch Kane explain to two elderly ladies that he works with how the bass guitar contributes to the band-one that they’re obviously clueless about, but polite nonetheless-and then is whisked away days later to be doted on by adoring English fans.
Conversely, it’s heartbreaking to watch Kane come out of his shell to perform in front of those fans only to be diagnosed with leukemia and pass away just three weeks after taking the stage.
Again, his prayers were clearly answered.
New York Doll also paints a portrait of how some of his bandmates-namely David Johansen-could be a real prick even after decades of separation. The filmmakers don’t set anything up, they just allow those that would like to put their foot in their mouths an opportunity to do so. Johansen succeeds, chiding Kane for the rigid rules his religion presents. He even gives a seemingly sarcastic introduction to Kane as one of “God’s miracles” while on stage.
The miracle was the fact that the band reunited to perform. The reality was that Kane was probably the only one to pray for such a miracle to happen.
Unfortunately, it seems that the person in most need of a prayer or a miracle was Arthur Kane himself.