It's about time someone says it, so it might as well be this critic's call to arms - Doris Wishman is cinema. She is the basic, primordial premise of celluloid incarnate. She is sound and image - sometimes in sync. She is art and artifice - usually in the same shot. She combines narrative aplomb with paltry plots, vacant characterization with wickedly three-dimensional dynamics and replaces mise-en-scene with something akin to mise-en-place to render her work a true definition of the vibrant visual medium. Her films are direct representations of raw human instinct, filtered through a discombobulating display of camerawork incompetence. Everything is symbolic in a Wishman film. She'll throw in a shot of feet for the fetish crowd, cover up bad acting with equally damnable overdubbing, and train the lens on a particularly unimportant object so that she'll have coverage, lest the plot need plumping. In essence, Wishman uses every part of the medium, from the resplendent to the retarded, to realize her painfully peculiar vision. She is the American answer to the French New Wave. She is moviemaking deconstructed, laid bare and bewildering so the real truth can be told.
That being said, Let Me Die a Woman should not be anyone's initial foray into Doris's den of inviting iniquities. If you really want to study this grindhouse gold standard, take a trip back to her nudist camp classics like Nude on the Moon, Diary of a Nudist or Blaze Starr Goes Nudist. Then cotton up to the monochrome miscreance of her roughies, including the classic couplet of Bad Girls Go to Hell and Another Day, Another Man. Finish off your lesson in lewdness with some of her more misguided later efforts like The Amazing Transplant, Indecent Desires and the Chesty Morgan double feature, Deadly Weapons and Double Agent 73. When you've endured all these displays in the ways of Wishman, only then can you truly approach (and appreciate) Let Me Die a Woman. Only someone like Doris could dream up a combination throwback to the Roadshow days of live childbirth footage wrapped around a hot button issue like transsexuality. Certainly the 70s saw a lot of interest in the subject, what with Myra Breckenridge and Dr. Rene Richards becoming pop culture counterpoints for the growing interest in alternative lifestyles.
But where this movie differs is in its approach. Knowing that she could not offer the same skin and sin show that exploitation patrons were interested in (but growing tired of), Wishman had to up the ante, and she did it by trying to take a (semi) serious look at the entire subject. Sure, there is a lot of pre-millennial prejudice here (we get a few fleeting attacks on homosexuality) and some shady scientific statements (the injection of fluid directly INTO the breast for ampleness development???) really date the film. But when she focuses on the individuals involved in these life and love struggles, Doris becomes a documentarian supreme. It's natural for her. Most of her movies are of the point and shoot variety, so setting up a camera and letting Leslie tell her life story, or letting Dr. Wollman explain away some obtuse medical procedure becomes compelling stuff. Even if we soon realize that almost everyone is reading off cue cards (and some VERY badly, I might add), we still sense a legitimate desire to paint these people as genuine, authentic and horribly hurt by the lack of social understanding.
The more subtle examination sequences are also intriguing. Seeing some of the individuals pre and post-op is spellbinding, since they really do make us question the concept of gender. Leslie makes a fine Latina lass. Another famous face, a NYC activist icon named Debbie, is a little more concerning. It is the latter that we see the most of, from a sequence of her inserting a large metal wedge into her man-made vagina, to an up close display of her newly reshaped private parts (complete with the doc's digital exploration...hmmm). Deb even gets a fake sex scene with some unknown stud. It is obvious that Wishman is trying to de-mystify the make-up of these surgically altered entities, but it still kind of smacks of the sideshow - in a less exploitative way, if that is possible. Indeed, everything about Let Me Die a Woman is sensationalism for the sake of a selling point. All the dramatized scenes of actors faking fornication are just the dressing for what is already an inherently interesting idea. But Wishman was wise to the ways of the grindhouse, so a little smut had to find its way into the mix.
And then there is the operation footage. It's bad (especially if you're a man) but it's not as nasty as the hyperbole surrounding it. Indeed, the live birth of twins via Cesarean in any Mom and Dad type movie is far more nauseating than these quick few clips of skin stretching and snipping. If anything, the post-operative procedure is the most revolting - stitches in full view, wound 'plugged up' with a plastic tube to prevent 'unintentional closure'. In truth, the far more unsettling scenes involve a tranny making love to a man, full guy groins grinding into each other in enflamed foulness. Or a sequence where a pretty prostitute drops trou to expose her peanut pecker, and then proceeds to take a shower and bath the little button. If you've ever watched an episode of The Operation, you've seen much, much worse. But it's all the ancillary atrocities (including the aforementioned pelvic exam) that can make Let Me Die a Woman difficult to watch.
Thankfully, Wishman's wondrous way with a film wins us over in the end. Not content to show us the reality of being a transsexual, she piles on the melodrama (a distraught man seeks advice about his upcoming marriage from Dr. Wollman) the surrealism (a strange insert scene of a couple copulating, shown in its negative image form) and copious scenes of pretend paramours (including porn stars Harry Reams and Vanessa Del Rio) doing the dirty boogie. Taken all together, it's like Wishman's version of Godard's Masculin/ Feminin, a true attempt at reducing gender and sexuality to its basic component parts. As our gloriously disgruntled guide, Dr. Leo Wollman is a shifty eyed sensation. Reading his lines so rigidly that there's no time to interject emotion or concern, this quasi-quack appears like the patron saint of Estrogen as he champions counseling and smacks patients on the behind to inject them with another dose of maleness eradicator. Jaw-droppingly divine, completely original and purposefully obtuse, Let Me Die a Woman has long been the Mount Everest of many a Wishman fan. Who knew finding it and finally climbing it would be so remarkably rewarding.
Hurrah and huzzah to Synapse Films. Why Something Weird Video didn't pounce on this title when it had the chance is anybody's guess (maybe their deal with Image prevents such envelope-pushing fare). Whatever the case may be, Don May and his remarkable company have released a version of Let Me Die a Woman that is so complete, and so near pristine that it makes you wonder why all exploitation films can't look this good. Granted, the movie was made during the 70s (by some accounts, from 1971 up and through the release year of 1978) so the original elements would be in better shape than some of the early 60s skin sagas, but this is still one amazing looking movie. The 1.78:1 anamorphic widescreen image is awesome - colorful and vibrant, ripe with details and correct fleshtones (which may or may not be a good thing). There are a couple of sequences that show their age, but with the odd filming history of this title, it could be more a question of stock elements rather than DVD transfer issues. Synapse has even reinserted some footage (including the famous "chisel" scene) to up the 'yuck' factor. For something this rare, the digital treatment here is dynamite.
On the sound side, there is nothing very special about the Dolby Digital Mono mix. The dialogue (some if not all of which was dubbed in later) is perfectly decipherable, and Wishman's public domain musical score bubbles along with all its occasionally inappropriate perkiness. You can tell that Leslie's interview was done under less than optimum circumstances. Her comments are occasionally hampered by distortion and a lack of crispness. Otherwise, this is an acceptable standard pre-Stereo aural presentation.
Though they are relatively few, the added features as part of Synapse's release are a riot. The theatrical trailer and promotional spots all play the "One year ago I was a man" message, avoiding the more "provocative" content, and the radio ad is just a quick come-on. The final (and best) bonus elements all involve Wishman biographer Michael Bowen. He writes some killer liner notes for the title (including a series of conclusions that the film was shot in segments and pieced together over the years into various versions), gives us a glimpse at an alternate opening sequence (the film was originally called Adam or Eve) and also participates in a lively audio commentary.
And guess whose coming along for the alternate narrative ride? Why, it's 'Leslie', 30 years older and as many years sassier. Able to pick apart Wishman and her filmmaking facets (including monies owed and credit denied) now that the director is dead, she is a feisty companion to Bowden's more mannered approach. Together they explore the history of the film, how her footage was shot, and her reaction to the sequences that were added without her knowledge (including the softcore and surgery material). Quick with a quip and ripe with ridicule, Leslie is a fine catty counterpoint to Bowden's outright Wishman worship and this means we get a lively and illuminating discussion - just what a film like this needs.
Once again, 2006 misses its first DVD Talk Collector's Series rating from this critic on the sole grounds of limited bonus features and distinct demographic. Any normal movie fan picking up this title will puke, pass out, or pale at all the non-blurred bodkin, scalpel scrapple and brandished tranny tenets that make up this movie. In other words, this kind of film, with its scientific and sexual approach to its subject matter is not for the typical mainstream DVD disciple. But if you love exploitation, if you think Wishman is a cinematic savant just waiting to be discovered by the critical cartel and finally hoisted into the Filmic Hall of Fame where she belongs, than this is nothing more than a drool-inducing must-own release. As a card caring member of the 'Doris is Divine' grindhouse gang, this reviewer sees no other possible opinion option than a very strong Highly Recommended ranking. This is one of the best, most mind-boggling and spine-curling releases of the year, and is destined to go down as one of Doris's most illuminating slices of strangeness. But be warned - the sex change footage is foul. But what Doris Wishman does with a camera is even more unsettling - and sensational.
Want more Gibron Goodness?
Come to Bill's TINSEL TORN REBORN Blog (Updated Frequently) and Enjoy! Click Here