Glitter & Doom Review: Indigo Girls Deserved Better Than This Mixed Bag

For over three decades, the Indigo Girls have serenaded audiences with their impassioned folk-rock harmonies and poetic ruminations on life, love, and identity. Amy Ray and Emily Saliers’ raw, emotionally resonant songcraft has cemented their status as queer icons and beacons of social commentary.

So it seems fitting that their extensive catalog would be reimagined as a fizzy, feel-good jukebox musical in “Glitter & Doom” – even if the final product doesn’t quite achieve the transcendence of its inspirational muses.

While bursting with sugary enthusiasm, frantic choreography, andDbut strewn with tonal whiplash, narrative stumbles, and a surfeit of twee whimsy that borders on cloying. Still, the reverential spirit toward its subject shine through, rendering it an imperfect yet endearing ode to the ability of music to inspire, unite, and propel our journey of self-discovery.

A Whimsical Saga of Starry-Eyed Dreamers

At its core, “Glitter & Doom” spins a fanciful tale of artistic ambition and blossoming romance between two polar opposite young men. The ever-exuberant Glitter (Alex Diaz) is an affluent dreamer whose deepest desire is to escape his high-powered executive mother’s shadow and run away to Paris to join a prestigious clown college. His counterpart, the brooding singer-songwriter Doom (Alan Cammish), yearns to make his angsty musical mark but can’t even land a gig at the local gay bar for being too “heavy.”

When these two cross paths one fateful night, an unlikely spark ignites that blooms into an impassioned love affair. But as they become each other’s support system in chasing their polarized dreams, societal pressures and personal demons lurking in their families’ pasts threaten to derail their budding relationship.

A motley ensemble rounds out the narrative, including Glitter’s overbearing mother Ivy (Ming-Na Wen), Doom’s troubled ex-con mother Robin (Missi Pyle), the caustic bar owner Boston (Lea DeLaria), and a host of cameos from LGBTQ+ luminaries. At its whimsical core, it’s a classic opposites-attract story propelled by the Indigo Girls’ iconic musicality.

Songcraft Supreme, Uneven Storytelling

While the narrative backing it may falter at times, there’s no denying the sheer exhilaration of witnessing the Indigo Girls’ seminal anthems reimagined so vibrantly on screen. From the opening salvo of “Closer to Fine” to the soaring harmonies of “Galileo” and “Power of Two,” musical arranger Michelle Chamuel’s electrifying remixes ingeniously recontextualize these folk staples into arena-ready pop anthems.

The choreography matches this kinetic flair, the ensemble cast writhing, leaping, and twirling through eye-popping production numbers drenched in psychedelic hues. A standout sees “Prince of Darkness,” “Touch Me Fall,” and “Shed Your Skin” radically intertwined into an inventive sonic/visual mashup that tantalizes anew.

However, as is often the pitfall of jukebox musicals, the story occasionally feels forcibly contorted to accommodate certain numbers rather than the other way around. While on a thematic level, the Indigo Girls’ aura of yearning for connection and self-acceptance resonates powerfully, some queerer, more pointed sociopolitical essence gets muddied amid the sugary, heightened razzmatazz.

Still, having Ray and Saliers themselves make fleeting, self-referential cameos adds a charming meta layer. When Doom performs their most iconic hit as his own, their approving reaction imbues the scene with a humbling, canonizing spirit that any fan would relish experiencing.

Charismatic Choralists, Scattered Supports

As our beatifically-monikered romantic leads, Alex Diaz and Alan Cammish prove dual dynamos in the vocal department. When harmonizing on the Indigo Girls’ most soaring melodies, they brilliantly channel the iconic duo’s potent emotional resonance. Alas, their thespian capabilities fail to match their euphonious talents.

Diaz leans too heavily into a relentless puppy-dog peppiness as Glitter, his pedestrian line deliveries often stumbling into outright caricature. Cammish fares better at selling Doom’s melancholic airs, though his penchant for muddled mumbling obscures crucial shades of inner complexity that could’ve grounded the character.

Ultimately, the pair’s innate charm and simmering chemistry just about keeps you invested in their starry-eyed courtship, even when the script flails about them. But it’s the eclectic supporting cast who really keep this carousel whirling, from Ming-Na Wen’s amusingly campy, eyepatch-rocking matriarch to Lea DeLaria’s acerbic truth-bombs as the no-nonsense bar owner.

Most compelling is Missi Pyle’s harrowing turn as Doom’s addict mother, her raspy intensity clashing potently against the sugary showcase around her. It’s a masterclass in shaded character work that frankly makes one wish the entire film had followed her brave, uncompromising lead.

Euphoric Visuals, Indecisive Tone

As both writer and director, Tom Gustafson undoubtedly had a specific artistic vision for translating his and Cory Krueckeberg’s personal love story to the screen. And in purely aesthetic terms, that ostentatious, dreamy-eyed ambition shines through dazzlingly.

Cinematographer Cristian Solano’s camerawork is a whirling dervish of saturated hues, each rapturous musical number awakening in a candy-coated psychedelic blitz. The frenzied editing molds fluidly with the choreography, our senses inundated by the eye-popping spectacle. The production design is similarly dipped in a hyper-stylized, almost surrealistic glow thatuldoubtedly make Almodóvar envious.

However, such a maximalist, go-for-broke visual approach sadly exacerbates the tonal muddledness afoot in the storytelling itself. One moment we’re soaring through a warmly idealized romance, the next we’re plunged into queasy bouts of dark melodrama involving substance abuse and parental abandonment that the film can’t quite integrate cohesively.

Still, despite the jarring mood shifts, you can’t deny Gustafson has essentially realized a live-action psychotropic fever dream soundtracked by the Indigo Girls at their most rapturous. It’s a strikingly singular vision that both impresses and exhausts through its sheer exuberance and maximalism.

Muddled Messaging Amid Queer Affirmations

On the surface, “Glitter & Doom” seems to extol worthy values – chasing one’s artistic ambitions despite adversity, embracing one’s truest self, and championing the life-affirming catharsis of creative expression. The queer romance at its core positively beams with the radical act of unabashed self-love and acceptance.

And yet, for a film steeped in the folk-rock poetry of the Indigo Girls’ lyricism, there’s a surprising lack of subversive substance or nuanced sociopolitical commentary. The LGBTQ+ representation is certainly welcome and celebratory in tone. But beyond some half-hearted swipes at oppressive parental archetypes, any deeper ruminations on systemic prejudices feel gaslit by the movie’s relentless, candy-coated razzmatazz.

What does solidly shine through is the empowering essence of the Indigo Girls’ harmonies themselves – clarion calls for the overwhelmed and marginalized to locate inner resilience. In that sense, “Glitter & Doom” arguably succeeds as an uncynical, Life Affirming campfire singalong between queer kindred spirits.

Just don’t expect any enlightening new perspectives beyond that fuzzy feeling of commiserative belonging. This cinematic “safer space” prefers supernatural to confrontational when it comes to tackling life’s darker corners.

Rapturous Reverie, Lacking Depth

For those simply seeking a celebratory, uncynical cinematic reverie steeped in the anthemic folk-rock of the Indigo Girls’ soul-nourishing catalog, “Glitter & Doom” will undoubtedly scratch that nostalgic itch. Director Tom Gustafson has essentially realized a live-action baroque fever dream, an eye-searing psychotropic spectacle of choreographed bombast and candy-coated production design that both impresses and exhausts through its maximalist ambition.

However, those craving more intellectually nutritive or sociopolitically challenging substance will find this adaptation’s Impact sorely Lacking. The muddled storytelling and lack of cohesive vision clumsily gaslight some of the Indigo Girls’ more pointed activism in favor of frothy, hollow escapism. Ultimately, the highs are deliriously euphoric but unmemorable; the lows merely bemusing rather than outright offensive.

For the Choir already transfixed by the source material’s aura alone, “Glitter & Doom” is perhaps best appreciated as a commiserative campfire singalong. But for those hoping for something capable of converting new high disciples, this well-intentioned yet scattershot melodic misfire sadly falls short of its icons’ soul-awakening prowess.

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