Velvet Goldmine

I’m pretty sure Toni Collette is either a drag queen (like Ru Paul, Courtney Love and Patrick Swayze) or a hermaphrodite (kind of like Jamie Lee Curtis, Hillary Swank or Dennis Rodman), and nothing backs this up more than watching her performance in Velvet Goldmine-a tribute film to David Bowie (hence the title of one of his songs) made in the mid-90’s, written and directed by Todd Haynes and starring a young, veritable cast made up of Ewan McGregor, Jonathan Rhys-Meyers, Christian Bale, and White Imani aka Toni Collette. She plays the wife of a ‘70’s ‘glam’ pop star Brian Slade, a watered down Lou Reed version of the suddenly deceased rock god David Bowie (played by Meyers), who fakes his own death and disappears.

Ten years later Christian Bale is a reporter who has to find him for a story or something, and we get to watch a series of flashbacks about Brian Slade’s life and career being told by former lovers and colleagues set to an overbearing score by Brian Eno that drowns out most of the dialogue (sidenote: David Bowie’s music was originally going to be featured in the soundtrack, but he threatened to sue when he found out it was based on his ex-wife’s unauthorized biography of his life-producers changed the story enough to avoid a lawsuit and his music, obviously, wasn’t used in the movie).

Featuring tons of bi-sex between all the lead characters, including a tryst where Christian Bale gets banged by Ewan McGregor and Obi-Wan hangs Iggy Pop-style limp dong during a concert performance, we also get to see a young Toni Collette’s (i.e. same as old Toni Collette’s) impressive tits but not her bonch (another reason I think she’s a dude, plus her tits are too nice for me to believe they’re real).

When she puts on the glam makeup, all I can think of is a tarted up Kaitlin Jenner, and whenever her hands are featured in a scene, I can’t help but notice they look like a construction worker’s meathooks at the end of a long work week. So, I guess if you’re into man hands, dude on dude action, glittered up Batman with a bad haircut, and shitty Brian Eno songs, go ahead and smoke some Super Silver Haze and while you’re watching it, do yourself a favor and roll all of your loose change kept in a jar next to your bedside table since last Cinco de Mayo.