Good Booty: If it don't fit, don't force it, you can grease it, make it easy

Good Booty: If it don't fit, don't force it, you can grease it, make it easy

it's me Kelly. Yes a fellow Kelly. You sold this to me on the trailer with George Harrison's What is Life. What can I say? I'm a Goodfellas head. Liked the trailer so much I finally checked out your other work The Edge of Seventeen. A movie I'd put off watching because it looked like annoying coming of age rubbish. It's not, it's good. But still you seem like you've matured here as an artist. Talking of Scorsese, you won me over here on the account it felt like a Paul Schrader movie for 11 year olds. Seriously. New Yorkers. Diary entries. Religion. The search for a soul. Comparing feeling the touch of God to the touch of a sexual encounter. You had me on that. Really moved me. Wholesome as shit. I also watched this with a woman (Long Tall Sally) who confirmed that all these teenage experiences were true when she grew up so maybe you did a really good job there. As for the dude all the girls fancied who was like 10, he had game. Son of a Preacher Man. The eyes. The eyes chico. They never lie. Had to wack the note pad out and start taking notes. Also, Kelly Fremon Craig, can you please give me dad energy like Benny Safdie. Like I just want to cut myself mowing and slap reclining deck chairs across the Living room. I've been a really good boy this year! Thanks, hope you get this, Kelly.

Director: Kelly Fremon Craig

Screenplay: Kelly Fremon Craig (adapted from Judy Blume's novel 'Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret')

Starring: Rachel McAdams, Abby Ryder Fortson, Elle Graham, Benny Safdie, Kathy Bates

Cinematography: Tim Ives

Music: Hans Zimmer

Production Company: Gracie Films

Distribution: Lionsgate

Country: USA

Run Time: 106 Minutes

Budget: $30 million

Plot Synopsis: Life is not easy for Margaret Simon. After her family move from New York to New Jersey, she must find a way to fit in with her new fellow female class mates on the verge of puberty and discovering boys. On top of this, her teacher assigns a complex project for which she must explore her dual religious backgrounds that have kept her relatives apart for so many years. Does she swing towards Christianity on her mother's side or Judaism on her father's? Does she even believe in a creator? Is all this too much for an 11 year old girl to handle?

Bonus Points:

-Kelly Fremon Craig cementing herself as the next go to for teenage coming of age films

-Abby Ryder Forston for pulling off a genuinely tough and complex role for a young girl

-Benny Safdie's big dad energy as he cuts his arm mowing and slaps down a reclining deck chair across the living room and let's his wife know he does not need a sofa

-The kid with game who's an absolute natural and talks through his eyebrows as he seduces to Son of a Preacher Man

-Kathy Bates going from axe wielding Annie Wilks to wholesome nan Overall Score: 3.5/5

"Are you jacked on Jesus?", asks a character in Harmony Korine's sun soaked synth drenched fever dream Spring Breakers. Generally Rock'n'roll has always been considered the Devil's work. Parents greatest fears were their children being overcome by the evil lurking within their records. As the vinyl spins, out pours the demonic. Untold abominations in packaged goods released directly in to the family home. All these titillating and corrupt records had to be cast in to the burning fires of Mordor to free the children. Early metal pioneers Black Sabbath openly embraced the connection between rock'n'roll and the Devil by turning to satanic appreciation in a tongue in cheek way to be reactionary. Later, this would take a dark turn, biting music back in the foot with the Manson murders proving the parents to be right and the church burning edge lords from black metal bands who didn't get the memo that this God hating business was all a joke. A ruse in the music industry just to sell more records. We're just fucking around here.

Every now and then though it goes the other way. We're given a natural born sinner with a religious upbringing who establishes their career through their conflicted relationship with God and then sabotages it all as they move increasingly and uncomfortably further to the right to appease the Lord. Alienating themselves, tarnishing their legacy and losing many of the fans that have supported them since the start. My generation will instantly think: Kanye West. However, he wouldn't be the first and he won't be the last. No, the OG jacked on Jesus music freak was Little Richard. The big bright shining star of Lisa Cortes's documentary Little Richard: I am Everything

As one would expect, I'm really interested in the material here considering this guy was like the face of the '50s juvenile delinquent and rock'n'roll movies. He's synonymous with drive in history. You've got your Elvis movies, you've got your Bill Haley and the Comets movies, you've got your Chubby Checker movies and right next to these you have The Girl Can't Help It . Starring the "working man's Monroe" Jayne Mansfield. A blonde bombshell who spoke 4 languages and boasted an IQ of 163. But all anyone ever remembered her for was "40-21-35" (her body measurements).

Although the Rock'n'roll movies were often limited in plot, usually being about happy go lucky troubled teenage boys dating the prettiest girl in town, being on the verge of school expulsion and getting in to scrapes with the local gangster, they brought with them the opportunity of exposure, allowing people to see the latest trends in music. You have to remember, these were the days before Spotify, PirateBay and Bluetooth sharing. Accessibility was not the gift granted to that generation of kids.

There's an argument to be made that The Beatles would never have formed if it wasn't for this film. Naturally, the film appealed to the band because it brought together all their musical heroes Little Richard, Fats Domino, Eddie Cochran Gene Vincent and The Platters in the days without YouTube and before the concert film really took off. When auditioning for The Quarrymen, John actually made a 15 year old Paul perform Cochran's Twenty Flight Rock, a rockabilly number about a man off to see a girl, making it to her apartment, noticing the lift isn't working and by the time he's climbed all the stairs to the twentieth floor finding he's too tired to "rock". I'll let you work out what that one means. Notably, this was written for The Girl Can't Help It, making it a movie of great historical significance.

Those unfamiliar with the rock'n'roll and juvenile delinquent pictures of the '50s will recognise them to some degree in John Waters's more commercial output of the '90s with Hairspray and Cry-Baby Both of these parody the old school musically inclined hangout movies. Truthfully though, my first meeting with Little Richard would come from my childhood days spent watching '80s golden age action movies. In John McTiernan's Predator, mere seconds after the handshake mem, Arnie's mercenaries fly in to the jungle blasting Long Tall Sally like it's still Vietnam. Jesse Ventura sits right by the boom box in control of the music, as he disgustingly spits out chewing tobacco and homophobic slurs in the ultimate parody of hypermasculinity.

Years would go by without me thinking about Little Richard, until a camping trip with the boys in Ffestiniog when I was about 16. Ffestiniog being some small village in Wales with a population of under 900. Our eyes lit up at the idea of a riverside camp site and so we pitched up as close to the water as possible. On the website it did read, "occasionally and very rarely prone to flooding". However, try telling that to a few 16 year old boys. The words "occasionally and very rarely" mean very little to a bunch of teenagers seeking beverages and close proximity to natures gifts. By the time I knew the banks had burst, the water was slapping me in the face and Balthazar Marie was shaking me awake. As I looked down, I could see the uninvited guest had made its ways in to the tent and was ramming away at me from behind wave after wave. In my hand, I was holding a half-eaten angel cake, I must have passed out eating it. Balthazar wanted me to snap in to action and help move the tent but I was useless to the world.

A vote was taken, although I don't remember casting forth my vote, the two most soberly sound minded individuals would take down the tent and pitch camp about 20 yards uphill. That was fine with me, being a firm believer that too many cooks spoil the broth. So I grabbed a deck chair and set up shop uphill. Looking around, I noticed we were the only ones frantically darting about and relocating. Everyone else had realised camping so close to the river was a bad idea and that "occasionally and very rarely" was some advice not to be taken lightly. You live and you learn. We had been more than touched by the nature we sought. Like Kurt Russell and Keith David at the end of The Thing, I sat shivering looking out at the beauty accepting my fate with a beer in my hand.

I must have drifted off again waiting for a camp that never pitched. Our designated pitchers found they were too intoxicated to complete their appointed task and abandoned ship. "Leave the tent, take the booze", one of them said. Eventually, we ended up seeking refuge in the disabled toilet. That was to be our rest spot for the evening. What was left of the drinks were dished out as we welcomed the end of the world. Conversation was restricted to that of any person of that age. "Fight Club is the great misunderstood masterpiece of our time" "Nirvana were the second coming of The Beatles".

During this, our resident Beatles connoisseur, Frankenstein, was playing Paul McCartney's howling vocals through his shitty phone speakers. A cover of Long Tall Sally no less. Had to scream over Paul, "Oi, Frank. What the fuck is this? Isn't this that song from Predator?". He proceeded to fill me in on the often under talked about sleazy days of when The Beatles lived in a brothel in Hamburg and would regularly play at events with Little Richard when they were lesser known. Sammy Winklevoss is still a wanted man for dropping the last vodka bottle that night. He will never be forgiven. Once, I returned home though after this aquatic occurrence, I was seeking out Little Richard bangers left, right and centre.

So that's me and my Little Richard out the way. Back to this documentary. They do a fantastic job of forming this near Kanye West like narrative of a man's relationship with his religion constantly eating away at his soul. That conflict over the music, own identity and the flaws of the father providing the ferocious creative spark but also losing fans within marginalised communities at times. Frequent transformations and inability to decide whether their music is good/evil and whether their sexuality is a sin. At any point in his career, you may hear Little Richard say either orgies are the most liberating act people can engage in or that the bible is the only way to free the soul. The duality of man.

He made his career by screeching over Gospel influences. A piano player by trade. With one hand he played seductively slow with the other he played ferociously fast. In fact, he would only get faster as time went by to distinguish himself from the white artists who would cover his songs and sadly sell more records. He refused to be a victim of the racist side to the industry, which seeks to exploit the black man's innovative talents and then tone down the blackness for a white audience. A legendary moment in musical history is when Little Richard envisioned the impending apocalypse through a bright red fireball roaring across the skies. He read this as a sign of God to repent and change his ways. Not long after he discussed quitting his band. Never a man seen without his precious jewellery. They said to him, "if you're serious throw your jewellery in to the sea now". He threw them into the sea.

Following that incident, fans noticed some big changes with his music over the next few years. He cut his high hair, he joined a religious cult, he toned down his vocals, he sung slow, his lyrics became preachy and he demanded you throw away all his old records because they were evil. Those were dark times between 1958 and 1962. Nobody liked his newer records and his career plummeted. You know who brought this legend back from the dead? You know who resurrected the King from his slumber? You know who put the sleaze back in him? The city of Liverpool. His first UK tour. They welcomed him with open arms and he was back to his old antics of leaping from behind curtains and slamming his legs on pianos. God I love Liverpool. What a city.

All this indecisiveness and soul searching within the subject makes for a highly gripping story enough to allow a watchable movie. In spite of this, so many of the directorial decisions are awful and they almost ruin the viewing experience. It's as though someone told them Little Richard was gay so they had to strive for all these cheap attempts at glamour with stars floating across the screen like a child's PowerPoint presentation strung together in minutes for class. No, if you're going to go in that direction, I want "Mirror Suit" levels of outrageous. "Mirror Suit" referring to an episode when performing after a supposedly tremendous Janis Joplin. Little Richard's band members report to him, saying, "Janis has got the crowd really going tonight. There's no way he can top that, right?". Little Richard says, "bring me my Mirror Suit". A roadie was sent out to retrieve this shining so bright it reflected your own image suit and Little Richard brought the house down, topping Janis Joplin.

There is an over-reliance on the talking head interviews when the archival footage is much stronger. Having modern footage too blended in wasn't pretty to see. Took you out of it with the constant clashing and changing formats. I kept wanting to lose myself in the time period but doing so was simply impossible because it comes all too clear that this was not made during those times. Therefore, it doesn't preserve but only adds layers of later re-evaluations and unwanted nonsense. Unapologetically give me that time for what it was and not what we wished it was.

They spend so much time re-working the story for modern times that they seem to forget to remaster the near unwatchable and blurry footage itself. Slightly after the PowerPoint presentation problem, I'd mention the poor choice of people to interview. Who let the 'scholars' show up? Wasn't this a man who was all about shitting on that kind of elitism? Those guys didn't need to be there. Consequently, the film suffers from this sort of forced intellectualised and recontextualised rubbish on queerness. Completely silly and out of place. The language they use just doesn't fit the images of the past. You're just re-defining the legacy there.

When you're dealing with one of the coolest show stealers there ever was, let him tell his own story. To mention the title, how can he be everything when you keep taking his story away from him? Let him tell me who he is, make me laugh and entertain me the way he does. When you're dealing with someone as charismatic as he was, these people only weaken the effort. He spoke with the type of arrogance and confidence that to hear it second hand comes off as annoying and merely imitation. When you hear it from a man who can deliver that, there's a huge difference. You accept them. They're a rare breed. That's the whole rock'n'roll bravado and swagger talking back at you. Let those who have it, share it. With all the flamboyance and trash talk. Don't try to tell me as this 21st century geek armed with all your new complex terms who he was in this really nerdy way. Kills the fun. Show me. Don't tell me.

Preferred the interviews with his friends and family who knew him personally. About what hanging round with the nutcase himself was like and how funny he was. Reminiscing over an old pal. Mick Jagger talking about how much he stole from him as an energetic front man. Paul talking about those sleazy days in Hamburg. John Waters and his pencil moustache in "twisted tribute". First hand tales over these little geeks arguing over whether Little Richard was a closeted homosexual, gender nonconforming or genderfluid. He was the King and the King shall do as he please. End of debate.

Since Elvis was released only the other year, re-positioning who the real King of Rock'n'roll is an obvious choice. Irritatingly, they take too much time phrasing him as this artist looking for acceptance. A link you can make with the racism but somehow this just ends up with wishy washy corny sentimentalism towards the end. Too much emphasis on the generic troubles of the artist, not enough of the specifics. This documentary worked best when it was trying to get into his head and revealing all these conflicting images. Little Richard leaping off the balconies and then suddenly having him in these religious cults looking like a member of the square community. The two sides to this man. Should have scrapped the nerds interviews, the PowerPoint presentation effects and the generic corny comments that would come in any documentary about a musician.

Despite the filmmakers best attempts to ruin this, I couldn't give it any less than a pass. Any time spent with the King is a pleasure even if the format has its problems. I remain as obsessed with Little Richard as I was when I was 16 first searching out his records. Rip it Up still goes on every pay day when I'm officially bankrolled and getting ready for a night on the town. A near religious act. "Fool about my money, don't try to save. My heart says go, go, have a time. Cause it's Saturday night and I'm feelin' fine" is the mantra. Getting all Spruce Springsteened. Lost in thought over how later on I'll be flying high, walking on out unto the sky, not caring how I be spending me dough. Then, I'll look down at my phone, see Long Tall Sally calling me and I just know I'm gonna be "Havin' me some fun tonight".

Director: Lisa Cortes

Starring: The King

Cinematography: Keith Walker, Graham Willoughby

Music: Jonathan Finegold, Tamar-kali

Production Company: CNN Films, HBO Max, Rolling Stone Films, Bungalow Media + Entertainment

Distribution: Magnolia Pictures

Country: USA

Run Time: 98 Minutes

Budget: Unknown

Plot Synopsis: A preacher. A King. A homosexual. A husband to a neglected wife. A black artist in a white man's industry. A gay rights advocate. A conversion therapy supporter. An orgy conductor. A certified celibate. He was all of them at one point. Ride out this music documentary's conflicting images and try to piece it all together.

Bonus Points:

-Getting John Waters involved to talk about his hero

-"Get me my Mirror Suit"

-Paul McCartney going back to the sleazy Hamburg days

-Little Richard sat in the back of taxi chatting about the liberating pleasure of orgies for 5 minutes

-Constantly replaying the leg on the piano antics that continue to drive us wild

Overall Score: 3/5

it's me Kelly. Yes a fellow Kelly. You sold this to me on the trailer with George Harrison's What is Life. What can I say? I'm a Goodfellas head. Liked the trailer so much I finally checked out your other work The Edge of Seventeen. A movie I'd put off watching because it looked like annoying coming of age rubbish. It's not, it's good. But still you seem like you've matured here as an artist. Talking of Scorsese, you won me over here on the account it felt like a Paul Schrader movie for 11 year olds. Seriously. New Yorkers. Diary entries. Religion. The search for a soul. Comparing feeling the touch of God to the touch of a sexual encounter. You had me on that. Really moved me. Wholesome as shit. I also watched this with a woman (Long Tall Sally) who confirmed that all these teenage experiences were true when she grew up so maybe you did a really good job there. As for the dude all the girls fancied who was like 10, he had game. Son of a Preacher Man. The eyes. The eyes chico. They never lie. Had to wack the note pad out and start taking notes. Also, Kelly Fremon Craig, can you please give me dad energy like Benny Safdie. Like I just want to cut myself mowing and slap reclining deck chairs across the Living room. I've been a really good boy this year! Thanks, hope you get this, Kelly.

-The kid with game who's an absolute natural and talks through his eyebrows as he seduces to Son of a Preacher Man

Plot Synopsis: Life is not easy for Margaret Simon. After her family move from New York to New Jersey, she must find a way to fit in with her new fellow female class mates on the verge of puberty and discovering boys. On top of this, her teacher assigns a complex project for which she must explore her dual religious backgrounds that have kept her relatives apart for so many years. Does she swing towards Christianity on her mother's side or Judaism on her father's? Does she even believe in a creator? Is all this too much for an 11 year old girl to handle?