By Stephanie Zacharek
By Charles Taylor
By Chris Klimek
By Chris Klimek
By Amy Nicholson
By Amy Nicholson
By Stephanie Zacharek
By Alan Scherstuhl
In a perfect world, any documentary about televangelists narrated by RuPaul and a couple of sock puppets would be hailed as the unquestionable conceptual masterpiece of the year. Alas, those stodgy Academy voters just don't understand cross-dressers, religious broadcasting or foot-warmers made to look like dogs. And so the best that The Eyes of Tammy Faye can hope for is that it'll sell a bunch of tickets, both to those who once took the eyelash queen seriously and those who never did. The film should play well to both sides, as it exaggerates the camp, and yet milks the tears. Regardless of whether it changes anyone's mind, it contains nary a dull moment.
Don King, whose hair is even more disturbing than Tammy Faye's, is fond of using the phrase "only in America," but it seems especially apt here. Where else would a woman who got married on April Fool's Day to a man who looked like a cross between Wally George and the Joker, a woman who rode to fame on the strength of a Christian puppet show, seem like anything other than a figment of some drug-addled screenwriter's imagination? TV's King of the Hill tried to parody this sort of thing, but no satire can top the clips we see here, especially when Jim Bakker tells us that he and Tammy would have real marital disputes on the air using the puppets as surrogates.
What everyone really wanted to know back in the '80s was what Tammy Faye looked like without her makeup, and we do get to see some childhood and teenage photos that more or less show us. Nowadays, her lip liner and eyeliner are permanently tattooed, and her eyelashes are glued on individually. "Without my eyelashes, I wouldn't be Tammy Faye," she informs us. "I don't know who I'd be, but I wouldn't be me." No argument here. From the early photos, we follow Tammy and Jim as they springboard off the puppet show's success to found The 700 Club, only to be ousted by network president Pat Robertson. From there, the Praise the Lord (PTL) empire began, culminating in another TV network, this one with its own satellite, and the Heritage U.S.A. theme park, which the film somewhat dubiously claims was second only to Disneyland and Disney World. Jim and Tammy, the movie suggests, were more quintessentially American than most other televangelists: They were the first to incorporate humor on a wide scale into their preaching, and they were more inclusive than most, judging by some footage of Tammy comforting a gay man with AIDS.
Of course, it didn't last. Jim's tryst with Jessica Hahn was used by Jerry Falwell first as leverage, then as moral high ground, as he swooped in to take over the PTL. Falwell is portrayed even less favorably here than in The People vs. Larry Flynt. The religious right in general comes off badly: We see Tammy typing letters on her personal pink stationery to Falwell, Robertson and so on to be interviewed for the film, but all decline. The only prominent conservative Christian caught on camera is Pat Boone, who surprisingly compares Tammy to Hillary Clinton, citing them both as women who tend to be blamed for their husbands' flaws.
Where the movie falters a little is in its attempt to reposition Tammy as a gay-friendly icon, as seen by its L.A. premiere at Outfest. Yes, narrator RuPaul seems sympathetic, and yes, Tammy briefly co-hosted a talk show with her openly gay friend Jim J. Bullock. But even he admits that Tammy probably doesn't approve of homosexuality. Tammy simply says that she doesn't label or judge people (perhaps because she has been on the receiving end many times), but the film doesn't present much evidence that Tammy has thought about the issue of homosexuality much, or anything else: She simply doesn't seem that smart. On the other hand, she is a heavily made-up lady with a strong presence who can really belt out a tune, and that fact alone will endear her to drag queens.
On the whole, it's hard not to feel some sympathy for the woman: She was naive, her husband cheated on her, and she got screwed over by her so-called friends. The sympathy, however, doesn't extend to the Reverend Mel White's apologia, in which he tries to defend Jim and Tammy's use of funds by saying they were living no more luxuriously than other televangelists. That's like saying Ted Bundy murdered no more people than John Wayne Gacy, and therefore has the moral high ground.
Ah, but regardless of whether you agree with directors Randy Barbato and Fenton Bailey on everything, you have to love a documentary that traces a life so far beyond parody that it's almost impossible to believe. And while the sock puppets who introduce each segment get tiresome after a while, they're perfectly in keeping with the spirit of things. Tammy Faye's legacy is one of those uniquely American pop-cultural artifacts, like Twinkies or Howdy Doody, that will irritate some, amuse others and simply baffle foreigners who wonder what all the fuss is about. This film is as good a way as any to relive the phenomenon.
Related story: Born Again? by Robert Wilonsky
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