If any movie this year begs a variety of interpretations, it's Velvet Goldmine, director Todd Haynes's funhouse reflection on the early-'70s glam-rock scene that produced such flaming creatures as David Bowie and Marc Bolan, Roxy Music and the New York Dolls, Iggy Pop and Gary Glitter. More than a platform for mere idol worship, glam invited its young fans--the ones who couldn't get with mods or rockers, hippies or the Man--to reimagine themselves as works of art, performers whose orientations were ever subject to ch-ch-ch-changes. Accordingly, Haynes's kaleidoscopic film dismantles the notion of a single, authoritative, "straight" perspective on glam (or anything, for that matter), instead spreading itself out like grooves on a platter, each one beckoning the outcast to come in from the cold--and put on some makeup.
So consider this collection of articles on Velvet Goldmine (which opens Friday at Lagoon Cinema) as akin to the liner notes in a CD box set: a supplement that intends to bring one closer to the work or oneself, allowing her to see it, feel it, and touch it--whatever it is--in a new way.
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