You could eat a whole package of Oreos and chase it with a bag of Tootsie Pops, or you could watch Glitter & Doom, the new film from Tom Gustafson; it all depends on how you prefer to get sent into toxic shock. “Too sweet” isn’t the worst problem a movie can have; under the stress of everyday life, allowing yourself a treat is practically a moral imperative. But a movie where nothing happens of lasting consequence is an indulgence too far, especially when worse offenses are committed right there in public view, also involving the Indigo Girls.
The musical Glitter & Doom features no original music, instead cleverly adapting the influential and decades-spanning discography of Amy Ray and Emily Saliers. On paper, the pitch sells itself; since first getting together in 1987, Ray and Saliers have composed an unimpeachable body of work without which roots music specifically, and American political activism more broadly, wouldn’t be the same. Drawing on their contributions to national culture and repurposing them in a new context underscores the Indigo Girls’ timelessness, at least in theory; tracks like “Get Out the Map,” “Galileo,” “Shed Your Skin,” and “Keeper of My Heart” could mean the world to anyone, anywhere, like, for instance, two unmoored young men who fall in love with each other over the course of a summer.
But if these songs initially function as attestations of the protagonists’ varying woes, they are, over the film’s running time, corrupted by something that feels antithetical to the Indigo Girls’ nature: Ego. It’s one thing for capricious circus performer Glitter (Alex Diaz) and glum aspiring musician Doom (Alan Cammish) to have their story told through the band’s music, It’s quite another for the duo to actually appear in the film in supporting parts as, of course, musical types, dispelling the jukebox illusions Gustafson conjures through his filmmaking.
So as not to spurn Ray and Saliers, Glitter & Doom offsets its unfailing pep with a graceless desire to be liked, carrying out a relentless charm campaign. It’s a nice movie, populated with nice characters, propped up on nice musical performances and fueled by an over-precious spirit. But that niceness kneecaps drama, to say nothing of how it accidentally undermines its title. Neither Doom nor Glitter must make any difficult decisions, suffer repercussions, or even simply sit with bad feelings.
In a way, this refusal to confront negative emotion reflects Glitter’s life philosophy: Put on a smile and a foam clown nose, juggle some torches, and spout off clumsy aphorisms about “feeding the soul.” Glitter & Doom’s predilection for dreams over pragmatism isn’t unique in the realm of musicals. But here it reads as particularly myopic and frictionless. Glitter wants to decamp to Paris to become a circus clown; Doom wants to be on stage singing songs so depressing that he can’t nail down a spot at the local queer bar, whose manager (Lea DeLaria) urges him to lighten up.
DeLaria is one of several LGBTQ+ performers appearing in a cameo role; unlike the others (including Anne Burrell and Kate Pierson), she actually has something to do, even if that something is essentially a reduced version of other DeLaria characters, brusque and tactless. She’s the kind of thing the film needs more of, though: Pushback, hurdles, stakes. Even the leads’ mommy issues with Ivy (Glitter’s mom, played by Ming-Na Wen) and Robin (Doom’s mom, played by Missi Pyle) don’t rate as genuine issues. But Gustafson’s direction and Cory Krueckeberg’s writing never let the relatable and very real dilemmas these characters present manifest into an opposing force to Glitter and Doom’s true love.
Yes, fine: It’s allowable that these characters wear plot armor so thick that a happy ending is inevitable. There’s a certain temptation in watching nice people be nice to each other — and, credit where due, look as good doing it as Diaz and Cammish do. They may have been made to be on screen together. What’s the harm in embracing what’s effectively a 20-something musical fantasy? In this case, it’s flattening of their characters’ interior experiences and robbing Glitter & Doom of any real tension. Films like these can hew toward positivity without scrubbing the script of risk, but Glitter & Doom risks next to nothing, except perhaps the Indigo Girls’ dignity.
Director: Tom Gustafson
Writer: Cory Krueckeberg
Starring: Alex Diaz, Alan Cammish, Ming-Na Wen, Missi Pyle, Lea DeLaria, Tig Notaro, Peppermint, Kate Pierson, Beth Malone, Amy Ray, Emily Saliers
Release Date: March 8, 2024
Bostonian culture journalist Andy Crump covers the movies, beer, music, and being a dad for way too many outlets, perhaps even yours. He has contributed to Paste since 2013. You can follow him on Twitter and find his collected work at his personal blog. He’s composed of roughly 65% craft beer.