The Eyes of Tammy Faye: Drawing a Blank Gaze
By Liam Lacey
Rating: C-minus
A nagging question comes to mind while watching The Eyes of Tammy Faye, a frothy superficial film about the rise of the tele-evangelical empire of Tammy Faye and Jim Bakker which came crashing down in the late ‘80s midst financial and sexual scandals.
To wit: Why exactly does this movie exist?
The most obvious reason seems to be to construct a showcase for actress Jessica Chastain to transform herself through make-up and prosthetics, adopt a helium voice and irritating jittery laugh and, probably, get nominated for awards by people who are impressed when beautiful movie stars ugly-up for roles.
Andrew Garfield and Jessica Chastain as Jim and Tammy Faye Bakker
If the point is to have a laugh at Tammy Faye’s garish appearance and claims of ignorance of her husband’s criminality, it’s a dated target. The film is based on the Fenton Bailey and Randy Barbato 2000 documentary of the same name, which was made with the participation of Tammy Faye, who died in 2007.
If the more empathetic aim was show human beings still suffer behind the walls of prosperity and fame, that’s not a revelation. Even Ivanka Trump must occasionally feel a twinge of something..
As far as can be gleaned from this drama, the main reason to celebrate Tammy Faye is that she was irrepressibly plucky and not homophobic. That differentiated her from the grim evangelical power-circle depicted in the film, including her husband (Andrew Garfield), Jerry Falwell (Vincent D'Onofrio) and Pat Robertson (Gabriel Olds), whom she worked with and abetted during the cruelest years of the AIDS crisis. Well, half points for that.
Director Michael Showalter (The Big Sick) works from a screenplay by Abe Sylvia (Nurse Jackie, Dead To Me), that uses no biopic cliché untouched. That includes copious use of news headlines and clips, flipping calendars, montages of pill-popping and fashion excesses and yo-yoing weight changes.
PROUDLY SUPPORTS ORIGINAL-CIN
If we don’t have an actual childhood trauma, we have at least youthful discomfort. An early scene is set in International Falls, Minnesota, where a young Tammy Faye (Chandler Head) is kept away from the Sunday service, because her emotionally cold mother (Cherry Jones) is a shameful divorcee.
The girl gains acceptance by a flamboyant display of salvation, sneaking into church, falling on the floor and babbling in tongues to the delight of the Pentecostal congregation. Finally, she belongs.
Jump to 1960, when the perky young zealot meets the a gawky, confident young preacher, Jim Bakker, selling the upbeat gospel message that wealth and piety are compatible. The two flirt over a shared love of the sinful music of Fats Waller, marry and hit the gospel circuit, dreaming of saving souls and making a killing.
When Jim’s convertible gets towed for nonpayment, the Lord opens a door: A fellow motel guest is a booker on Pat Robertson’s Christian Broadcasting Network. And he brings the cute young couple - including Tammy Faye’s puppet shows for children - into the fold. Soon Jim establishes his own late-night show, the still-running PTL (Praise the Lord) Club, but, as the Loretta Lynn song puts it, success means a failure in their home.
A large stretch of the movie is pitched as a hybrid of camp and melodrama, that’s neither funny nor emotionally moving. Jim doesn’t want to cuddle in bed anymore, as Tammy Faye lathers herself in moisturizer. He’s too busy tending to a rapidly expanding business, expending his energy in tearful prayers for donations.
Eventually, there are extra-marital affairs, nervous investors worried about Jim’s Christian theme park Heritage USA, not to mention the reverend’s excessively enthusiastic wrestling sessions on the floor with his business manager.
Finally, the auditors and media close in to bring down the temple (though in reality, the temple is doing just fine). Although the script touches on the rise of the Christian Right and its connections to the Republican party’s anti-feminist, anti-gay agenda, it misses an opportunity to draw lines to the current American political crisis.
There’s not even a useful exploration about the gap between ideologues’ shoddy personal ethics and big picture rationalizations. What’s left is pantomime, a Halloween costume movie about characters who are far too simple-minded to explain the Bakker’s extraordinary, dubious success.
The Eyes of Tammy Faye. Directed by Michael Showalter. Written by Abe Sylvia. Starring: Jessica Chastain, Andrew Garfield, Cherry Jones, Vincent D’Onofrio, Sam Jaeger, Frederic Lehe, Gabriel Ods, Chandler Head. The Eyes of Tammy Faye opens theatrically on Friday, Sept. 17.