Film Review: Whitney creates a haunting picture of a bright yet troubled soul
Whitney zeroes in on the Houston family dynamics that played a part in the singer’s rise and fall.
Houstons, we have a problem. Watching Whitney Houston’s brothers Michael and Gary in the maddening new documentary Whitney (
), it’s mind-blowing to note the difference in how they describe doing drugs with their superstar little sister, versus describing how they felt about what she might have been doing in the bedroom.
On the subject of sharing blow with the Grammy-winner, known to family and friends as “Nippy,” the siblings’ candor seems laced with a mix of loss, and nostalgia for coke-fueled family time. They appear wistful for good old days that weren’t all good.
But when the discussion turns to the possibility that Nippy might have been bisexual or gay, a wall goes up, and their tone changes sharply. They sound angry, defensive, and even a bit cruel addressing the topic of sexuality and Whitney’s relationship with her former friend and assistant Robyn Crawford.
Despite the fact that Crawford, by every account, tried to keep Whitney focused on performing, not on drugs, she was, in the brothers’ eyes, an evil, wicked influence — not them. It’s a darkly telling glimpse of what one associate in the film refers to as the strictly religious Houston family’s homophobia.
Whether or not the late singer enjoyed romantic or sexual relationships with women, Whitney, directed by Oscar-winner Kevin Macdonald (The Last King of Scotland), makes clear that her family was hellbent on preventing her from being herself, whomever that was. Viewed together with Nick Broomfield’s 2017 documentary Whitney: Can I Be Me?, both films make a strong case that she never found a proper way to answer that question.
Much more a portrait of Whitney and the Houstons than a focused survey of the woman and her remarkable career, this documentary, as opposed to the equally worthy Can I Be Me?, was authorized by the Houston family, and was executive produced by Gary’s wife, Patricia Houston. Consequently, the Houstons hog a lot of screen-time, as Macdonald weaves stark audio and talking-head interviews with peak-Whitney performance footage, music videos, and truly revealing home movies and backstage video.
The Newark, New Jersey clan absolutely worked and sacrificed so that their golden-throated princess could become America’s princess. And she made it, reigning gloriously with talent, beauty, and chart-topping success. Her father John ruled the roost with smarts and savvy. But make no doubt about it, according to Whitney and several sources within, the queen behind the throne was Nippy’s mom, revered gospel and soul singer, Cissy Houston.
While Whitney’s notorious ex-husband, Bobby Brown, doesn’t show up until late in the film to pointedly refuse to talk about drugs (whatever, Bobby), the film kicks off with plenty of input from Cissy, in interviews and on the soundtrack. Centering their fraught mother-daughter dynamic, the film traces a neatly prescribed narrative of Whitney’s rise under her mother’s exacting tutelage, and subsequent fall from stratospheric talent to near-catastrophic demise.
Apparently, no Houston nor Brown wants to shoulder the blame for the crash that ended the journey. Of course, they shouldn’t have to shoulder the blame entirely. Whitney was a grown woman. Yet, oddly for the family-authorized version of the story, Whitney leaves a strong impression that maybe the Houston family should accept more responsibility for not just letting up about the gay thing, and allowing Whitney to live her life. The story might have unfolded differently. A little acceptance goes a long way.
Rather than emphasize that sentiment, Macdonald instead burrows deep into what some in the family pinpoint as the source of Whitney’s sexual confusion, and thus the pain that she numbed with drugs. More than one person here claims to know, based on Whitney’s admission and other sources, that as a child she was a victim of sexual abuse at the hands of a female family member. It’s a pretty stunning accusation, and one that Macdonald makes the questionable decision of tying to Whitney’s own professed anxiety about being hounded in her dreams by the devil.
It all adds up to a haunting picture of a bright yet troubled soul, who gave a tremendous gift of music to the world. Whitney captures not just the darkness but those dazzling gifts as well. Her rendition of “The Star-Spangled Banner” still induces tears of amazement, and a vocals-only mix of “I Wanna Dance with Somebody” generates a similar awe for just how powerful and well-tuned an instrument was her wonderful voice.
Behind-the-scenes moments with the star also reveal a sense of humor, strength, and steeliness that can get lost in the mess of assessing her later years. In footage of mother and daughter in Whitney’s dressing room in the late ’80s, she and Cissy bemoan the pop balladeer’s struggle to stay relevant in a landscape overrun with dance-pop acts like C+C Music Factory. They both have choice words for the thinner-voiced likes of Janet Jackson and Paula Abdul.
That sort of cattiness, for better or worse, goes down far easier than the lingering bitterness of the many, many Houston family secrets. Eventually, Whitney circles back to its recurring theme of the star running from her demons, and one can’t help thinking that maybe she finally made her escape.
Whitney is rated R, and opens in theaters everywhere July 6. Visit fandango.com.
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