the leading man is my tpye

While it doesn't offer any answers, it both thrills and makes you think.

The best films of this genre always show a path and provide a takeaway for being a better person.

There's a more than satisfactory amount of boom-boom in the movie's trim running time.

...and our green mohair suits (all the ex-Burritos and Fallen Angels, many who are not credited on the IMDb main details page for some reason), so please show your I.D. at the doorJust became aware of this great doc, and watched the whole thing online. I guess that makes this my first review on IMDb to come from a movie watched entirely on the internet. Wow, I really am slow to catch the trends.The producers really went deep to find people who knew Gram, especially from his formative years as a kid and as a Harvard "student". The interviewees from the LA years were also insightful. I learned a lot about the man, and knew he lived large because of his privileged background, but a $65,000/yr. trust fund in the late 60's would be quite a fund to stoke a party. Unfortunately, moderation never seemed to be a concept he grasped.Anyway, since we're now down to just one "Original Burrito" (Chris Hillman), I thought I'd bang out a little tribute to the group here, giving them a (very) belated thumbs up for some fine, under-appreciated work.P.S.-I was a little disappointed the two women featured on the cover of "The Gilded Palace of Sin" were not identified, only that they were models. Can anyone out there identify them for me, as I've been admiring them for years.

I too wish there had been a little more depth in this movie. However, when my sister saw it at the screening at the Belcourt Theatre in Nashville, along with many of Gram's close friends and colleagues, she never heard anyone voice some of the complaints registered here.I think calling Gram "obnoxious" is too simplistic. He obviously had his obnoxious moments, but most highly creative people do. It's part of that artistic temperament you've heard tell of. However, I don't think most people could have registered the emotion they showed had Parsons merely been a gifted jerk. This is where the movie shines. The directors show some of the people who genuinely cared about Parsons as a person, and how his untimely death affected them.I understand the attempt to show Parsons as more than the very pretty face and voice idolized so often. I think the filmmakers wanted audiences to understand Ingram Parsons as a human being, a guy who had a lot of breaks in his life, but who also had a legion of demons chasing him. I actually found myself liking this man a lot by the end of the movie. Parsons was a basically nice, decent guy who had a lot of bad wiring, not the least of which included an inborn tendency to addiction. I felt incredible pity for him.I hope this movie spurs viewers to listen to Parsons' music and to appreciate the influence he had on popular music. If it does that, it has done its work well.

A very worthwhile documentary about musician Gram Parsons of the Byrds and the Flying Burrito Brothers. Originally filmed for British and German television, the movie is a very detailed portrait of Parsons' life, albeit at arm's length—there would appear to be very little footage of Gram available, most of it performance clips, many of amateurish home movie quality. I don't recall even one shot of Gram on screen talking, although his voice is heard in a few sound snippets from an audio interview of indeterminate origin. The movie instead relies on extensive usage of still photographs and, most impressively, interviews with just about anyone still alive who was involved in Parson's life, including bandmates Chris Hillman and Emmylou Harris, Keith Richards, the surviving members of Gram's family, blustery former road manager Phil Kaufman who stole Gram's body at LAX and drunkenly drove it out to the desert and burned it, and even the girlfriend who checked into room number 8 at the Joshua Tree Inn with Parsons and watched him die of an overdose. The dynamics of Parsons' dysfunctional family and the impact it had on him are well documented, perhaps maybe a little too well documented, but the recollections of the musicians who played with him provide the most illuminating commentary on the allure and difficulties of Parsons' self-destructive talent. Overall, I had two main criticisms. One, the filmmakers' melodramatic animation of cartoon flames that rise from the bottom of the screen as Kaufman describes striking a match and throwing it into Parsons' gasoline soaked coffin—not to mention the aerial shot of a bonfire burning in the desert, obviously supposed to emblematic of Gram's burning corpse—is especially cheesy, and really tacky. But my larger complaint is that despite the effluent praise of Parsons' talent, the film never establishes a broader historical context for his musical accomplishments that would allow the casual viewer to understand why he was so important, which was that he almost single-handedly invented the genre of country-rock. Pamela Des Barres alludes to it somewhat when she describes Gram playing records by Lefty Frizzell and Willie and Waylon for her, turning her on to a rich, vibrant side of country music that most rock music fans were unaware of at the time. But with the Byrd's Sweetheart Of The Rodeo and his injection of flashy Nudie suit glam rock star attitude into his fairly traditional but definitely non-Nashville brand of country songwriting, he broke through to the rock crowd with an updated take on country music that paved the way for the Eagles and every country-rock outfit that followed. You maybe wouldn't quite understand how revolutionary that was from this film—some obscure family friends could've been replaced by a perceptive rock critic or two—but all in all it's a really good documentary.

This is a slipshod documentary that is about as original and involving as an episode of VH1's Behind the Music. The production values are very poor, with much of the video footage shot erratically out the window of a moving car, and the editing is a clumsy, uninspired pastiche of quick pans and tilts across black and white still photos jarringly inter-cut with a relentless onslaught of meaningless talking heads (do we really need to hear from the girlfriend of Parson's manager or the best friend of Parson's dead stepfather?). We hear very little of Parson's music, most of which plays in the background under the interviews, and no one except Emmylou Harris manages to truly elucidate Parson's gifts as a singer and songwriter. Technically, the film is embarrassing, but it is even worse in its shameful final minutes, when it juxtaposes the bizarre circumstances of Parson's burial with the heartfelt grief of those who loved Parsons, and manipulates the audience into laughter when what we should be feeling is sadness. Fallen Angel is disrespectful of Gram Parsons' groundbreaking music, banal in its storytelling, and grotesquely insensitive to the people who knew and loved him.