This documentary chronicles the rise of William F. Buckley and Gore Vidal – two highly esteemed public intellectuals and failed political candidates from distinct ideological poles – culminating in their televised debates during the Republican and Democratic conventions in 1968. It was at one of these debates that they got into it, bigly.

There is so much that is absolutely riveting about this exchange: Buckley’s barely contained fury, Vidal’s delight at having gotten under Buckley’s skin, its utter authenticity. The documentarians do an excellent job at placing these debates in the proper contexts, including the rise of Buckley as a conservative founding father and Vidal as a brilliant novelist and libertine, and the effect on these two combatants. Vidal almost fetishized the exchange, having guests view the debates at his villa in Italy in a Norma Desmond-like manner, and saying of Buckley upon his death “I thought hell is bound to be a livelier place, as he joins forever those whom he served in life, applauding their prejudices and fanning their hatred.” Conversely, Buckley was horrified at his loss of control and regretted it for the rest of his life.

The documentary also chronicles how the debate changed television coverage for conventions (no longer would there be gavel-to-gavel coverage) and alludes to the debate’s impact on televised political discussion thenceforth, but, thankfully, doesn’t attempt to press home a full argument.  It is enough to watch the sewer that is political commentary on FOX, MSNBC, CNN juxtaposed with the clips of Buckley and Vidal, even at their worst, to get the point.  Best, the documentary utilizes individuals who were present at the debates as well as authors and commentators like Christopher Hitchens, Sam Tanenhaus and Dick Cavett, all of whom have very interesting rather than obvious observations.

The documentary is, however, a little thin. In particular, it glosses over the post-debate exchange the two men had in Esquire magazine, where Vidal cut as deep as he could, suggesting a calumny about the Buckley family that does not bear repeating here. This more so than the exchange engendered litigation, as Buckley sued Vidal and Esquire. That suit was settled, under the following terms: Esquire would publish a statement in its November issue disavowing “the most vivid statements” of the Vidal article, calling Buckley “racist, anti-black, anti-Semitic and a pro-crypto Nazi”, and the magazine paid $115,000 for Buckley’s legal expenses. Buckley said of Vidal, “Let his own unreimbursed legal expenses, estimated at $75,000, teach him to observe the laws of libel.” Interestingly, in 1995, Esquire re-published Vidal’s essay in an anthology, Buckley again sued for libel, and Esquire again settled for $55,000 in attorney’s fees and $10,000 in personal damages to Buckley.

Great time capsule piece. Available on Netflix streaming.

The documentarian, David Thorpe, opens up at the outset explaining that he’s not in a relationship and then focusing on his lilting voice as somehow responsible. Whether that is the case is hardly proven, but it is clear that Thorpe is not happy with the way he talks. This commences his journey to speech therapists, gay icons (David Sedaris, Dan Savage, Tim Gunn) and his family and friends in a search to discover the genesis of the gay voice and in particular, when he started to sound gay (the title is a bit of a misdirection: he sounds gay; there ain’t no “Do I?” about it). What follows is a mostly interesting if occasionally duplicative meditation on one man’s gay voice.  In the case of Thorpe, he was a quiet closeted kid in South Carolina, perhaps knowing exactly what was in store for him if he was labeled a “fag” in the pitiless halls of high school. But to his credit, he doesn’t leave off there. His old friends affirm that his “gay” voice was a relatively quick change, occurring when he came out, and Thorpe explores the bravado of that act, as well as the influence of gays in pop culture when he was growing (who knew Paul Lynde, Charles Nelson Reilly and Rip Torn were so influential?) The documentary also shows a certain group speak at play, as anyone can attest when they spend an appreciable time in the South and a drawl develops. What is abundantly clear by the end of this film is that Thorpe’s never getting rid of the voice. When he tries, he just sounds like a baritone gay dude. But in cataloguing his attempt, he’s made a witty, watchable picture. Currently on Netflix streaming.

When my grandmother started to lose it, she was ingenious in masking it. If you asked her who was president, she’d say, “that fool in the White House.” If you asked her about something topical, she’d reply, “Who has time for such things?” It was her game face as her memory began to fail her.

At the beginning of I’ll Be Me, this is where we find Glen Campbell, recently diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. He is vague, folksy and stubborn in attempting to defend himself from a world ever more foreign to him. He leans heavily on his wife, who acts as his lifeline to his past, but we see his true state when he watches old home movies, and asks “who is that?” It’s achingly painful to hear his wife’s reply, “That’s you, silly.”

Campbell’s diagnosis came on the eve of his final tour, and in an effort to increase awareness about the disease, he went public and allowed a documentary crew along for the ride. The result is a bittersweet retrospective of his work (I had no idea just how big a star he was) and an examination of what it is to suffer this disease through the eyes of his family (three kids are in his touring band). I feared that this might become exploitative and was heartened to see that not only was it not, but that Campbell’s wife acknowledged the concern, explaining that they weighed the costs and benefits and decided to go forth. I also feared that it would be altered to create a “triumph of the spirit” vibe, but director James Keach (an actor in his own right and Stacy’s brother) presents Campbell and the disease in sober fashion; when Campbell’s issues become acute, it is almost too much to bear, and when they evince on stage (as is shown on the clip above), it is not sugar-coated. But the audience is with him, so are we and the fact that his music is so ingrained in him it triumphs over the disease, for a time, is a wonder to watch.

Currently on Netflix Streaming.