The Wake

The last place you’d expect to find a former member of the androgynous pre-punk band New York Dolls is in a Mormon Temple, but that’s exactly where documentary filmmaker Greg Whiteley found bass player Arthur Kane. Arthur, whose nickname was “Killer Kane” when he played with the Dolls 30 years ago, discovered the Church of Jesus Christ Latter-day Saints in 1989. This journey from rock excess to Mormon piety is the focal point of Whiteley’s documentary New York Doll.

Filmed in the months leading up to a reunion show in 2004, the film uses archival footage of the New York Dolls from the ’70s and interviews with an older, quieter Arthur Kane. With quirky mannerisms and a nasal voice, the quirky player frankly discusses his alcoholism, his bitter resentment of the band’s front man David Johansen, and his new job at his temple’s Family History Center. Though he’s excited to play the reunion show, Arthur’s one hesitation is seeing Johansen, the man for whom he had blamed so many of his problems before finding solace in the Mormon Church.

New York Doll exposes the pitfalls of rock stardom but refrains from sensationalizing the story and mythifying the band a la Behind the Music. Instead, it treats Arthur Kane as a normal person, a guy who takes the city bus to work every day and loves his job and his small apartment. Interviews with Arthur’s friends are poignant and subtle additions to the movie. Morrissey is given much face time in the movie, and credited with helping reunite the Dolls for his Meltdown 2004 benefit show. Bob Geldof and Chrissie Hynde also reflect on Arthur as a person and as a musical influence. What makes the documentary stand apart, however, are the interviews with Kane’s coworkers, the semi-retired men and women who worked with Arthur at the temple and laugh every time they hear him referred to as “Killer.”

I felt a lot of anxiety while watching this movie. As the reunion show draws closer, the viewer becomes more aware of the fact that this band hasn’t played together in decades, and that they didn’t disband under the happiest of circumstances. Singer David Johansen misses the first day of rehearsal for the show, and arrives late for the second day decked out in his old man rock star uniform: denim jacket, dark sunglasses and bandana scarf. The rehearsals sound sloppy, and in a brilliantly framed shot, the audience gets to see Johansen in the foreground reading lyrics off a sheet of paper and Arthur in the background, slouched in a chair, trying futilely to remember his bass lines.

In the end, Arthur’s return to the rock limelight is a success. The band sounds good, especially considering their shaky rehearsals, and Kane’s demeanor is as comical as ever. On stage, he plants himself near his amplifier and doesn’t move. He is “a living statue,” as one commentator suggests; he is, nevertheless, having the time of his life. The movie ends by divulging the fact that two weeks after the show, Arthur was admitted to an emergency room in Los Angeles and died in a matter of hours. Unbeknownst to anyone, he had leukemia, and suddenly, the commentary from his rock and roll peers has a hint of tragic nostalgia.