‘Some people think little girls should be seen and not heard’
The opening line for X-Ray Spex’s anarchistic anthem ‘Oh Bondage! (Up Yours)’ is iconic. It fizzes with defiance, and Poly Styrene’s voice is one remembered as pioneering a generation of rebels and revolutionaries. The documentary ‘Poly Styrene: I Am A Cliché’ is decidedly more subdued, as the energy of punk is unravelled in time with the revelation of Poly Styrene’s sad and unsettled life. To an audience who remembers her as a strong, powerful woman, ‘I Am A Cliché’ undoes such ideals of punk femininity and resets Poly Styrene as a person who lived, breathed and suffered.
Marion Elliott-Said appears on our screen, her braces glistening, smiling awkwardly with a youthfulness that is enigmatic. The innocence in this early footage of Poly Styrene accelerates the tragic undertones of the documentary, which are set out from the opening scenes through the narration of her daughter who eulogises Poly Styrene in a heartfelt and troubling tribute. The voice of Celeste Bell, and the striking resemblance in her features to her mother, transform the documentary in to not only an exclusive into Poly Styrene’s life, but a tale of the fraught, turbulent and unshakeable bond between mother and daughter. As Bell’s soft London accent takes us through the different stages of Poly’s life, we are enchanted by the contrast between the two women, and the honesty of narration does not hide the strains under which their relationship suffered. The dualities of Poly Styrene and her identity are at the forefront of the documentary, so utterly inescapable that they become all-encompassing and turn her effervescent vocals as the frontwoman of X-Ray Spex into a tragedy. She is resilient, yet vulnerable, she is black yet also white, she is a woman but also a young girl, she is Poly Styrene, but she is Marion. This dynamic surges through into her diagnosis as Bipolar, yet another forceful opposition within Poly’s identity that it inevitably becomes all consuming. Encompassing every aspect of her life, the dualities within her channelled through into the search for comfort in the tug of war raging inside and outside of her body.
Throughout the documentary, those interviewed remain faceless, with footage of Poly Styrene throughout her life flecked by imagery of her daughter remain the focal point. The deliberateness behind this choice emphasises the state of the cult of celebrity; as Poly Styrene was shunned of her identity by magazines who deemed her a sex symbol, by the record company who thinned her body on the cover of ‘Germ-Free Adolescents’, ‘I Am A Cliché’ recentres Poly Styrene at the heart of her own story. Throughout the film it seems the overarching driving force for Poly is not the punk rock music scene itself, nor the desire for fame or recognition, she searched instead, for a sense of comfort and community. Her life, embroiled from the outset in a misplacement that is inherent in her identity as both female and black, was bound in the sense that she did not belong. In the fragments of her diary sprinkled throughout the film we are granted an insight into the inner turmoil of this punk icon as the unwanted and inescapable fame ravaged her being. This, coupled with the restless imagery utilised throughout the documentary, demonstrates the conflicting fragility of the young singer who struggled endlessly with the life punk had created for her.
‘Poly Styrene: I Am A Cliché’ is an overwhelmingly sad retrospective on the life of a young woman eaten up and spat back out by the world in which she tried to make a place of her own. The documentary reaches its resolution through the footage of Poly Styrene and her daughter singing on stage in her final live performance, a beautiful reconciliation that is touching and emotional. It emphasises the comfort found towards the end of her life, a stability which stemmed from rebuilding a relationship with her daughter, thus resulting in re-entering the world of musical expression. The film itself delves somewhat into a clichéd form of nostalgic reflection, such as the scenes of Bell in front of the sea staring wistfully into the distance, or the instance of her looking out at an empty concert hall where Poly Styrene performed for the final time. However, the documentary is so successful in depicting the raw wounds of the mother/daughter relationship that we forgive the cliché and move beyond, bound together in collective mourning for our punk mother.
Words by Polly Neill
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