Year: 2017 Director: Nick Broomfield/Rudi Dolezal
Towards the end of what is a predictably gloomy, gruelling story told in reverse chronology, a still at the top of her game Whitney Houston is asked how she’d like to be remembered. As befits someone who, as the movie shows, consummately managed to handle characters as diverse as an out of his depth Terry Christian and the pissed-up old perv who was Serge Gainsborough, Whitney answers that she doesn’t much care, but would like to be thought of as ‘nice’. Whitney was nice. In fact, part of her problem might well have been that she was too nice. I certainly didn’t enter the cinema with such an impression. I was never a fan and although I didn’t actively dislike her music at the time, I was very much a take her or (preferably) leave her merchant, finding her vocal gymnastics and obligatory power ballads slightly irritating, if just about tolerable. In latter years however, since her tragic demise, I actually did start to dislike Whitney, or or any rate, her legacy. Every cut-price TV talent show perpetually seemed – and seems – to have a roster full of Houston would-be’s, desperately trying to » Continue Reading.