Reality and fiction blur together in Swan Song, the most recent film from queer cinema pioneer Todd Stephens, who tells the allegedly true story of Pat Pitsenbarger, a retired hairdresser and former amateur drag queen who is brought out of retirement for one final client: his former best friend who has recently died, and insists on having Pat do her makeup and hair for the funeral, as a way of making sure she looked presentable, as well as being her final way of making amends for years of estrangement. Despite the quaint premise and seemingly flamboyant exterior, Swan Song is a very important film, a deep and honest look into the life of a man who existed almost entirely to be at the disposal of others, and who only finds his self-worth very late in life, by which point he is very close to death, which he can see rapidly approaching him on the horizon. Perhaps a major change of pace for Stephens, whose previous efforts were far more quirky, this film has the same idiosyncrasies that made Another Gay Movie and its less-celebrated but still entertaining sequel so captivating, a spirit of liberation and meaningful expression that has been a hallmark of the modern queer cinema movement, where the struggle isn’t solely on seeking judicial equality, but also finding acceptance. The difference here is that Swan Song follows a man who has received an abundance of love from all those who surround him, but only learns to accept himself for who he is when it may be slightly too late for him to start an entirely new chapter in his life. Yet, as we always tend to hear, it’s never too late to reinvent oneself, and throughout the film, Stephens and his cast put together a really enjoyable, yet deeply heartbreaking, story of individuality and the search for meaning in a world that is slowly becoming unrecognizable to those who haven’t been paying much attention.

Stephens doesn’t tell us that Swan Song is based on a true story until midway into the credits, when a tribute to the real-life Pat Pitsenbarger appears on screen. For the previous two hours, we’ve been under the impression that this eccentric hairdresser is an artistic construction, the convergence of many different stereotypes and literary tropes, all rolled into one character that can best be described as Quentin Crisp lost in the Midwest after a detour through continental Europe. The refusal to outright mention how he was a real person heightens our experience, since we’re not following his life, nor do we want to dig too deep into his past, with the few memorable flashes into his earlier years offering more than enough information to satisfy our craving. Queer cinema doesn’t have nearly enough heroes, and it honestly feels like “Mister Pat” is someone that should be recognized as being a small but significant addition to an endless array of people who lived (and perished) being their true and authentic selves. The community can never have too many inspirations, and while he may not have necessarily done anything that could be considered entirely influential, his commitment to his own life was enough to serve as the impetus for this film, which frames him as some eccentric, bohemian elder statesman of the gay community, a bridge between the earlier days where homosexuality was still persecuted, whether legally or socially, and the more open-minded approach taken in the modern world. Stephens cherishes the memory of Pitsenbarger, at least enough to make an entire film that celebrates him as something of an iconoclast – and as this film demonstrates with stark regularity, the most aspirational individuals are sometimes those that lead the most ordinary lives, only doing it in their own unique way, which is something that I think many of us could benefit from following.

Considering how deeply important Pitsenbarger was to the director, his characterization was imperative. Udo Kier is giving the performance of a lifetime in Swan Song, which is certainly a bold statement, considering he is an actor who has a career that stretches back over half a century, and saw him amassing an enormous amount of credits to his instantly recognizable name, making him one of the most enduring character actors to ever work in the medium, someone who could just as easily play a wise mentor as he could a maniacal villain. This isn’t the first time Kier has taken on an important role in a queer-focused film, with his early works with Andy Warhol and Paul Morrisey positioning him as an underground superstar, and his small but impactful role in My Own Private Idaho being a highlight of that iconic entry into the queer film canon. However, Swan Song is something else entirely – this is a role constructed for an older actor, preferably one that not only has experience coming of age as a queer man in a time and place that was far from accepting, but also someone that has rarely been given the spotlight in the past. This is one of the rare leading roles from the notoriously peripheral Kier, who is normally used to memorable supporting roles – and if there was any doubt that he was talented, his ability to carry this entire film almost entirely on his own (with performances from wonderful actors like Jennifer Coolidge and Michael Urie being only supplementary), is more than enough proof to show how endlessly gifted Kier is as an actor. He brings such a sensitivity to the role, playing Pat as a charming and eccentric individual, but never venturing too far into the camp sensibilities, making sure that every moment resounds with a deep and unflinching truthfulness, which is primarily what prevents the character from becoming a walking parody or a bundle of queer quirks.

As is always the case with films centred on queer stories, representation matters. Swan Song may lack a very clear sense of importance in terms of the story – after all, it is essentially just about an old man travelling across town to do the hair and makeup of his deceased friend – but it more than compensates in the brutally honest depiction of what many people endure when trying to find their identity. The motif of him literally walking across town is not accidental – this film is structured as both a physical and mental journey for the main character, as he moves through a small town that he used to command as a result of his undying confidence and endless charisma, which never failed to attract many people to his salon. Now, much older and close to the end of his life, this journey is one of reflection – not only of looking at the past and the events that got him to this very position, but an introspective glimpse into his own psychological state, as we watch him contemplate a series of decisions he made in the past, and which he now has to live with. He doesn’t show regret for his actions so much as he does have remorse for how he reacted to the events that he had very little control over, which is where the film is at its most meaningful, showing us a few key moments in his life as he reconsiders whether he made the right decisions in many circumstances, wondering what would’ve changed had he played it a bit safer in some instances, or lost all inhibitions and embraced the unknown in others. As much of a cliche as it may be, Swan Song is a film that proves that it’s not always the destination that matters, but rather the journey of how we get there. This is a pivotal and undeniably common component of queer stories, and Stephens makes exceptional use of it here, gradually unveiling a series of deep revelations about our protagonist and his own metaphysical wanderings that cause him to revisit uncomfortable memories, while still celebrating his own individuality.

There are many moments in Swan Song that stand out and prove how this is not a film that is afraid to be unabashedly queer – there is a difference between focusing on issues that face the gay community, and ones that openly celebrate their experiences, even in the most difficult of circumstances. This film certainly occupies the latter, and one particular moment stands out, which occurs towards the end when Pat helps an amateur drag queen style a wig, before venturing with her onto the dance floor, where he boldly proclaims that he “misses our people”. In this scene, he is surrounded by a wide array of people across the entire gender spectrum, of every age, race, size and style, all dancing in their own unique way, but united under the fact that they’re all given the chance to be surrounded by people with whom they share a few common experiences. It’s a beautiful moment, and one of the most sobering instances of queer-focused storytelling here, since the film isn’t only about Pat’s journey, but the entire LGBTQIA+ community, who have been historically marginalized and maligned for their refusal to follow the status quo. It’s difficult to watch a scene like this and not be moved to the point of tears, which Stephens knew was the most likely reaction, since the way he frames the scene clearly points to how he was aware that this would be his centrepiece moment, a scene that conveys the entire experience of the queer community at large in only a few words. It’s cathartic and absolutely stunning, and justifies the sometimes meandering tone of the rest of the film, and how it can occasionally veer towards preaching to the choir, which is certainly not the part of the film that lingers with us the most.

Swan Song deserves to be more than just a quaint novelty, a charming dramatic comedy with a lot of heart. It’s the kind of film that sadly flies under the radar and depends on word-of-mouth to get viewers in those seats – but considering how deep the director seems to be willing to go with some of these discussions, and his exquisite control of both tone and intention, this could flourish into a sleeper hit, solely by virtue of its pure dedication to exploring the life of a man who dared to be original, which is both a delight to see, and a truly inspirational example for anyone, especially younger audience members, who are only now discovering who they are. Finding one’s identity isn’t always a linear journey, nor is it one that necessarily happens early in life. For some people, the revelation can come very late, perhaps even in their final stages of life – but at some point, we all have that moment when we discover that the person reflected in the mirror, and the one residing in our soul, are not always exactly the same – and life is all about finding the balance, embracing our own unique qualities, while finding the courage to express it in a way that makes us happy. The modern world has made this more possible than ever, and whether we figured it out early on, or are only now starting to become aware of who we are, there is never a bad time to get reacquainted with yourself, which is essentially the primary focus of Swan Song, an absolutely stunning excursion into the world of queer identity, presented with an equal blend of humour and pathos, and a lot of endearing commentary that only makes it all the more impressive an achievement, and a film bound to find a small but dedicated faction of the audience that sees themselves reflected in the main character and his journey to self-actualization.