Hell to the No: Why I’m Not Watching Nick Broomfield’s Whitney Houston Documentary

Before I saw the trailer for Can I Be Me, I was jazzed about a new Whitney Houston documenary. Since her passing five and a half years ago, Lifetime has principally been writing Whitney’s television legacy with their 2012 documentary series “The Houstons: On Our Own” and 2015 biopic “Whitney,” which both foreground the drama of her personal life at the expense of any real insight into her work. American television still owes Whitney Houston a work of film that gives her any credit for the extraordinary art she put into the world and offers any compassion for the complicated life she lived.
And, for the amount of films that continue to be made about white guys with only a fraction of her talent, I feel like maybe the the universe is also owed a meaningful Whitney documentary. In the context of a culture that has never offered women (or really anyone who isn’t a cis, straight, white male) enough context to understand and navigate addiction, racism, mental health issues, and difficult relationships, Whitney’s story is so, so important.
But Can I Be Me, the newest Whitney documentary airing on Showtime this Friday, August 25, does not look to be the portrait of Whitney Houston that women want or need. It is an exemplification of the interlocking systems of misogyny and racism that makes black women into objects of profit for white men. Explaining how he selected the subject of his documentary, Broomfield tells Hollywood News, “I think it’s a bit like waiting for ripe piece of fruit to fall off the tree,” as if the material of Whitney’s life had just been sitting around waiting for someone (read: white guy) to discover and deconstruct it. With no regard for the consent of their subjects, white men who *literally* cannot think of anything else to do are greenlit to make black women’s bodies, trauma, lives, and legacies into a sellable thing.
Opening with the 911 call staff at the Beverly Hilton made to LAPD in 2012 reporting Whitney’s death, Broomfield’s film immediately positions Whitney into the narrative white supremacist culture has created about blacks folks: tragically but inevitably, they not meant to survive. Can I Be Me appears to detail 10,000 possible clues as to what killed Whitney Houston: self-doubt, the white entertainment industry that forced her to renounce her blackness, pressure from her family, Bobby’s infidelity, drug addiction, her repressed sexuality. But regardless of whether the evidence is compelling, Broomfield’s impulse to assimilate a complex woman’s life experiences into a narrative of tragic downfall is boring and patronizing.
Further, much of the press surrounding the film zeroes in on the connection Broomfield makes between Whitney Houston and her assistant Robyn Crawford. “They were undoubtedly in a relationship,” he tells i-D. Reading the reviews and interviews, this detail bothered me the most. As a queer woman, I wish Whitney Houston fit neatly into lesbian herstory, but she is not ours to claim. Throughout her life, Whitney resolutely maintained that she was straight. And when Broomfield, or any other straight, white men, try to out Whitney, they fail to acknowledge the plausibility of their claims in part draws on our cultural lack of respect for female friendships and black women’s sexuality.
I envision a different legacy for Whitney, a legacy that honors her spirit and talent while respecting what parts of her life she consented to give to us. Whitney was an actual living goddess: her voice was masterfully expressive; she has more consecutive Billboard Hot 100 #1 hits than any person in all of history; she was smart, fiery, and absolutely gorgeous; even her cats flew first-class. While I cannot will the Whitney documentary I wish to see into being, I have a few leads to share with anyone who wants to challenge the mainstream record of Whitney’s life. I leave you now with a barrage of links that I believe better reflect the radiance she brought to this world:
Without question the most radiant, spectacular, and self-assured song about loneliness to ever exist, “I Wanna Dance With Somebody” is the song that first made me love Whitney Houston. The accompanying music video is exuberant, powerfully 80s, and hands-down 10/10 incredible.
See also: How Will I Know, Run To You, I’m Your Baby Tonight, Where Do Broken Hearts Go, So Emotional
One of my favorite Whitney interviews is this 1992 video interview with Aresnio Hall. She walks around her housing showing him her plastic cups, trying on her glasses, talking about the lil mansion she built for her cats, sneaking up on Bobby and Cece Winans, and generally being the ball of fire she was.
See also: Whitney on Live at 5 in 1988, Whitney Houston shutting down Diane Sawyer when she asks how much Whitney weighs
There are dozens and dozens of videos of Whitney Houston’s live performances that could absolutely astonish you. This version of “Didn’t We Almost Have It All,” live in Sarasota Springs from her 1987 Moment of Truth World Tour is six minutes of raw emotion. The thirty seconds that begin around 4:58, where she turns three powerfully exasperated “didn’t we?”’s into steady vibrato into basically a whisper wow wow
See also: “I Wanna Dance With Somebody” at the 1988 Grammys, “All At Once” on Peter’s Pop Show 1985, “I Will Always Love You” at the 1994 World Music Awards, Young Whitney on the Merv Griffin show in 1983
On Still Processing’s “We Will Always Love You, Whitney Houston” episode, NYT culture critics Jenna Wortham and Wesley Morris look back on Whitney’s life and career. The conversation is thoughtful and warm-hearted and covers a considerable span of major events from Whitney’s life.
See also: Cinque Henderson on Whitney’s National Anthem performance, Hanif Willis-Abdurraqib’s “Whitney Houston Was Too Perfect To Stay”
★★★
