Winter doesn’t display the confidence that the real Clarke did when she kept her camera solely on Holliday. Alternatively, the director stages a variety of limp, confessional fantasy sequences—call them Fosse-lite—in which Holliday frolics with a white woman he worked for as well as a white boy who might’ve broken his heart. It’s all so impossibly banal and garish, so insultingly broad and meaningless. Jason and Shirley doesn’t earn the gall it evinces by pissing on a masterpiece.
October 18, 2015