Pitsenbarger, or “Mr. Pat” as he calls himself, is played by screen legend Udo Kier in a performance that, dare I say, is absolutely magnificent. In almost 300 screen credits, Kier has played all manner of roles that range from somewhat normal to extremely bizarre. “Swan Song” gives him one of his best parts, allowing him to go big without sacrificing his character’s humanity nor the melancholy lurking just beneath his glorious façade. Mr. Pat is flashy, fearless, and fabulous enough to make a ratty t-shirt and a fanny pack work as a fashion statement. Mr. Pat is also unflinching in his self-portrayal—he’s an unabashedly gay man who will turn on his showmanship at the drop of a hat, but not as any kind of defense mechanism; instead of keeping you at bay, it draws you closer and makes you giddy. You’re not laughing at Mr. Pat, you’re marveling at his audacity, wishing you had that level of confidence. And it makes you smile.
But Mr. Pat is also a relic, something he knows all too well, and Kier keeps that knowledge on an endless loop running in the background of his performance. The film calls attention to the end of an era by opening with the triumphant return of Mr. Pat to his gay bar performing days, only to suddenly have him wake up old and frail in a nursing home. No longer an in-demand hairstylist, he roams the halls of this infernal, grey place, occasionally being chastised by his nurse, Shaundell (Roshon Thomas) for sneaking puffs off contraband More cigarettes. I’ve said this before, but there’s no better prop for a movie star than a cigarette. Kier puts on a master class with those outdated, brown-papered tobacco sticks once famously marketed to women. As he does the hair of one of his neighbors, he lights two cigarettes as if he were Paul Henreid in “Now, Voyager,” tenderly giving one to his “client” as he murmurs how lovely her hair always was.
A wrench gets thrown in Mr. Pat’s routine by Mr. Shanrock (Tom Bloom), the lawyer for Rita Parker Sloan, the richest woman in Sandusky. Before they had a major falling out, she was Mr. Pat’s most treasured customer and his closest confidante. So, he finds it odd when Mr. Shanrock informs him that Sloan left a provision in her will that her hair and makeup be done posthumously by her former hairdresser. The request comes with $25,000 for the trouble, payable six months after the estate is settled. If this request is denied, she’ll go into the cold, cold ground looking like the Quaker Oats man. Mr. Pat is not interested at first, but eventually boredom and the notion of a last hurrah compel him to escape the nursing home and wander toward his former hometown.
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