“Angelheaded Hipster” Takes On Marc Bolan

Marc Bolan didn’t just ride the zeitgeist—he practically invented it, then bedazzled it with cosmic fairy dust and called it “erection rock.” Yes, that’s his actual term for what he was creating, and somehow it perfectly encapsulates everything brilliant and wonderfully absurd about the man who gave us T.Rex. Director Ethan Silverman’s Angelheaded Hipster attempts to capture that lightning-in-a-bottle magic by having contemporary artists reimagine Bolan’s catalog, and while the execution feels a bit scattered, the reverence is absolutely genuine.

The documentary’s central conceit, which is watching modern musicians tackle the songs that helped birth glam rock, is inherently fascinating for anyone who’s ever wondered what “20th Century Boy” might sound like filtered through different artistic sensibilities. We get everyone from Bono to Joan Jett diving into Bolan’s catalog, and their enthusiasm is infectious. These aren’t just covers; they’re archaeological excavations, with each artist unearthing different facets of songs that somehow managed to be both primal and otherworldly.

The film’s greatest strength lies in its archival treasures and candid interviews. Ringo Starr casually mentioning that Bolan was prouder of being England’s best-selling poet than achieving rock stardom is the kind of delightful revelation that makes you want to immediately revisit everything you thought you knew about the man.

The late David Bowie’s archival reminiscences about their friendship/rivalry dynamic feel like deleted scenes from the greatest glam rock buddy comedy never made: two cosmic peacocks circling each other with mutual admiration and competitive fire.

When the covers work, they really work. Nick Cave’s interpretation of “Cosmic Dancer” is absolutely transcendent, transforming Bolan’s celestial boogie into something that sounds like it was recorded in a beautiful, haunted cathedral. It’s the kind of reinvention that justifies the entire project and demonstrates how timeless these songs truly are.

The documentary does suffer from a bit of an identity crisis, unable to decide whether it wants to be a Bolan biography or a behind-the-scenes album documentary. We get tantalizing glimpses of deeper stories—his film directing ambitions, his collaboration with Stan Lee (!), his evolution beyond the glam persona—but the filmmaker never fully commits to exploring these fascinating tangents. Cameron Crowe appears to remind us that Bolan struggled with his American breakthrough, caught between his established glam identity and his desire to evolve, but these biographical nuggets feel scattered among extensive studio footage.

And yes, there’s a lot of studio footage. Perhaps too much. Watching artists adjust microphones and nod thoughtfully at playback lacks the cinematic dynamism that Bolan himself brought to everything he touched. The man who once said, “I’m going to be so big that when I die, they’re going to have to bury me in a pyramid,” deserved something with a bit more visual flair.

That said, there’s something genuinely moving about watching these artists grapple with Bolan’s enduring influence. His musical DNA can be traced through decades of rock evolution, from punk’s raw energy to New Wave’s art school pretensions to alternative rock’s genre-blending ambitions. Seeing that connection made tangible through covers and tributes feels like witnessing a musical séance, where the spirit of glam rock’s founding father materializes through Marshall stacks and vintage microphones.

The charity aspect adds genuine heart to the proceedings, as the album proceeds support the Bolan Family’s music school in Africa, giving the project a purpose beyond mere nostalgia. It’s the kind of legacy-building that Bolan himself, always thinking three moves ahead of the cultural curve, would have appreciated.

Gloria Jones, Bolan’s partner and the mother of his son, provides essential context through interviews that, while technically challenged by pandemic-era video quality, offer intimate insights into the man behind the glitter. Her presence reminds us that beneath all the cosmic imagery and theatrical posturing was a real person whose life was tragically cut short at 29.

Angelheaded Hipster works best when it remembers that Marc Bolan was a genuine force of nature who helped invent glam rock, championed punk before it had a name, and wrote lyrics dense enough to require their own archaeological expedition. The film may feel like two different movies awkwardly sharing screen time, but the underlying love for Bolan’s artistry shines through every frame. For classic rock devotees, it’s a worthy, if imperfect, celebration of an artist who proved that rock and roll could be both primal and sophisticated, cosmic and earthy, serious and gloriously ridiculous all at once.

Angelheaded Hipster opens August 8th in select theaters around the country; it will be available on digital starting September 5.

-Staci Layne Wilson

Photo: Marc Bolan (public domain)