Boston.com

William S. Burroughs: A Man Within

William S. Burroughs (with Kathy Acker) is the subject of Yony Leyser’s
new documentary, “A Man Within.’’

Ty Burr, Globe Staff / Feb 3, 2011

“Every man has inside himself a parasitic being who is acting not at all
to his advantage.’’ William S. Burroughs said that, and he should know.
Beat novelist and poet, junkie, expatriate, homosexual, lousy shot,
punk-rock godhead, scenester, weird old man, and more, the subject of
Yony Leyser’s very capable documentary “William S. Burroughs: A Man
Within’’ carried multitudes inside him, despite the film’s title. All of
them were alienated at least and alien at most. “He was not easy to
like,’’ says someone here about Burroughs, but, oddly, he was easy to
love. The movie explores that contradiction but doesn’t come out the
other side.

Mostly, “A Man Within’’ is a breezily stylized, very enjoyable trot
through the writer’s life, theme by theme, era by era. Because there’s a
wealth of archival footage, Burroughs’s complicated friendship with
Allen Ginsberg pops up a lot; the two were interviewed together so often
over the years that they start to look like co-anchors of a mythical
“Bill and Al Show.’’ I’d watch it.

The talking heads here are choice: art-rockers like Laurie Anderson,
punk icons like Patti Smith, Iggy Pop, and Sonic Youth, filmmakers John
Waters and Gus Van Sant, poets Amiri Baraka and John Giorno, ex-lovers
and executors — the list goes on, all the way down to Burroughs’s gun
handler (we learn the writer’s weapon of choice was a .38 Smith & Wesson
snubbie) and a snake master (he had a thing for toxins).

They all circle around his talent, his legacy, and his darkness. Of
course one chapter of “A Man Within’’ has to deal with Joan Vollmer, the
wife Burroughs shot and killed in a drunken 1951 Mexico City game of
William Tell. The act sent him into self-willed exile and, he noted with
mortification, made him a writer. A section on his son, the sad and
short-lived William Burroughs Jr., feels cursory and embarrassed.

At least it’s there. What Leyser doesn’t give us much of is Burroughs’s
authorial voice. A montage early on in which the writer reads a caustic
“Thanksgiving prayer’’ (“Thanks for the American dream to vulgarize and
falsify until the bare lies shine through…’’) gives a hint of how
unforgivingly fierce Burroughs could be, but there’s nothing heard from
his most famous novel, 1959’s “Naked Lunch’’ (“when everyone sees what
is on the end of every fork’’), and while Burroughs’s cut-up technique
is discussed, we don’t hear it in action, despite such novels as “The
Soft Machine’’ being written using the process.

The Soft Machine was also the name of a 1960s rock band; the members of
Steely Dan took their moniker from “Naked Lunch’’ (it’s the name of a,
uh, sexual apparatus); Smith is on board to confess “I always had a
crush on William.’’ Why did Burroughs become a devilish saint to a
generation of musicians? Because he survived, for one thing, but also
because the extremes of human experience and perception he wrote about
were valued by the punks as they tried to punch their way out of the
culture.

But, yes, in the process they glamorized his heroin addiction, his love
of firearms and very young men. “The Man Within’’ confronts the
romanticization of William S. Burroughs even as it romanticizes him,
admittedly hard not to do given the author’s status as a CBGB-era rock
star/genius/living fossil. But it’s more than Burroughs himself did. The
author refused to be considered the godfather of punk or gay liberation,
once declaring “I’m sure as hell not part of any movement.’’ That
lifelong insistence on alienation — his and ours — was Burroughs’s
greatest gift as a writer, and this film doesn’t fly quite close enough
to get burned by it.

Ty Burr can be reached at [email protected]. For more on movies, go to
www.boston.com/movienation.

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