“Before you go, you have to purify yourself in the waters of Lake Minnetonka.”
Prince changed his legal name in 1993 to an unpronounceable symbol—often referred to as “The Love Symbol.” For a time, he was known as “The Artist Formerly Known as Prince,” until he changed it back in 2000.
Every real-life story I’ve heard about Prince makes him sound bratty. Like a whiny, whimpering, wounded child. Frowning and complaining.
Plus, his music isn’t great. Some of it is listenable, sure. Most is weird and thin.
You get it—I’m not a fan. Imagine my low expectations walking into Purple Rain on the big screen for the first time.
It’s a cinematic masterpiece.
Shot on location in Minneapolis, MN, the film captures real neighborhoods and streets—venues like The First Avenue Club, a central space both in the story and in real life.
With an even mix of comedic and dramatic moments, the film is often carried by the performances.
The Artist Forever Known As…
Prince plays a fictionalized version of himself known as “The Kid.” It’s a remarkable and unique performance. All the whiny screeching, the writhing on stage—everything you imagine Prince doing—he does. But he does it without hesitation. Very unselfconscious. A performance you can’t help but respect.
Perhaps even more acclaim is due to Morris Day, also playing a fictionalized version of himself. Prince and he maintained a friendship-fueled rivalry until Prince’s death in 2016. His character is dislikable—he orders his valet to throw an ex-lover into a dumpster—but the performance is multilayered.
In a spectacular piece near the end, Day’s band The Time delivers a banging performance to precede Prince’s band. They exit the stage, bouncing down the corridor past Prince’s dressing room. The group bops past the doorway, then—silently and in unison—leans back into view. Day tosses out an insult. The band roars with laughter and bops away.
We see Day’s reaction. Part of him is tormented by this. A stirring performance. Funny too.
Apollonia Kotero
Plays Apollonia—Prince’s fictional love interest and a central focus of his rivalry with Day. She is terrific. Delivering a measured and smooth performance that fits nicely between her larger-than-life male counterparts. Her character becomes the film’s emotional tether.
Even during the absurdly comedic “Lake Minnetonka” moment, the romance feels strangely real. The nude acting feels courageous, not exploitative. And somehow still organic.
Apollonia goes on dates with both men. Her partial acceptance of Day’s advances to forward her career illustrates an economic drive. She maintains physical distance without spoiling her mindset for the viewer. Perhaps she does like Day and his misogynistic ways.
When she visits Prince’s home and sees what his parents are like, the fairy-tale home life begins to feel real. The film leans more biopic than puff piece.
Purple Rain suggests the limitations placed upon female musicians of the time. Apollonia climbs the ladder to reach a height—singing in a highly sexualized girl group, wearing skimpy outfits and bending for the fellas.
The film seems to critique this degraded lifestyle—measured by the quality of crowd reception. Meanwhile, Wendy and Lisa’s presence, the lesbian couple and members of Prince’s band, reinforces this with subtle texture—though even they operate under his filter. He controls their art until he finally allows it to be heard.
The film is a shameless expression of these realities.
Concert Filmmaking
The incorporation of music is what really takes the film into orbit. The little pieces—like Prince’s father playing an original composition on the piano, or the reversed tape he plays for Apollonia—glimmer with brilliance.
But the final sequence boasts a full double performance. The Time shreds the stage. They leave, and Prince finally performs “Purple Rain” in full.
My face melts.
Life is beautiful and full of wonders.
Purple Rain reassures us this is true.
Recently, I’ve been hearing Prince in the background of existence much more clearly. Now and then, I’ll catch a song and think—somewhat shamefully—“Hey, this actually sounds like Prince.” And then I find myself pondering the moral consequence of such thought patterns.
Some of it catches me. Perhaps I haven’t rounded a full 90-degree corner on Prince—but the trajectory of my path has undeniably angled more in his direction.
★★★★★ ★★★★★
Read my review on IMDb or Letterboxd.
Check Singin’ in the Rain for more music.
