Most people likely know Linda Perry as the lead singer and songwriter of 4 Non Blondes, the San Francisco-based rock band who had a smash hit single with the song “What’s Up?” from 1992’s “Bigger, Better, Faster, More!”— their first and only album. But Perry’s career has been anything but a one-hit wonder. After 4 Non Blondes disbanded in 1994 during the making of their second, never-completed album, Perry moved to Los Angeles and continued working, releasing a couple of solo albums but notably gaining notoriety as a sought-after producer and songwriter. Her unique and indomitable presence, from her tattooed-covered body and the tall, brimmed hats that seem permanently glued to her head and her powerful, throaty voice, has led so many famous talents, including Christina Aguilera, Brandi Carlile, and Dolly Parton, to work with her.
Those three luminaries and others are interviewed in director Don Hardy’s documentary Linda Perry: Let It Die Here, and while their insights about Perry are nice to hear— Carlile in particular refers to Perry as a queer icon, recalling a fan letter she wrote to her when she was younger— they’re almost unnecessary in a film that quickly shows us everything we’re being told firsthand, and whose ground-breaking subject demands more than a talking heads-style exploration of her. Fortunately, these moments, occurring primarily in the first half of Let It Die Here, are the most routine aspects of Hardy’s film, which occasionally even utilizes fantastical animated sequences to creatively illustrate song lyrics. Hardy, who first met Perry when she offered to score his 2020 documentary Citizen Penn, gets incredibly close access to Perry both professionally and personally. The film’s most riveting sequences are when we get to watch Perry work with other artists in her studio, her first home in LA that she eventually had converted to her workspace because even after she moved out she loved it too much to let go of it. Early in the film, actress and musician Kate Hudson comes over, dragging a mood board in her wake; during their session, Perry tasks Hudson not with singing words, but humming and riffing to a melody, trying to get to the heart of the emotions without the lyrics in the way. We also frequently drop in on Perry working on film scores (she’s scoring the Mila Kunis-starring Netflix movie Luckiest Girl Alive for the bulk of the movie), and that process is arguably as intriguing, seeing when she asks the dialogue to be turned off so she can really tune in to the feelings the images are expressing on screen. That doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface of her singular talent, the extent of which unfolds throughout the film both in candid moments like those and in sit-down interviews in which she discusses her process or recollects specific moments in her career— notably, when she demanded to rerecord “What’s Up?” after the album’s producer remixed it against her specifications (her version was the one that was ultimately released and became a hit, although she was denied a producer credit).
But Let It Die Here is concerned with a lot more than just a portrait of an artist at work. Hardy drops in on Perry at a key juncture in her life, when she is both undergoing some intense medical procedures (Perry elects to have a double mastectomy after some routine tests following a breast reduction surgery reveals she has cancer) and dealing with her mother’s declining health and eventual passing; she took care of her throughout her life, even though she cites abuse she suffered at her hands as a child as the cause of lasting trauma. It’s in the second half of the film when these incidents really come to a head that the tough and intimidating persona so built up through both on-camera depictions of Perry and testimonials on her from interviewees is broken down into someone whose vulnerability is her strength. As a biography, Let It Die Here is less than comprehensive (structurally, it’s driven by theme, not chronological facts), and there’s a sense of tiptoeing around some aspects of her life, such as the reasons to why 4 Non Blondes broke up, or the specifics surrounding her marriage and eventual divorce from ex-wife Sara Gilbert. An interview with Perry’s longtime best friend suggests that meeting Sara changed everything for her, but despite Gilbert’s participation, the film doesn’t delve into their relationship much beyond that statement, outside of it leading to Perry becoming a mother and subsequently grappling with how that relates to her relationship with her own mom. But there’s no need for Let It Die Here— the title culled from the life-affirming anthem Perry pens at the film’s conclusion—to deliver the cinematic equivalent of Perry’s Wikipedia page, and thankfully it doesn’t attempt to, instead striking an equal balance between ruminating on an icon who seemingly effortlessly broke down doors for women and queer people in an industry that remains dominated by straight men, and bringing her down to earth, painting a portrait of a woman learning to make peace with her past, present, and future.
Linda Perry: Let It Die Here had its world premiere at the 2024 Tribeca Film Festival on June 6. Runtime: 93 minutes.
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