The most interesting thing about glitter is the grime beneath. That’s one reason why Todd Haynes’s smokey cinematic impression of the 70s English glam scene is one of the best rock music movies out there. This isn’t a biography of David Bowie and Iggy Pop. Rather, it treats their stories like folklore. Haynes changes all of the names, plays with known facts and known rumor, uses as much music from the time as he can afford (though no Bowie songs, as ol’ Ziggy didn’t approve of Haynes’s script) and mixes his own cocktail. It’s a strong one that leaves you dazed at the end. While he’s borrowing things, Haynes also uses the structure of Citizen Kane, planting several homages to Welles along the way. The film is set in 1984, ten years after glitter rock god Brian Slade (pretty boy Jonathan Rhys Meyers, ripped straight off an old album cover) got shot dead onstage and reporter Christian Bale, an old glam fan himself who once played the records, wore the spangles and leaped into the flame, investigates the rumor that Slade is secretly alive and in hiding. He speaks to people who once knew Slade and they share their stories. We have no idea if those stories true, but they do exist. They hang in the air, unavoidable to anyone breathing it. Todd Haynes undresses the rock star here, figuratively and literally, but he also understands that the truth can be elusive, even more so when dealing with those who assume outrageous identities for a living. For all of its indulgences (Oscar Wilde was an alien who started it all—gotta admit, I like that), this is just a story about people. Their lies, their dreams, their sadness, the things that haunt them. You don’t need to have danced yourself out of the womb or freaked out on a Moonage Daydream to get it.