The Importance of Being Morris: Fop vs. Fop and Duality in Purple Rain

By Lana Cooper

When one thinks of deep, philosophical thought-provoking films, Purple Rain hardly springs to mind. On the surface, it all seems very superficial: the high-gloss patina of its music video-inspired cinematography, the glorious costumes and coiffures epitomizing the height of Minneapolis club life circa 1984, etc. It all seems like a self-serving display of pomp and circumstance as concocted by Prince in this semi-autobiographical tale to showcase his ample talents.

Beneath the surface, however, there is much more at work than just the dazzling array of images put forth and set to song in Purple Rain. The soundtrack itself covers a wide variety of territory from telling a simple story ("Darling Nikki”, “The Beautiful Ones"), to balls-out swagger ("Baby, I’m a Star"), to layers of meaning hidden beneath a veil of cryptic (and curiously colorful) lyrics ("Computer Blue”, “Purple Rain"). All of these emotions and aspects of the human condition conveyed in the film colors Purple Rain as something of a morality play for the ‘80s, albeit morality shown in shades of grey ... or purple.

The film’s main protagonist played by Prince, known simply as “The Kid”, isn’t your traditional hero. There are aspects about his persona that are simultaneously endearing and hard to take. On one hand, he’s charismatic, talented, and charming. On the other, he’s selfish, insecure, and overly-controlling. As the song, “When Doves Cry” elaborates, The Kid may be—like his father—“too demanding” and “too bold”. Much of The Kid’s positive and negative traits mirror those of his father, a former Minneapolis scene musician known as Francis L. (Clarence Williams III) who had squandered his talent through his own arrogance. In turn, Francis takes his frustration out on his long-suffering wife, The Kid’s mother (also a former singer/musician who came under her husband’s influence), a frequent victim of her husband’s domestic abuse.

On a personal level, The Kid battles with himself, trying to stave off the influence of his home life. He continually comes to his mother’s defense when his father argues with and beats her, often throwing himself into harm’s way. Yet, at the same time, The Kid thinks nothing of cracking his girlfriend, Apollonia, five across the eyes whenever she defies The Kid’s wishes and attempts to further her own musical career.

On a professional level, The Kid is constantly at odds with himself in attempting to achieve greater fame. Already famous on the club scene he dominates, The Kid is one of the big fish in the pond and may want to take it his band, The Revolution, to a bigger, national stage. Again, he may be his own worst enemy. His arrogance and dictatorial nature alienate him from his well-intentioned bandmates from whom he demands sycophantic devotion without valuing their individual contributions. As a result, The Kid ends up breeding resentment, hurt, and invalidated feelings among his friends in The Revolution.

The concept of “man vs. himself” is an intriguing one, but for dramatic and film purposes—particularly a stylistically shot, rapid jump-cut laden film like Purple Rain—inner turmoil and self-destruction alone just don’t cut it.

In order to have a true morality play, you need a villain to serve as the hero’s foil. The Kid is something of a petulant brat (although much deeper issues are at work for this defense mechanism) with an overabundance of self-confidence. In order to make The Kid a more palatable hero, Purple Rain needs a villain, a physical opposing force to bring forth the hero’s good qualities.

That’s where Morris Day comes in.

The character of Morris offers a sharp contrast to The Kid, yet mirrors many of the same traits. Both are charismatic and talented, yet incredibly vain and arrogant. They battle for the same girl and battle for domination of the same club on the same Minneapolis scene. They’re cut from the same cloth with the same passions, but view the world in different ways.

The two characters share a similar trait of narcissism. They’re both a pair of preening pricks, yet extremely likeable in spite of themselves. The Kid may know that he could have any woman in the club that he wants by either slyly smiling at them or playing it icily cool, but Morris makes a blatant display of his vanity—going so far as to incorporate it into The Time’s stage show. His friend/attendant/minion, Jerome, funkily prances onto the stage during their set to offer Morris his gilded mirror, prompting him to bust out a comb and style his pompadour for the crowd.

Offstage, Morris blatantly propositions numerous women before openly insulting them with hilarious put-downs. In a scene played for humorous effect and as an insight into Morris’ character, he thinks nothing of sicking Jerome on one of his cast-offs who appears seemingly out of nowhere to berate him. Morris responds in kind by having Jerome dispose of the loud-mouthed lady in the nearest dumpster, deadpanning his disapproval with the inimitable line: “Lord! Such nastiness.”

In the opening moments of the film, The Kid is shown in full regalia, studiously applying his eye makeup without so much as a smile. By contrast, Morris is shown wearing a rather plebian tank top, head rag, and boxers while vacuuming his pad. Even while going about humdrum chores, Morris is giddily eyeing up his neatly-pressed club suit hanging on the door, posing with it on the hanger in front of him in the mirror and cackling to himself at what prospects may come as he’s wearing it that night. His appearance is nearly cartoonish and you can almost see him twirling an invisible Snidely Whiplash mustache marking him as Purple Rain‘s villain.

Morris Day ‘s comedic timing (particularly in his scenes with the equally good Jerome Benton) is genius. Together, the duo provide much of the film’s humor, and making Purple Rain entertaining on numerous levels.

Pegged as a natural by the acting coach brought in to coax better performances from the cast of acting amateurs, Day adds a jolt of comic relief to an otherwise dry film rampant with wooden acting. Morris is total camp and plays it to the hilt! He exudes a take-no-prisoners joie de vivre and imbues even the most mundane line with character. ("You should see my home. It’s ... so exciting!") While there’s something comical about Morris doing his housework in his skivvies (which begs the question, where was Jerome and why wasn’t he vacuuming!?), in spite of his clownish exterior, Morris is not inept, nor is he one-dimensional.

Although they share the same passion for music and performing, the contrast between the protagonist and antagonist’s bands speaks volumes about their respective frontmen. The Time’s music in Purple Rain is all about dancing, partying, and the superficial. Dissimilarly, The Revolution’s music is much more introspective and personal. (This personal, possibly self-cathartic aspect of The Kid’s music may corroborate his hesitancy to relinquish songwriting duties to his bandmates, Wendy and Lisa, who continually offer him their material.)

But wait a minute ... can we get back to the clothes (because you know Morris would certainly want to!)?

Fashion was a big part of Purple Rain’s influence, but it also sharply defined the characters in the film. Let’s face it. Both The Kid and Morris are 80s neo-fops. They both possess feminine attributes in spite of their undeniable virility. The Kid sports a mixture of modern, Edwardian, Louis XIV style, defining his character as both regal, yet fragile. On the flipside, Morris rocks the flashy, 30s gangster-style suits and matching Stacy Adams shoes. When we’re introduced to them in the film, Morris wears a gold lamé and zebra print suit, draped in a long, white coat cashmere coat (which we later find out costs $400). The Kid is shown wearing his white, ruffled shirt and purple satin Edwardian jacket. Intentional or not, there may be some sartorial symbolism at play pitting Morris’ golden, worldly royalty against The Kid’s spiritually regal purple. If the clothes make the man, the message they send is one of The Kid’s music coming from a pure place—doing it for the music as opposed to the money. As evidenced by his frequent primping in front of the mirror and ostentatious displays on-stage and off, Morris has much more in mind than just his art.

Sure, he loves to have a good time and spends the duration of Purple Rain in the pursuit of women and cash, but whereas The Kid is merely selfish, Morris is calculating.

Business remains business and is separate from Morris’ performance onstage. Conversely, The Kid uses his pulpit to hurl thinly veiled insults in the form of songs directed at those in his life. He is passive-aggressive, where Morris, by contrast, leaves his personal business out of his music, preferring face-to-face confrontations off-stage.

Along with his trusted friend/attendant, Jerome, he plots to knock The Kid from the top of the club scene. Morris E. Day does not like to share the limelight. He talks in the ear of club owner, Billie, planting the seed that The Kid isn’t pulling in crowds like he used to. Rather than appeal to any emotional level, Morris operates purely from a business standpoint to make his case. By that token, he isn’t really malicious in his intent – just Machiavellian. In fact, there’s a sort of joyful glee about Morris when he’s outlining his unscrupulous plans and giggling to himself and with Jerome. He’s unabashedly materialistic and derives pleasure from business, as well as his artistic pursuits.

He also makes pleasure his business when he attempts to wrest The Kid’s girlfriend, Apollonia from him. It’s not so much that he desperately wants Apollonia: she’s just another conquest and another potential notch on the bedpost. He uses her ambition and goals to further his own agenda. She’s a pawn with possible “benefits” in Morris’ attempt to demoralize The Kid and get him out of the picture. By corrupting his already tumultuous relationship with the one person he can truly claim as his, Morris disrupts The Kid’s precarious sense of balance.

In order to chip away at The Kid’s relationship, Morris plays the charming devil by dangling a star spot in the all-girl group he’s formed in front of Apollonia. Notably, at one point during the film, she tells him “Your horns are showing, Morris.” This further touts his status as the designated villain in this musical morality play. With his mirror and manservant in tow, Morris Day (the character, not the actor playing the role of the same name) embodies the venial sins of greed, lust, and vanity.

Ah! Vanity! More than just the Prince-given name of his one-time muse, Denise Matthews; it’s a key component of Purple Rain, as are some of the other seven deadly sins. It wouldn’t be unreasonable to believe that even during his Purple period, Prince had a strong sense of polarizing forces of light and darkness as evidenced by his later work and spiritual epiphany.

This sentiment and Prince’s conversion was further underscored in Purple Rain‘s unofficial sequel, 1990’s Graffiti Bridge. Following an epiphany in 1988 surrounding his Black Album which was yanked after a limited run of 500,000 copies by Prince himself who believed the album to be “evil”, Prince’s music took on a much different direction. While still somewhat sexual in nature, he much more favored hymns of praise than odes to girls “in a hotel lobby / masturbating with a magazine”.

Graffiti Bridge, like its predecessor Purple Rain, was an album that was also an accompanying soundtrack to a Prince-crafted concept. This time around, Albert Magnoli’s slick, visual direction was replaced with Prince at the helm in addition to screenwriting and acting duties within the film.

In its original incarnation, Graffiti Bridge was to shed more light on Morris and The Time. Although it’s not nearly as cohesive (or coherent, at times) a film as Purple Rain, Graffiti Bridge picks up where Rain left off. While present in Purple Rain the concept of duality as it pertains to Morris and The Kid is amped up even further. The film’s narrator notes that “Two souls fight. One wants money. One wants light.”

Setting the plot in motion, club owner Billie passes away and leaves his empire to both Morris and The Kid. In the years elapsed, The Kid has found himself to be somewhat more spiritually grounded, although still struggling with his inner demons. As he writes in letters to his now-deceased father, “Sometimes I feel cursed to make the same mistakes you made.” Morris, on the other hand, has given in completely to his darker, more “business-like” side. He doesn’t see the value of The Kid’s more uplifting, spiritual direction to his music and sees him as bringing down the club’s profit margin. He retreads over familiar territory by trying to gain complete ownership of their shared scene. Morris’ symbolic vilification is further underscored in a musical sequence in which he’s singing and dancing surrounded by fire (it couldn’t be more obvious than if he was given a pitchfork and a tail!).

The film reneges on its promise to flesh out Morris’ back story. Very little is revealed of his perspective except that in a telling line, he mentions that his “family never had anything and I intend to keep what I got.” Like The Kid, his upbringing and family colors who he has become and what he values. He cryptically alludes to having taken in The Kid and given him money and guidance years ago.

As both films allude, “deep down, there’s good in Morris.” Since not much is ever explicitly revealed about the character, one can only assume that Morris values not only discipline, but loyalty, exhibiting both in his personal and business relationships. As evidenced in both films, he treats Jerome as more of an equal than The Kid (initially) treats Wendy, Lisa, and the rest of his band, The Revolution (who are all gone and replaced with a new crew by the time Graffiti Bridge rolls around, while Morris’ group remains somewhat intact).

In the end of both films, tragedy that befalls the scene brings about a rare show of emotion from Morris, ultimately finding him redeemed by the transformative power of music. He may value “the finer things” and take pleasure in asserting his authority, but he does value friendship and human life. It just takes a bit more to awaken this aspect of Morris’ persona, buried beneath his own defense mechanisms and drive for success. Playing off of these brief glimpses into the character’s soul, Morris isn’t without a heart. It’s there, he just does not wear it on his sleeve as The Kid does (after all, it might clash with his Stacy Adams shoes!).

Punk’s Purple Passion

By Bill Gibron

Punks loved Prince.

We really did. Sure, we were a minor blip on the Tallahassee cultural scene, barely a brazen clove cigarette among the Molly Hatchet chew and chaw of Northern Florida life, but we prided ourselves on being more open to all musical experiences, much more than our Confederate Flag-waving brethren. If the Clash taught us anything besides the what it was like to be a “White Man in the Hammersmith Palaise”, it was that reggae was as important to pure rock revivalism as the Ramones’ three chord thrash. Ska took it one step further, the pork pie hats and razor ties doing little to hide the obvious connection between soul and the syncopation of hardcore. Sure, our Mohawks and weird waxed hairdos stuck out as much as the torn T-shirts with “Cash from Chaos” spray painted on the front, but college is often the time where one finds themselves, and in this case, the ever-expanding horizon of alternative music was the rebellious path we choose.

Many of us worked for WFSU radio, the public station that allowed for free format shows five days a week (it was all classical during the weekends). Some of us were lucky to man the “main drive: shifts. Others pulled the all night insanity of midnight to six in the morning. Together we formed a band of like minded maniacs who thought—rightfully or wrongfully—that we could take a bunch of backwater listeners and instill in them an appreciation of all things Jam, Damned, and Sex Pistols. Our station manager, a graduate student with a wispy beard and a penchant for old school Pink Floyd, used to scold us for sneaking in songs with naughty words, and warned us against straying too far from the always pliable programming playlists. Still, we had a great deal of choice in what we championed, and as callers clamored for AC/DC and Lynyrd Skynyrd, we blasted the latest from Television, Talking Heads, and the occasional cut from an up and coming unknown (like this one Irish band called U2 ...).

And Prince. As I said before, we loved Prince. He was racy and provocative, enigmatic and ever-so spiritual. His androgynous look reminded us of the growing New Romantic movement sweeping the UK, while the combo platter personality of his albums (funk one moment, followed by a ballad, accented by a balls-out rocker) reflected our melting pot musical mentality. Besides, he was a genius, and at the time, an unappreciated one at that. We would drag out Controversy during a typical day’s selections and the audience would usually revolt in a “what is this shit” sort of response. There were the occasional calls of encouragement, and the manager loved that we could balance our shows with selections from artists “of color” (Black Uhuru and Bad Brains were also turntable constants). Still, it was odd to see a bunch of guys in bad hair and torn clothes coming together to enjoy a man whose music was clearly aimed at a decidedly different “urban” demographic.

That was especially true when Prince played Tallahassee in February of 1983 as part of his 1999 tour. When said record came out, a bunch of us got together in the studio and listened to it, track by track. We built up our favorites instantly, spinning “Little Red Corvette” and “Let’s Pretend We’re Married” before regular radio followed suit. We probed his back catalog, resurrected classics like “When U Were Mine” and “Head” from Dirty Mind. We marveled at the man’s range and sat silently as he worked his way through a heavy groove. As the later part of punk was teaching us, music didn’t have to sound like rage and fury exclusively. It could be strange and synthesized, danceable and deranged, and still rebel against the strictures of a staid social structure. So naturally Prince was one of our pied pipers, and the minute tickets went on sale, several of us took the leap.

That night, we got dressed in our best punk attire. Two members of the local band The Slut Boys suited in up their dirty shirts and torn jeans. A couple others put the plaster to their pate and came up with hairdos of stunning shock value. Yours truly? I did a bit of the spike thing, dragged out an old Residents’ “Santa Dog” T, and put on a faded Goodwill sports coat. After all, this was a big occasion. As we entered the Leon County Civic Center, it was clear who the minority would be this evening. Local couples, dressed up in attire both flashy and fine, starred gobsmacked at the group of weird white boys who had just invaded. Even better, our seats had us surrounded by men who meant to show their ladies a good time, not a bunch of crass college kids without a clue as to the proper way of going out for the evening.

As we joked and jousted, daring each other to dance to the ever-present soul streaming out of the PA, we realized our position as outsiders. But at the same time, there was no reason for concern from the “other” side, since we all had a similar frame of sonic reference. As things started to heat up and the lights finally went down, the three part epic that was the concert finally got underway. First, Vanity 6 did their scandalous sex thing. The Time soon followed with Morris Day winning over converts from all parts of the crowd (even us—What Time is It quickly became another mandatory record among the others in-studio). But when Prince appeared, decked out in the same blazing purple attire that would make the “1999” video so iconic (the stage was also the spitting image of said set-up), the music morphed, and the magic began.

From then on, there were no racial barriers. For the next two hours, there was no black or white. When he played “Controversy” we all sang in unison, feet stomping to the same beat, hearts feeling the same sense of electrified perfection. As a performer, Prince was magnificent, putting forth the kind of tour de force effort that would define him as a certified genius for decades to come. There were even spontaneous signs of togetherness, as when I and a member of the Slut Boys did The Bump with two striking African American girls during “D.M.S.R.”. When he finally left the stage after the last encore, audience and artist dripping with sweat, the lights came up. You could actually see the heat signature streaming across the crowd. We exchanged glances and handshakes (and a couple of hugs), and then headed out into the brisk night air.

A makeshift party soon started over at one of the gang’s house. We put on 1999 and spun around silly remembering the moments from the show. We sang along as Prince pouted over a certain “Lady Cab Driver” and began the equally important ritual of smoking pot. Beer flowed and everyone told stories of situations we all had experience, repeating them as if to make sure that we’d all confirm they actually happened. As the early morning hours crept toward sunrise, we finally split, each of us hoping to catch a few winks before school/work/life came calling again. Hours later, we were back at the station, heads filled with anecdotes that we just had to share with the rest of the staff. As a pointed postscript, someone put on “Ronnie Talk to Russia”. Later that night, the Slut Boys took their usual place on the Bullwinkle’s stage and, during their set, played an impromptu version of another Controversy special, “Jack U Off”.

Sure, today it all sounds so wistful and naïve. When you look back, the whole concept of skinheads against bigotry, suburban spoiled sports claiming their love of diversity by owning a couple of Rick James records hardly qualifies as equality. Even worse, the rift that developed when rap went “gansta” drove many a punk fan away from the wholly complementary genre. Apparently, they could tolerate boasting, “breaks,” and bleak looks at urban life, just as long as there were no gats or anti-women violence involved. At some point, Prince himself faded out of the conversation, his superstardom with Purple Rain acting like a spoiler to what was, for most Caucasians, a rather private party. Still, there was no denying that, at the precipice of his popularity, punks loved the fey Purple god. To us, he was a true trendsetter.

this music changed my life...

squirrelgrease said:

What a great job, sitting around writing about Prince and getting paid for it. Where do I sign up???

Too bad they kick it off by misquoting the movie/song.

One of the best things about P is how his music brings together people of all ages, races, social classes, genders. I really feel bad for those that weren't around in 80's to see how Prince brought together people of all types. I think back and many concerts and performers before him had a certain type of following- stoners, black audiences, white audiences, young middle class, male or female crowds, punks, college crowds... music that grew out of certain areas-Jersey, inner city of NY, gay clubs, chicago sound, etc. If you look at the history of music, different sounds/styles of music grew out of certain times and areas where there were one type of race and/or class of people. Prince did truly bring together the most diverse crowds I have ever scene assembled.

micknme said:

I agree. The scene at a prince show during the 80's was amazing, but even today the crowd is still very mixed, albeit a little older. I see a lot of young faces, but many of the fans have grown up and now have their family at the show. I can't wait myself...I have a little one on the way and I will be taking him or her to as many shows as her mom will let me.

XNY said:

Congrats!

Genesia said:

Too bad that's all you noticed.

squirrelgrease said:

Does anyone know what transpired between Prince and Albert Magnoli, aside from ego, that ended in Prince directing the film and not Magnoli? I've always wondered about this, and what the movie would have been like with Magnoli at the wheel.

XNY said:

Might have had real locations...actual drama... and been a decent sequel basically, instead of the MAD tv-esque thing they ended up with.

mostbeautifulboy said:

co-sign