I Saw the Light (2015) opens with what appears to be archival footage of a record executive explaining why he liked Hank Williams: Hank didn’t care whether people liked him or not. An interesting observation, perhaps, but it raises a question the film never answers: if Hank didn’t care whether people liked him, why should we care whether this guy or anyone else did or didn’t?
After the opening credits, we’re introduced to Hank Williams (Tom Hiddleston) and Audrey Williams (Elizabeth Olsen) on their wedding day. Both actors feel fundamentally miscast. Hiddleston occasionally has to remind us that Hank was supposed to be a young man — at one point claiming that “the last time I checked,” he was 23. Yeah, but how long ago was that?
The bigger problem is that it’s difficult to see Hank and Audrey at all. The Marvel baggage is impossible to ignore even for non-Marvel fans such as myself. Rather than watching country music royalty tie the knot, it feels like the Scarlet Witch leaving Vision to elope with Loki.
There’s trouble in paradise early on. Hank informs Audrey that both her cooking and her singing need “ketchup.” I don’t know about the former, but the latter criticism is deserved. The film deliberately portrays Audrey as a talentless and delusional aspiring singer, while Hank’s treatment of her ranges from supportive white lies to brutal honesty to outright condescension.
Their arguments escalate into accusations that Hank is”crushing” Audrey’s dreams. They separate, and Audrey’s legal counsel unloads a catalogue of complaints: alcoholism, womanizing, a violent temper, erratic behavior, financial irresponsibility. The film acknowledges some of these flaws. Hank is rarely seen without a bottle in his hand, briefly enters and exits what appears to be rehab (they might as well show him quitting cold turkey), and flirts and eventually sleeps with a random chick named Ellie.
Yet I Saw the Light seems strangely reluctant to commit to its own criticisms. Audrey’s accusations are repeatedly undercut by her constant nagging, as though the filmmakers want to acknowledge Hank’s vices while simultaneously reassuring us that his future ex-wife is exaggerating out of spite. For instance, to counter Audrey’s claim that Hank is profligate, the film promptly clarifies that she was the one who ran up a massive furniture bill.
The lesson appears to be that “women can be vengeful when they are not on your side.” Fortunately for Hank, they reconcile just in time for the couple to conceive a child. Nine months later, Audrey gives birth. I know that’s how it works; what I mean is that the movie simply skips the entire pregnancy. That’s when I realized Audrey barely exists when Hank isn’t onscreen. If she weren’t based on a real person, you’d suspect she was an alcohol-induced hallucination.
Incidentally, at some point Hank is diagnosed with spina bifida occulta, a revelation the film treats less as a medical condition than as a convenient all-purpose explanation for his addiction problems.
The film’s title comes from a song Hank sings to his newborn child roughly halfway through the film. If the kid is that light Hank saw, that reinforces the impression that Audrey’s primary narrative function was to serve as the mechanism through which Hank became a father. Hank relapses shortly afterward, so perhaps he unsaw the light?
The couple conceive a second child, but Audrey unilaterally chooses to terminate the pregnancy and blames the decision on Hank. They divorce and Hank moves on to a woman named Billie Jean, who talks like this: “I may just be a Bossier City kid, but I got enough sense to know you’re trouble, and you’re gonna tear me up.” The line sounds like like it would have been right at home in Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story. Either way, Hank dies before he gets the chance to prove her right.
His death is announced from the stage where he was scheduled to perform. The audience and musicians spontaneously break into a rendition of “I Saw the Light.” For a man supposedly indifferent to other people’s opinion, the closing scenes work overtime to convince us how beloved he was by people who never knew him. That may explain why we learn so little about Hank himself.
Like many biopics, I Saw the Light mistakes a chronology for a character study. Things happen. People come and go. Children are born. Records are sold. Then Hank dies. The story stops because his life stopped, but it doesn’t really conclude. Most frustratingly, the film offers almost no insight into his artistry. Asked about his songwriting, Hank dismisses his own creative process thus: “I write what I write and sing what I sing because that’s what I do.”
Yes — but how?
The film never appears interested in finding out. The light may be on, but nobody’s home.
