Sister Aimee isn’t the first cinematic portrait of the famed Canadian-American Pentecostal evangelist Sister Aimee Elizabeth Semple McPherson, and it probably won’t be the last, considering how completely bonkers her life was. A great movie has yet to be made about the charismatic figure, and the new film from married writing and directing team Samantha Buck and Marie Schlingmann doesn’t change that. Still, largely on the back of Anna Margaret Hollyman’s outstanding central performance, it’s charming enough to warrant attention.
The elements holding Sister Aimee back are largely the same ones that have made Sister Aimee’s life so difficult to successfully adapt. Her story is an incongruous mash-up of genres: musical comedy, religious satire, kidnapping drama, love story, border narrative and feminist fable are just a few that could fit.
It’s the kidnapping drama that seems to interest Buck and Schlingmann most, and it is one of the more bizarre elements of Sister Aimee’s biography. Rather than go for a dig into history, however, the directors instead imagine what might have happened during Aimee’s disappearance. The real-life version is just as strange as what the filmmakers conjure; in 1926, Sister Aimee had just gone for a swim in Venice Beach, California, when she disappeared. Presumed drowned, she was mourned for five weeks until she appeared in Mexico, stating that she’d been kidnapped and had freed herself. She was accused of faking it, and as a result the already famous woman became an international superstar.
In this film version, the philandering Aimee, tired of her ever-expanding flock and the trappings of fame, indulges her lover Kenny (Michael Mosley), who dreams of the Old West and heads South with him. They hire a sensible, slightly salty guide, Rey (Andrea Suárez Paz), and drive Mexico’s dusty roads, running into trouble with the wild, the law and one another. Aimee’s interest in Kenny cools as her relationship with Rey grows, and the chemistry between Hollyman’s Aimee and Suárez Paz’s Rey is subtle and satisfying. Meanwhile, back at home, Aimee’s deserted family and fans wonder where she could have gone.
Sister Aimee never establishes a firm rhythm, but it’s a swift 87 minutes, and the zany tonal shifts are, instead of off-putting, occasionally welcome. There is very much the sense that anything could happen, which is probably what it felt like when one was in the orbit of the real-life Sister Aimee. The final scenes sum this up perfectly, as Aimee gives a singing, tap-dancing performance in a jail, providing the mesmerizing Hollyman a chance to use all of her charm. She is not a particularly skilled singer or dancer, but she’s absolutely impossible to take your eyes off of. This is likely a case of art imitating life, as the real Sister Aimee was reportedly an uncannily charismatic individual.
The technical credits are all solid without being particularly notable, though the whole thing is lensed in a dreamy manner reminiscent of early sitcoms. There’s a lot of different styles happening, in terms of artistry, storytelling and performance here, and while not all of it works it is always dynamic. And the work in its entirety is forcefully feminist and subtly queer, which, when taken in tandem with Aimee’s evangelical ties, makes Sister Aimee both bold and timely.
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