The United States vs. Billie Holiday.

Many, many people told me The United States vs. Billie Holiday (streaming on Hulu) was bad, but my God did they undersell it. This movie sucks.

And it’s not that it sucks from the get-go; the first half-hour is actually okay, so you think, oh, this might be a serviceable music biopic about a really pivotal figure not just in music history, but in American civil rights history. The second half hour is worse, and you start to see the lack of focus in the script. By the last half hour, though, this thing is so far off the rails that you might start to question whether this was even a movie in the first place. It’s so bad that I can’t even really begin to argue Andra Day’s awards case, because she’s stuck in this very terrible, badly written, badly directed movie.

There’s a good story here, even if this movie doesn’t tell it. Billie Holiday was hounded by the federal government for nearly two decades because of “Strange Fruit,” one of her signature songs, a song written by Abel Meeropol about lynchings. Because she refused to stop singing it in live performances, they harassed her, cut off her license to perform in NYC cabarets (which I can’t believe was a real thing until 1967, and arrested her on drug charges. Holiday was an addict, and her celebrity also made her a useful target for post-Prohibition hardliners looking for other ways to regulate the behavior of Americans. Holiday’s life naturally offers the peaks and valleys you’d want in a Hollywood biography.

Instead, Pulitzer Prize-winning playwright Suzan Lori-Parks’ script for The United States vs. Billie Holiday adds one ridiculous fabrication after another, and suffers from ham-fisted directorial work from Lee Daniels (The Butler, Precious) that do Holiday and the viewers a series of injustices. Day is good, I think, and she certainly does an expert impression of Holiday’s speaking and singing voices. Trevante Rhodes (Moonlight) is in a similar boat, doing what I think is great work in a terrible role as Jimmy Fletcher, the real-life undercover agent who entraps Holiday in a drug sting, although in movie world they end up having an affair. He’s working for Harry Anslinger, who truly did hound Holiday to death; Anslinger is played here by Garrett Hedlund, and calling his performance “one-note” would imply one more note than it actually contains.

I can’t even express how much I loathed the last half of this movie, though. The lighting is weird the entire time, not in a way that evokes its era, but in a way that makes you want to adjust your television, or maybe go get a glaucoma test. Then Daniels decides to start shifting within scenes from full color to black and white and back again, adding nothing except confusion and delay. Holiday’s childhood trauma comes to Fletcher not from her telling him about it, or one of her confidants doing so, but because he shoots up with her retinue and then sees her memories during his high.

Day’s performance might be the film’s only redeeming quality, although this movie is way beyond redemption. The character is just so poorly written that it’s hard to say whether this is a great performance, or a game performance along with a great impersonation. Holiday gets off some great one-liners and a clever soliloquy or two, but there’s no depth to the character here, and especially no real exploration of just why she continued singing “Strange Fruit” even though doing so jeopardized her career and her liberty. There’s a completely made-up scene where she and Fletcher just happen upon the aftermath of a lynching, but it’s so late in the movie that it can’t explain anything, and its inclusion here is so inept that it seemed like it might have been intended as a dream sequence or memory – except that Fletcher wouldn’t be in a memory like that, so, no, this is supposed to be real.

Nobody saw The Nest, but I would have given Carrie Coon a nomination over Day, and if the Academy was going to nominate an actress from a bad movie, they could just as easily have gone with Sophia Loren for The Life Ahead (more of a mediocre, sentimental movie than an outright mess). I just can’t get over what a crime it was to take an American musical icon who took a principled stand on race and turn her into a two-dimensional figure at the heart of a disjointed, overdirected film like this one.