Halloween is over. I’ve sampled almost every mini Nestle chocolate bar I dished out, sucked on some Twizzlers, and threw the unwanted packages of Skittles in a Ziploc baggie, to be dropped off at a homeless shelter next week.

It was an uneventful night.

Not enough kids, probably because we’re located at the very end of a dead end street, which is kind of spooky for those little supermen and princesses, who want a quick and easy supply of sugar to fill up their plastic pumpkins and grocery bags.

But I remember really spooky Halloweens. Psycho neighbours dressed up like Frankenstein who made me pee in my pants from fright, and one party at my parents’ home, back in the late 70’s. Aside from people vomiting everywhere, and a swarm of uninvited guests ending up in my parent’s bed and bedroom, there was music blasting from my boom box, people doing the Time Warp in my kitchen, and pseudo playboy bunnies and hippies gathered round the piano singing songs from the Phantom of the Paradise , that musical film from 1974, featuring singer/song writer, Paul Williams who played Swan.

Skip to yesterday, on a very long flight home from Turkey. I was not thrilled being the only person awake on the plane, other than an angelic looking Turkish baby girl with turquoise eyes kicking the back of my seat for the entire time. Frantically looking to occupy the next 10 hours, I  found the name and source of the song I’ve been singing for the past 30 years, buried in a feature length documentary among Air Canada’s Contemporary film offerings. The documentary that tweaked this delicious memory, was Paul Williams Still Alive (2011), by Stephen Kessler, American filmmaker

As a teen, I regularly belted out “Our Love”  from The Phantom of the Paradise,   while soaking in my brown bathtub behind the floral curtain thinking about the current unattainable boy I was longing for. Anyone hovering around the 50-year mark would know Paul Williams and his songs of love and aloneness.

In Paul Williams Still Alive, Kessler follows his 5’2”, once shaggy blonde-haired teenage idol as he makes appearances at conventions and concerts in Canada, the U.S. and the Philippines.

Nostalgic about his own youth, Kessler invites the audience back in time, to revisit the good ole days with clips of numerous songs written by Williams like “The Rainbow Connection” from The Muppet Movie, “Evergreen” sung by Streisand in A Star is Born and “Just an Old Fashioned Love Song” made famous by Karen Carpenter.

Although the film is about Williams’ story of fame, addiction and recovery, Kessler is on camera for the most part of the documentary and his self-deprecating humour becomes a backdrop for his own issues of self-doubt.

New York Times writer, Andy Webster, interpreted Kessler’s humour as manipulative, writing in a 2012 movie review that “Mr. Kessler exploits Mr. Williams for comic mileage, milking chuckles from the sight of a faded star reduced to playing hotels, Las Vegas gigs, the Philippines and a fan convention in Ontario.”( Webster is actually referring to a fan convention in Winnipeg, which we all know is not in Ontario)

I disagree with Webster. Kessler’s humour allows for an open dialogue about life and the definition of success.

Although it becomes obvious that  Kessler wants to know if Williams is disappointed with the state of his career, what eventually emerges is Kessler’s realization that Williams is happier than ever, now that he is sober and well.

Now that’s definitely not spooky.

Paul Williams (out of his role from “The Swan”, at top)