After years of Hollywood inventions of the Native American, whether fashioned by John Ford in scenic Monument Valley or "crafted" by Kevin Costner in a patronizing "Lawrence of Dakota" scenario, Smoke Signals refreshingly proclaimed in 1999 that contemporary Native Americans were alive and well and struggling like any other Americans. This "invisible" contemporary ethnic group suddenly appeared on the screen as real people, accurately revealing their tremendous sense of humor and way of life—thanks in large part to the creative Native American principals behind and in front of the camera that controlled the project. Now, in 2002, writer Sherman J. Alexie, Jr. doubles in the director's chair in The Business of Fancydancing, a title taken from his first collection of poetry.

Evan Adams expands on his less rounded Smoke Signals character to play Seymour Polatkin, a largely autobiographical stand-in for Alexie (aside from the sexuality)—an angst ridden gay poet whom white Americans "listen to" for insights about Native American culture. Shown over various stages of his life, the older bearded Seymour has grown more comfortable with his sexuality, his cultural background, and personal struggles, but sixteen years earlier the young co-valedictorian from the Spokane Indian Reservation certainly had many issues.

Any Reservation Indian suffers hardships when stepping into the outside world, and Alexie represents the various scenarios symbolically with the angry Aristotle Joseph (Gene Tagaban) as the smart Indian who quits to return to the Rez, jokester Mouse (Swil Kanim) as the talented "stay at home" Indian, girlfriend Agnes (Michelle St. John) as the urban-reared "half-breed" who seeks her Indian roots on the Rez, and Seymour as the poet-warrior who ambitiously strives to succeed in the white man's world. In the hands of most directors, these stereotypes would flounder, but Alexie knows the territory intimately and infuses real flesh and blood into the characters over the uneven script.

The three male characters all suffer from alcoholism but deal with it differently. Seymour channels his ambition to actively control it through AA meetings and expresses himself through poetry while Mouse and Aristotle both escape Life's problems through their alcoholism. For them, the reservation has become much like the "prison" that Seymour sees it as, and Mouse inevitably dies from insane substance abuse. Despite being one of the bright ones with a potential medical career, Aristotle never feels he belongs in the white man's world and gives up fighting "Columbus and Custer" with number 2 pencils to return to daily struggles of good days and bad days on the reservation.

Meanwhile, Seymour remains in Seattle to continue his collegiate studies. Although few details from that period are shown, Seymour does refer to the difficult coping period. Alexie very nicely shows his personality split through early mirror images (reminiscent of Hitchcock), a poignant funeral scene contrasting a mute Seymour with a heartbreaking howling version, and a later literal split where one Seymour stays on the reservation while the "other" Seymour drives back to Seattle.

Sexuality issues also play a part in his dual nature, and Alexie may shock a few Pow Wow devotees by associating images of Seymour's fancydancing with dancing in a gay bar, in a sense identifying himself with another "tribe" outside mainstream society (confirmed when his white lover Steven declares, "They're not your tribe anymore; I'm your tribe"). But Pow Wows themselves have become modern manifestations of the pseudo Indian culture—a non-traditional gathering that seeks to preserve a semblance of the old ways. Describing his sexuality as "two-spirited," Seymour obviously loves Agnes a great deal but can't commit himself fully as a gay man. Similarly, he sheds the feathers of the fancydance outfit, and the veneer of his former life disappears—although 95% of his poetry reflects his reservation experiences.

Despite natural flashes of humor that most often occur during Seymour's poetry readings or his encounter with a hostile interviewer (one liners and stories that sound very much like Alexie), The Business of Fancydancing plays much more somberly than Smoke Signals. Issues of identity and balancing between two cultures predominate, but writer's issues and family forgiveness also make their way into the script. Although extraneous material interrupts the unity of the film, it does lend authenticity. The personal intimacy of the material, including quips that could easily be recorded from one of Alexie's numerous book presentations, cues the audience that this is an honest slice of life.

Alexie includes small touches that most white directors would overlook, but Native audiences will certainly recognize. The poetic description of Seymour's grandmother is priceless: "[she] smells like frybread, venison, coffee, wood smoke, old blankets, and aspirin...smells like she could live forever." A little later, when Seymour arrives for the funeral at night, he doesn't get out of his car immediately and knock on the door (like white people). He sits in the car silently waiting. Aristotle wordlessly emerges from the house eventually, approaches the car, and hands him a green apple (an object that we already realize has great emotional meaning for Seymour). It's moments like this that make the film worthwhile.

Audiences will likely struggle with occasional over-the-top acting, the rapid shifts in time, and the film's cadence and non linear structure (at times wondering what the hell is going on), but patience will reward them with lyrical scenes that communicate Alexie's unique point of view remarkably well--very much like his poetry. The first digital shots of co-valedictorians Seymour and Aristotle look like home movie outtakes, but they don't represent the overall quality of the film. Decidedly low budget, The Business of Fancydancing marks a promising directorial debut from a voice that cries out for a larger audience.

After the commercial success of Smoke Signals, Alexie had numerous screenwriting offers, but he found that he didn't enjoy writing with restrictions:

"When I write prose, I sit alone and create what I want to say, how I want to say it, leave out what I want to leave out, and be as strange or irritating as I want to be. I wanted to make a movie with the same ability to try things, discard them, change them as I went, and not have someone with a checkbook telling me I can't do it that way."