REVIEW: Velvet Goldmine By Luke Buckmaster (bucky@alphalink.com.au)
Cast: Jonathan Rhys Meyers, Ewan McGregor, Christian Bale, Toni Collette, Eddie Izzard, Emily Woof, Michael Feast Director: Todd Haynes Writers: Todd Haynes, James Lyons Australian theatrical release date: November 5, 1998
>From 0 stars (bomb), to 5 stars (a masterpiece): 1 star
In the classic Trains Plains and Automobiles, Steve Martin gave the late John Candy some valuable advice: "If you're going to tell a story, have a point - it makes it so much more interesting for the listener!" This quote has never been truer than in Velvet Goldmine, a pointless and apathetic examination of nothing in particular, and a lot of it.
Writer-director Todd Haynes has created a controversial and original piece; one that doesn't rely so much on its main characters but rather whom they might represent. David Bowie, for example, bears a striking resemblance to Velvet Goldmine's fictional protagonist, Brian Slade (Jonathan Rhys Meyers), a bisexual flower power rock star. But this isn't a character study, nor is it a study of contrasting eras and social trends - all of which would have probably helped the film keep its stride, had it managed to choose which one it wanted to focus on.
The complex narrative is set in two different eras: 1971-74, when Slade fakes his own assassination during a concert, and ten years later, when reporter Arthur Stuart (Christian Bale) is asked to investigate what happened to the former pop icon. Arthur has deep familiarization with Slade and his movement, having been affected emotionally and sexually by his radical ethics.
Jonathan Rhys Meyers looks laughable in the title role, giving Slade a pompous and wanky presence thanks to a weak screenplay and some extravagant 70's costumes. "I like boys…and I like girls," says the actor, looking as stupid as the film itself. Any chance of examining Slade's character is conveniently avoided, as Haynes seems much more concerned with showcasing homosexual orgies rather than studying what makes him kick. As a result, I didn't understand or care about his actions, as Slade comes across as a preying-on-school-boys bastard, and nothing more. The screenplay might have worked if Haynes had written Slade as effectively bastardly as someone like Chad in Neil LaButes In the Company of Men, but he reveals no level of talent that would allow coherent writing to last for more than just a couple of minutes.
Adding insult to, well, insult, Velvet Goldmine attempts to link the movements of its protagonist to the great Oscar Wilde, with dismal results. Since Todd Haynes has failed to create anything worthwhile himself, he takes a couple of people who made successes of themselves, and then tries to make the film successful. If either actually cared about this awful little film, David Bowe would sue, and Oscar Wilde would turn in his grave.
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