Velvet Goldmine (1998) Ewan McGregor, Jonathan Rhys Meyers, Toni Collette, Christian Bale, Eddie Izzard, Emily Woof, Michael Feast, Janet McTeer, Maraid McKinley. Written by Todd Haynes, based on a story by Haynes and James Lyons. Directed by Todd Haynes 120 minutes. Rated R, 1.5 stars (out of five stars)
Review by Ed Johnson-Ott, NUVO Newsweekly www.nuvo-online.com Archive reviews at http://us.imdb.com/M/reviews_by?Edward+Johnson-ott To receive reviews by e-mail at no charge, send subscription requests to pbbp24a@prodigy.com
Todd Haynes, acclaimed for his 1995 feature, "Safe," has pulled off quite a feat with "Velvet Goldmine." Incredibly, the writer-director manages to take the British glam-rock era, one of the most colorful, outrageous, fascinating periods in the history of contemporary music, and turn it into 120 minutes of unfocused, surrealistic crap. This overwrought mishmash of style without substance most closely resembles Ken Russell's film version of "Tommy," and it's just as annoying.
Essentially, "Velvet Goldmine" simply rips-off the story of David Bowie through his Ziggy Stardust days, with one crucial difference. Bowie was interesting and Brian Slade (Jonathan Rhys Meyers) is not. Bowie's breakthrough came in the '70s, when he pushed the prevailing hippie mentality into a more theatrical, androgynous zone. He achieved notoriety in England by dressing in a frock and trumpeting his bisexuality. Global success came when he adopted the persona of Ziggy Stardust, an orange- haired alien without eyebrows or defined gender, slinking about the stage in feathered boas, inventive make-up and bizarre clothing. With his out- of-date slang and cheesy sci-fi imagery, Bowie seemed less like a genuine rock singer and more like an actor playing one, but damned if he wasn't fun to watch. And it was easy to overlook his mannered, occassionally wince-inducing lyrical affectations, because the man wrote absolutely terrific songs.
During the Ziggy days, Bowie hit the publicity circuit with his look-a- like wife, Angela, even as rumors circulated about him being spotted in the sack with Mick Jagger. When Johnny Carson asked Angela if she was concerned about all the girls chasing her husband, she cooed "Oh no, darling, it's the boys I have to worry about." Shortly before ditching the Ziggy persona for a white-suited soul identity, Bowie told reporters of his belief that, sooner or later, a rock singer would be assassinated onstage.
Haynes takes it from there. In his story, Brian Slade fakes his own onstage death, but is exposed as a fraud and falls from grace with fans. Ten years later, melancholy journalist Arthur Stuart (Christian Bale) is assigned a "whatever happened to" story, and sets out to discover the final fate of Brian Slade. The "Citizen Kane" framework, while pretentious, provides the only successful facet of the production, with Bale offering a strong performance as a former glam fan whose painful memories of trying to make the glitter scene are stirred by the investigation.
With subject matter like this, Todd Haynes should have been able to turn out one hell of a juicy film, but "Velvet Goldmine" never takes flight. Instead of delving into the psyches of the characters, Haynes trots out a series of tedious rock videos, tacked together with preening actors, elaborate fashion shows and periodic make-out scenes between the boys. Having a bad actor in the lead role doesn't help matters. As Brian Slade, Jonathan Rhys Meyers is woefully inadequate, projecting zero charisma as he pouts his way through the movie. Never for a moment do you believe this kid could orchestrate his own superstardom.
Ewan McGregor is better as Curt Wild, an American rocker who is the object of Slade's affections. Wild is supposed to be modeled after legendary punk-burnout and Bowie protégé Iggy Pop, though McGregor's performance is more reminiscent of Kurt Cobain than Iggy. Incidentally, this is at least the third film featuring McGregor waggling his cock around, making him eligible for the Harvey Keitel Penis Exposure Hall Of Fame.
In a supporting role, Toni Collette does what she can as Mandy, Slade's wife. She makes little impression during the flashbacks, but has a certain Marianne Faithfull ravaged survivor quality in the latter-day interview scenes set in a dingy pub. As Brian Slade's manager, Eddie Izzard merely growls and struts.
"Velvet Goldmine" is maddening because it takes material with great potential and utterly wastes it. The glam rock era was a heady time, with its sexual experimentation, blurred gender lines, grandiose theatrics and knock-out music. Instead of probing the minds behind the phenomena, Todd Haynes settles for a gauzy surface glance; a tarted-up tribute without any oomph. "Velvet Goldmine" is to glam rock what the "Beatlemania" stage show was to the Beatles; just a bunch of poseurs going through the motions. David Bowie refused to let Haynes use his name or any of his music for the movie. Good for him. Hopefully, Bowie will wait until a filmmaker comes along with the chops to really do justice to the dizzying saga of Ziggy Stardust.
© 1998 Ed Johnson-Ott
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