VELVET GOLDMINE (1998) A Film Review by Ted Prigge Copyright 1998 Ted Prigge
Director: Todd Haynes Writer: Todd Haynes (story by James Lyons and Haynes) Starring: Jonathan Rhys Meyers, Ewan McGregor, Toni Collette, Christian Bale, Eddie Izzard, Emily Woof, Michael Feast
It may seem weird to begin a film about Glam Rock with a sequence that includes a spaceship, a green ovular pin, and the birth of Oscar Wilde, but if one really strains, they can see that perhaps maybe these connections are not half off. Wilde's philosophy was that everyone should be true to their own human nature, and the result of his following this philosophy was that he was imprisoned, loosing his family and his career. The Glam Rock movement in the early 70s in England had a similar take and came to a similar demise. The main difference was by placing makeup on their face and acting out on their deepest fantasies and inquiries about life (mostly dealing with androgony and sexuality), they became less and less like themselves and more and more like everyone else. And that's why the movement seemed to end as soon as it began.
It's been said that Todd Haynes' "Velvet Goldmine," the film that chronicles what it was like to be a part of the movement, not only from those who experienced it but by those who created it, steals a lot from "Citizen Kane," and that's true. In the film, a British journalist in the 80s, Arthur Stuart (Christian Bale), is asked to go back and find out what happened to 70s Glam Rock star Brian Slade, a fictitious rock star, who faked his own death on stage, bringing the end not only to his career but to the entire Glam Rock movement. Structure-wise, this totally steals from "Kane," not only from the set-up (he interviews three people, and the story is a result of their flashbacks), but in other things, like the beginning (death, then newsreel), and smaller details, like the bitter ex-friend in a wheelchair and the bitter ex-wife as a washed-up lounge singer, found in a bar after hours.
This is no "Kane," and it really doesn't aspire to be: it doesn't attempt to be the deep outlook of something gone like "Kane" did, and it doesn't really uncover anything poignant about humanity. Instead, it uses the flashbacks as a form of contrast between the magic that was the Glam Rock era and the boredom that was life after Glam Rock for those who were participants. The 80s scenes are dry and deliriously melancholy, equipped with a performance by Bale that is perhaps appropriately dull and unengaging.
But the 70s scenes are engaging, though, not to mention addictively campy. They radiate with gorgeous cinematography that nicely accentuates all the vibrant colors of the era, and a feel that's so eerily lighthearted that when combined with the then-footage, they become not only a symbol of decadence, but of times when everything seemed so simple. Instead of creating the world the way it was, Haynes paints their own world as if it were a narcotic fairy tale: the Glam Rock movement was full of so much freedom and liberation that after you've experienced it, everything else seems so mundane. There's no outside world to speak of, secluding these people inside a protective globe that will eventually crack.
Haynes focuses his story on the tale of Blade and the other fictitious rock hero, Curt Wild, and their relationship that created, molded, and then brought down the movement, reducing everyone else who contributed to it as merely that - contributors. Blade - played with reserve by the pouty Jonathan Rhys Meyers - and Wild - played with anarchic wildness by Ewan McGregor - are little more than thinly disguised recreations of David Bowie and Iggy Pop, respectively, complete with the creation of a Ziggy Stardust persona named Maxwell Demon and the confirmation that the two rock stars may have very well not only have been one-time partners in music, but also partners in bed.
Through discussions with Slade's ex-manager Cecil (Michael Feast), ex-wife Mandy (Toni Collette, reinventing herself as an American blonde dish who fakes a British accent when with Slade), and finally ex-partner Wild, journalist Stuart begins to remember his own experiences in the era, like his discovery of his rebelliousness cum conformity, including the moment when he began questioning his own sexuality (when he opens up his first Slade record, he finds a naked and green Slade lying on a crimson blanket), and finally running away from home to be part of the London scene, finally resulting in leading a boring job in America.
Haynes demonstrates that he's quite the visual auteur, molding scenes that are like long heald breaths, such as a seemingly long sequence juxtaposing a Slade/Wild concert of them performing a Brian Eno cover, "Baby's on Fire," with scenes from a decadent drug party; and the film's most wow-inspiring sequence, the first concert scene of Wild with his band, the Ratttz, where McGregor lets loose so much anarchic steam that his wild Iggy-esuqe movements (including stripping naked) and screams that the film captures that perfect moment when one discovers a major talent, and another (Slade) discovers his idle. Even the brief music videos, spoofs of Bowie's, have a rare visual flair that's pure camp, and which would cause Ken Russell to drool.
The best sequence, though, may be the beginning, following the prelude, a sequence which acts as the middle ground for both the actual being of the movement and the post-movement era. In it, Stuart and his mates are going to the infamous Slade concert where he fakes his own death, where he kills off his alter ego Maxwell Demon in what appears to be a real assasination, which brought about the end of the era in one swift fake bullet. With Brian Eno's famous "Needle in the Camel's Eye" playing in the background, the scene has a detached exhileration - the song doesn't seem to be played in quite the same way the other songs are. It has a distance that's hard to put a finger on, and it seems to represent that all this is coming to a quick and sad ending, and when one sees Slade in the dressing room before the show, docked in a silver frock with wings and blue hair, depressingly staring into the mirror, it comes off as a none-too-obvious prophecy of the finale in the beginning of the film.
This movie's not so much about plot, but more about the way it is presented, making this one of those films which is classified as being "style over substance," a statement which prompts many critics to line up for attack. However, for the most part, the engaging part of this film is not the story but rather the way in which Haynes creates this world, by using his sets, costumes, cinematography, and especially the music to play as characters in his film. The music is especially notable. The soundtrack, which is wall to wall, consists of old school Glam Rock tunes by the likes of Brian Eno, T-Rex, and Roxy Music, as well as covers by Slade's band (with vocals by Thom Yorke, and occasionally Rhys Meyers himself), and even newer music by Shudder to Think that sounds uncannily Bowie-like.
The cast is rather impressive, but no one really walks away with the film, and no performances are extremely good. Although Eddie Izzard, as Slade's manager (who challenges Slade's first manager to an arm-wrestling match to see who gets control of his career) and Michael Feast as the first and tragic manager come off greatly, and Collette and McGregor have their moments, Rhys Meyers and Bale are noticably sub-par, neither putting a lot of effort into their respective roles. Some of it is at fault with the actual construction of the film by Haynes. Rhys Meyers' Brian Slade remains merely a metaphor for the Glam Rock era, dying when he turned into a retro-Garbo, resorting to a life of Salinger-ism, and found in the mid-70s to be lying around, sniffing coke off the ass of a party girl. In fact, no one in this film is really seen as a person, rather than just as a symbol or composite of a type who thrived during the era. Bale's character is an especially tough sell: bitter and depressed by flashbacks to his young adulthood, he's not an extremely personal character, and his cliched experiences (being hounded by the record store guys for buying a record put out by a "poof") never help us communicate with him.
Nevertheless, Rhys Meyers and McGregor have the excuses that their characters are not really characters but rather the results of an era that has left them, and others, bitter, part of which helps the film work, since this is a major piece of eye candy. At the prime of the movie, they at least look the role of fashionable leaders - Slade with his perpetually-changing, androgonys persona, and Wild with his topless and unpredictable image, which clash and fuse into an unstable union. Their story - of how Slade was so influenced by Wild that he adapted it into a similar who-cares attitude crossed with camp - is engaging, without the personal background. The story of Stuart, though, is a tougher sell because he's the everyman, and when you can't totally identify with the everyman, your story's in slight trouble.
As a cultural rock piece, "Velvet Goldmine" is rather good, but it is merely good. It never totally takes off, although it has moments where it absolutely flies, but then comes back down. It's really nothing more than a bunch of really great moments, surrounded by material that could really be much better. The beginning is captivating but slow, the middle is fantastic, and the ending is not only shallow but worse than that, it drags (the final half hour not only does it not bring the story to any real conclusion, it could probably stop at any point). And did anyone really figure out what the mystery is that Arthur unearths? It almost seems like there was no point in the entire investigation other than to unearth the past, which is commendable but not totally so.
Still, it does what the Oliver Stone pic "The Doors" didn't do right, becoming very insightful to what happened, using the visual style to hit most of the right notes of contrast between what made the era so great to those who lived during it and why after living through such an era that everything else seems half-assed (I suppose the message is: "Live life, but after you've lived it, what else is the point when you'll be forced to live with regretful memories?"). The really superb achievement of this film is that during its flashbacks, it successfully creates for the audience what it must have felt like to be in that era, but with the added perk of knowing the result of all that goes down.
MY RATING (out of 4): ***
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