Director: Baz Luhrmann
Writers: Baz Luhrmann, Sam Bromell, Craig Pearce, Jeremy Doner
Cast: Austin Butler, Tom Hanks, Olivia DeJonge, Helen Thomson, Richard Roxburgh, Kelvin Harrison Jr., David Wenham
Runtime: 159 mins.
2022
Surprise surprise, the racial politics of Elvis are reprehensible. One can hardly expect a Hollywood film to damn him* for stealing the music of Black musicians who trailblazed Rock N' Roll without recognition, but the gall of proclaiming Elvis's innocence is made all the worse by the Black characters, actors, and extras all being treated as props. We flash back to a kinetic church revival tent so that the Black congregation can lift a besotted Elvis-child atop their shoulders. We see young adult Elvis drawn to Beale Street, eyes glimmering with wonder. B.B. King shows up just long enough to tell the rising star that he's the only one who'll be allowed to make any money off these songs, so he may as well take them. It's cynicism masquerading as community.
*The film also slickly glides over his grooming of Priscilla Presley, who was 14 when they met.
That cynicism comes to the fore in the character of Col. Tom Parker, Elvis's ultra-predatory financial manager. He is brought to life in one of Tom Hanks' worst performances (although a bad Hanks performance is still pretty good on balance). The film is quite shrewd to anchor the narrative in this old roach's perspective. An impossible needle is threaded thusly: Parker's moustache-twirling villainy becomes the root source of all exploitation, making Elvis himself an entirely passive figure. Austin Butler's portrayal is competent but anonymous; The movie must keep the King at arms' length to protect his mythos. The end result is an Elvis absolved of agency, upon which the audience may project anything they please, be it bitter resentment or starry admiration. So much for this botched opportunity to revise the Elvis legend for the 2020s.
As for the movie, it could be great if you shaved about an hour off. The opening onslaught is woozy, electric, and dumb-- in classic Baz Luhrmann fashion. The camera blitzes the audience through time jumps, cross cuts, gaudy superimpositions, dream sequences. The breathtaking editing generates an aesthetic bliss that doesn't let you slow down long enough to scan for depth. It feels like being flushed down a casino toilet.
From there the film loses steam and loses the audience as it sinks into a by-the-numbers style that hits all the important biographical beats without urgency or insight. "A Wikipedia entry directed by Baz Luhrmann," a fellow viewer said. I can't help but wonder how potent the film could have been if the breakneck pace had essentialized Elvis's rebellious Christmas special, then his nasty public falling out with Parker, then the spectacular footage of his final performance. Instead we are subject to multiple scenes of him watching assassination coverage on television with heavy-lidded angst, an inevitable dissolution of marriage, incurious portrayals of addiction, and endless plodding anxiety about the direction of his career. These churning clichés culminate in the least imaginative way you could imagine: onscreen text summarizing such searing insights as
[Elvis's] Influence on Music and Culture Lives On
Elvis clears the subterranean bar of having much more going for it than the typical biopic. The film is at its best when the fantastic sound mixing blends with shot after intoxicating shot of Elvis wiggling his crotch in front of legions of orgasmic fans. Instead of focusing on that, we have an unethical movie that becomes increasingly bloated as it progresses-- much like the man himself.
2 / 5 BLOBS
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