Rocketman

 

Director: Dexter Fletcher
Starring: Taron Egerton, Jamie Bell, Richard Madden, Gemma Jones, Bryce Dallas Howard, Stephen Graham, Steven Mackintosh, Tate Donovan, Matthew Illesley, Kit Connor, Celinde Shoenmaker
Running Time: 121 min.
Rating: R

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)  

It was never going to be an easy road for Dexter Fletcher's Elton John musical biopic, Rocketman, especially following Bohemian Rhapsody, for which Rami Malek won the Oscar for inhabiting legendary Queen frontman Freddie Mercury. And when considering the same director actually stepped to finish the latter film, it makes comparisons between the two especially unavoidable. But if all those criticisms that Rhapsody played as a paint-by-numbers biopic seemed unfair, that's because they were, rehashing the same old arguments everyone makes about the genre. 

Ignoring that biopics are supposed to cover the full scope and meaning of a figure's life, the complaints just never seem to cease whenever one is released, regardless of its quality. Whether it's manufactured outrage at a script daring to depict events either in or out of chronological order, including scenes that allegedly never happened, or even worse, ones that did. But what no one seems willing to admit is that the format has been around this long because when it works, it really works, and is usually only as compelling as its subject allows. It's also what the fillmaker chooses to do within that admittedly rigid framework that can make all the difference, with casting a bit more crucial than it would be otherwise.

By these standards, Rocketman, which was widely praised for sidestepping a lot of typical genre tropes, could still be considered a "standard" biopic, with the important caveat that we should probably start reassessing that designation as a compliment. It may finally be time to admit that biopics can be fun and well-made, especially when the very structure of this musical does as good a job as any of conveying the essence of that person. 

Despite some broad similarities in their outsized personalities and career trajectories, Elton John isn't Freddie Mercury and any film covering his life would have to be an entirely different animal. Elton might be harder to tackle since his music's been played to death for decades on end, with few clammoring for the onscreen dramatization of an artist who could be considered overexposed, at least compared to Mercury, who only now seems to be getting his due. If both performers had a flare for flamboyance and theatrics, that's the area where Elton was incomparable, with Fletcher wisely using that as the film's driving engine. 

Elton John might be the only artist where a full-blown, spare no expenses musical about their life scored to all his hits feels completely appropriate. It's what Across The Universe could have been if they didn't try to shoehorn a fictional story into the Beatles' entire song catalogue. This takes the opposite route, as Elton's songs legitimately feel like an organic extension of his life, inseparable from the journey we see unfolding in front of us. 

If it's less dramatically powerful than Rhapsody, that's only because of the tone of Elton as a person and artist, which Taron Egerton magnificently captures in a nomination-worthy performance. A staggering visual achievement loaded with dazzling musical sequences, it digs deeply into his drug use, conflicted sexuality and unhappy childhood, before settling on an ending that feels slightly less than what it deserves. But it's all undeniably in lock-step with Elton's entire persona and career, making it impossible to walk away without a greater appreciation of everything he's brought to the table. 

From an addiction rehab center, Elton John (Egerton) recounts the story of his life via flashbacks, all the way back to his days growing up in 1950's Britain, when the then-Reggie Dwight (Matthew Illesley) grappled with crippling shyness as a child, as well as rocky relationship with his strict, uninterested military father Stanley (Steven Mackintosh). Some relief comes in his bonding with carfree mom Sheila (Bryce Dallas Howard) and even more supportive grandmother, Ivy (Gemma Jones) over his burgeoning musical talent. 

After excelling at piano from an early age, Reggie starts playing pubs as a teen (played by Kit Connor), gravitating toward rock music before eventually landing in a band and getting signed to a label deal by cigar-chomping DJM chief Dick James (Stephen Graham). Re-christened as "Elton John," it's Reggie's  introduction to songwriter and eventual best friend Bernie Taupin (Jamie Bell) that causes his career to soar to unimaginable heights in the 70's, only to come crashing down when he enters a toxic relationship with manipulative and abusive manager John Reid (Richard Madden). Falling into an abyss of wild debauchery fueled by self-destructive drug and alcohol abuse, Elton must face his personal demons head-on in order to save both his life and career, and perhaps finally be at peace with where Reggie Dwight ends and Elton John begins.

Lee Hall's script is meticulously contructed around some of the artist's biggest hits, providing the soundtrack to the scenes and sequences of his life. The concept itself seems hokey on paper and shouldn't work, if not for the fact that the execution is virtually flawless.While it may be initially jarring to see Elton walk into rehab in a flamboyantly bright orange devil costume before we abruptly flash back to the 1950's with characters in the street singing "The Bitch is Back," it's definitely going somewhere. Fletcher really hits the ground running with this structure, which manages to hit on all the key points on Reggie's path toward becoming Elton, with each musical sequence perfectly encapsulating a specific snapshot in time. 

Movie musicals can be off-putting in the sense that they're not stage productions, nor should they be. So when a character spontaneously bursts into song it can fall flat on its face if the story, tone, direction or energy is off. There's a reason the genre isn't for everyone's tastes, and since it's so rarely pulled off successfully, it's easy to be skeptical. But this is one of the few recent ones that really gets it right, as there isn't a single song in here that feels squeezed in because they're due for a big number.

This is who Elton John is, and whether you're a fan or not, it's impossible to deny that this captures that in a bottle. His songs are who he is, making Fletcher's approach work in a way it probably wouldn't for other artists. But we get the impression that he considered himself a performer first, and what Egerton pushes through is that love of showmanship, which practically burns through the screen, making the fact that the actor actually does his own singing (really well) seem almost secondary. 

All this is evident in the film's most memorable musical sequence, when a then low-key Elton first taps into his larger-than-life persona and brings down the Troubadour with "Crocodile Rock," creating an electric atmosphere that just builds and builds, reaching a cresendo that literally lifts him and an enraptured audience off their feet. Brilliantly filmed and staged by Fletcher, it signals from that point on nothing will be the same for the former Reginald Dwight, as does a later underwater scene that visually juxtaposes the movie's title song with his suicide attempt. 

If Elton was the consumate showman, the artist component is best reflected in his friendship with collaborator Taupin, which went well beyond songwriting despite remaining completely platonic. As the only person who saw Elton exactly for who he was, it ends up being the only relationship in the performer's life that doesn't seem entirely transactional. Whether he's pining for love and approval from his parents or an emotionally and physically abusive manager. attempting to downplay his homosexuality in a failed marriage to friend Renate Blauel (Celinde Schoenmaker) Taupin's unwavering committment to this partnership during Elton's darkest days make their union the film's most memorable, if certainly his least toxic. 

Unlike Bohemian Rhapsody or the Brian Wilson biopic, Love and Mercy from a few years back, you don't get too much insight into the "process" of creating because this simply isn't that kind of movie, nor where the bread is buttered when it comes to Elton's career. What we do get are the emotional highs and devastating lows, which strangely seem to exist on the same plane because of Egerton's performance. The framing device of him telling his story from rehab works because the actor does legitimately play him as a spectator to his own life. In even the biggest successes there's this undercurrent of sadness that when combined with his startling resemblance to the real person and painstakingly accurate recreations of key moments (such as the Dodger Stadium performance), make for quite the experience. 

The ending's only flaw is it's one of those familar epilogues that updates you on the singer's life, which seems completely unnecessary unless you've been living under a rock for the past decade. It also looks like something straight out of a cheap TV special, ranking as one of the more forgettable of its kind and almost completely at odds with the visionary sequence preceding it (a mind-blowing recreation of his "I'm Still Standing" video). But this is actually a small complaint since that video will be remembered as the real closer anyway, as well as a reminder that Elton's journey, unlike so many of his contemporaries, will always be more closely associated with triumph than tragedy. But what's so suprising about Rocketman are the wild detours it takes in showing us how close he actually came to burning out his own fuse.

Bohemian Rhapsody

Director: Bryan Singer
Starring: Rami Malek, Lucy Boynton, Gwilym Lee, Ben Hardy, Joe Mazzello, Allen Leech, Aiden Gillan, Tom Hollander, Mike Myers, Aaron McCusker
Running Time: 134 min.
Rating: PG-13

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)

Some music artists simply transcend the band with which they were a part, to the point that you even have a tough time even recalling the other members' names, regardless of their enormous contributions. There may be no better example of this in all of rock than Freddie Mercury and Queen. We could talk all day about how Bryan Singer's Bohemian Rhapsody is really a story about the band and that Brian May, Roger Taylor and John Deacon spent years behind the scenes making sure that  would shine through on screen. But make no mistake about it. The film was always only going to be about one man: Freddie Mercury. Queen IS Freddie Mercury. Freddie Mercury IS Queen.

Despite taking great pains to specifically detail and show what each member brought to the table, even going so far as to imply he couldn't musically survive without them, Mercury's shadow will always engulf them. As it should. There's something to be said for giving the fans what they want. Freddie always did, and now he's at the center of a film that does just the same, helping to explain how audiences worldwide have embraced what's been categorized by critics as a by-the-numbers music biopic. And to an extent, that's true.

Controlling parents, egomaniacal genius, failed marriage, self-loathing, band break-up, sex, drugs, record label disputes. It checks all the boxes. Even Mercury's audacity and eccentricity both on and off stage are qualities we've come to recognize in our rock stars. But before Freddie they weren't, and what the film really excels at (and hasn't gotten enough credit for) is in reflecting that breakthrough. And the turmoil brewing inside of a man who just wanted to perform, while still struggling to figure out exactly who he is. The cultural timing also feels right because Queen might just be one of the few classic rock bands that could still be considered underappreciated. It's not a coincidence that among a dream lineup of legendary artists that played 1985's epic Live Aid benefit concert, it's their performance rather than The Who's, The Stones', Bowie's or U2's that's most remembered today. More accurately, it's Mercury's.

The film wisely opens by teasing that concert and closes by taking us there, recreating a watershed cultural moment with chill-inducing emotional and historical accuracy. While many thrills come in seeing Queen get their due, Rami Malek's performance deserves more credit than the actual picture, which is fittingly only following his lead. At first, you're not sure what to make of it, until he submerges himself deeper and deeper, to the point that it becomes frightening just how much of a disappearing act it is. There's no trace of the performer left, leaving us to contemplate what it could have been like to experience Freddie Mercury as a person and performer, along with all the complications and contradictions that entail, not to mention the theatricality.  He's such a fascinating figure that the film can afford to just simply do its job and call it a day. 

It's 1970 when college student and airport baggage handler Farrokh "Freddie" Bulsara (Malek) goes to a London pub to see the band, Smile. Upon learning their lead singer just quit, Freddie, who's been writing his own songs, offers himself up as a replacement to guitarist Brian May (Gwilym Lee) and drummer Roger Taylor (Ben Hardy). At the show, he also meets a young woman named Mary Austin (Lucy Boynton), whom he begins to date and eventually marries. After taking Freddie on as their lead singer and adding John Deacon (Joe Mazzello) as bass guitarist, the band is rechristened "Queen," with  Bulsara legally adopting the name "Freddie Mercury."

Touring across Britain and selling out smaller venues everywhere, the band soon attracts the attention of famed music manager John Reid (Aiden Gillan). With a record deal and a hit album, they tour the U.S. and only grow bigger from there. But Freddie keeps wanting more, as he internally comes to grips with his own sexuality and takes bad advice from manager and self-serving hanger-on Paul Prenter (Allen Leech). With Queen in shambles due to his selfishness, Freddie heads down a path of personal and professional ruin by the late 70's. But before he can vanquish his own demons, he'll need to make amends with his own past, as well as the only family he's ever known.

Feeling most like a standard musical biopic in its detailing of Queen's formative years as an act, criticism has swirled aroubd the fact that dates and chronology were altered to fit the needs of the narrative, condensing key events in Mercury and the band's timeline. It's kind of surprising it's become an issue when far less accomplished biopics are routinely guilty of the same offense, if you can call it that. This isn't a documentary and unless the changes were due to some unintentional oversight (unlikely given Queen's direct involvement), they should only be judged in context of whether it detracts from the story. In this case, it doesn't at all. That these alterations have caused an uproar is more of a testament to how the media enjoys tearing down biopics and showing off their knowledge that that's not "exactly" how it happened.

It's easy to see how a strict, inflexible adherence to every facet of Freddie Mercury's life could easily do more harm than good, stifling the momentum of the narrative and removing any shred of unpredictability. Plus, wouldn't those nitpicking about historical accuracy then only shift their complaints to how safely the movie played it by sticking straight to the facts, in the exact order they happened? And besides, doing that would deprive us of the the film's most memorable scene. 

The scene in question comes when Queen and their lawyer Jim "Miami" Beach (Tom Hollander) are unsuccessfully pitching the six-minute "Bohemian Rhapsody" as the first single for their forthcoming "A Night at the Opera" album to doubting EMI executive Ray Foster (an unrecognizably great Mike Myers). We'll never know whether the events in that room played out exactly as they're depicted, but it's the kind of scene you can easily imagine did given what we know about the 70's music scene and that song, then years away from being appreciated as the group's magnum opus.

So to hear how unmarketable and inaccessible the song is it is out of the mouth of the actor partially responsible for introducing it to a new generation in the 90's, not only makes for an unforgettable meta moment. More surreal than seeing the blistering reviews scroll down the screen are the preceding scenes of them recording the song, which comes as a flicker in Mercury's mind that he makes his bandmates harness. In fact, most of the film consists of them trying to keep up with his energy and creativity.

Malek's performance couldn't exactly be considered a slow burn since everything in this picture moves at such a rapid pace, but his full immersion into the role does kind of sneak up on you. Concealing his Indian heritage and sparring with his demanding father, Freddie escapes from himself through music. And with it, realizes who he truly wants to be, evolving from an introspective lanky kid uncomfortable in his own skin to a wild showman discovering his true outlet onstage. It's here where he feels most at home, and it's when that rock star persona overtakes his life that Malek's embodiment of Mercury kicks into high gear.

Taking over a role originally intended for Sacha Baron Cohen (who exited early due to creative differences), much as been made of the fake teeth, the mannerisms, gestures and voice Malek invokes to physically transform himself. And he does, baring more than just a mere passing resemblance to the late singer. But it's when Freddie flies off the rails with drugs and debauchery in the last third of the film that you realize how much further the actor's gone than just physically channeling him.

The celebrity of "Freddie Mercury" soon infests his inner circle, allowing him to let indulgence and excess get in the way of what matters most. His marriage may have been doomed from the start, but the difference here is that the relationship with Mary doesn't end so much as radically change, creating a fairly unusual situation, as the two remain friends while Freddie wrestles and eventually comes to terms with his sexuality. And, of course, the eventual AIDS diagnosis that the screenplay and Malek handle just right, avoiding disease of the week movie tropes. 

It's true that the other members of Queen are supporting players who probably don't register as strongly as they should. Of them, Gwilym Lee accomplishes the most as Brian May, but even that's stretching it, as this was never going to be about any one of them individually. Nor should it be. What it does convey well is what they collectively contributed and Freddie's ultimate legacy, perfectly encapsulated by Malek in the film's thrilling final 40 minutes, taking you as close as possible to their 1985 Live Aid performance without literally being there. It's frighteningly accurate.

A Queen movie was always going to be a tightrope walk. That we've somehow gotten a PG-13 version that not only feels uncompromised, but does justice to Mercury and the band's significance feels like a miracle given all the problems that befell this production. We're still not even sure who to credit for directing it. Far from perfect, events and timelines are altered, liberties taken and dates changed. On the surface, there doesn't even seem to be much too it. And yet, Bohemian Rhapsody is still so ridiculously entertaining because it deeply understands what Queen and Freddie Mercury left us and the only thing that really matters: the music. 

The Founder

Director: John Lee Hancock
Starring: Michael Keaton, Nick Offerman, John Carroll Lynch, Linda Cardellini, Patrick Wilson, B.J. Novak, Laura Dern
Running Time: 115 min.
Rating: PG-13

★★★★ (out of ★★★★)

When we first meet Ray Kroc, a failed traveling salesman in his early fifties from Illinois, he's peddling industrial milkshake mixers to uninterested restaurant owners. That is until he meets the McDonald brothers, the only two guys crazy enough to buy from him. What happens when Ray goes out to their San Bernadino, California diner in 1954 is not only one of the most memorable sequences in John Lee Hancock's The Founder and the story's catalyst, but a love letter to the power of creativity and amazement. If it was hard to grasp just how revolutionary the concept of McDonald's was at the time, Ray's reaction to getting his burger in 30 seconds in disposable wrapping as families enjoy their meals next to him, tells you all there is to know. You can see and feel exactly why he's so bowled over by it, and watching the scene, you'd be forgiven for thinking it's the greatest idea that ever was. At the time, and even today, there's a lot of truth in that. But an idea is just that until it becomes something more. Something bigger. Ray Kroc liked to think big and after years of hawking bad products, he knew a sure bet when he saw it. What he lacked in creativity he made up for ten times over in persistence and business savvy. A visionary who saw the limitless potential in someone else's concept, he ran with it in a way they couldn't, morality and consequences be damned.

At its core, The Founder really boils down to one question: At what point does an idea become so great that it needs to be shared with the world? And once it is, what's the cost? The answer to that casts a shadow over the film that completely reframes Ray's aforementioned visit to McDonald's Burgers in San Bernardino and his contagious enthusiasm. He was right to do whatever it took to push this through just as the McDonald brothers were in fighting to preserve the integrity of their creation every step of the way. And just as he was wrong to screw them out of what was rightfully theirs, an equally strong case can be made for their inflexibility and resistance to change. And yet the man we see at the end, as ethically compromised as he is, still strangely remains very much the same one we met at the beginning. That's the true genius in Michael Keaton's complicated, unfairly overlooked performance, which already seems destined to go down as one of the most underappreciated of his career.

The arrival of Ray Kroc (Keaton) at McDonald's Burgers represents for Dick (Nick Offerman) and Mac (John Carroll Lynch) and Mac McDonald to correct an opportunity they let slip through their fingers once before. An unsuccessful previous attempt to franchise out their revolutionary fast food burger joint was marred by the challenge of maintaining the same high level of customer service and food quality throughout the chain. Enter Kroc. The brothers are approached, and actually somewhat stalked, by the Prince Castle salesman who's so impressed with their unique business model emphasizing a speedy food delivery service that keeps costs down, he wants to hear their story. And it's a pretty amazing one, as they tell him how they started out in the movie industry before eventually landing in the food service business, which they thought was in serious need of some tweaking. Chalk diagrams on a tennis court provided the blueprints for what would become McDonald's kitchen, with each station serving a specific function in getting quality food to the customer as quickly as possible. No more waiting at drive-ins.

While Dick's heavily skeptical of Ray's interest from the onset, Mac's convinced they finally found the guy that understands their product and can help them fulfill their dreams of expansion. After appealing to their sense of patriotism, envisioning the golden arches side by side with American flags and church steeples across the nation, they reluctantly agree to a deal.  And while it initially does seem to be the perfect match for all involved and Ray makes some smart decisions, the brothers' traditional approach soon clashes with his towering ambition. Mortgaging his home while sacrificing his marriage to wife Ethel (Laura Dern), he continues expansion at a rapid rate, soon realizing this will never work unless he hires the right people and gets out from under the thumb of the brothers, who have him locked in a contract mandating them final say on any new idea he has. In order to succeed Ray will have to get creative, even if the morally questionable moves he makes in the name of business could forever taint his claim as the true "founder" of McDonald's.  

If Ray sees dollar signs the first time he lays eyes on the brothers' establishment, there's also a certain admiration and respect for what they created, as well as a desire to prove to everyone he isn't the failure they believe him to be by shepherding it to greater success. While he likes the brothers, he also knows they're gullible and not businessmen, which could explain why they were presumably taken for a ride in their last attempt to franchise. They need him just as much as he needs them if there's any desire in the brothers to build on their creation. And Ray isn't kidding himself on his own prospects either. He's at an age where this is clearly his last shot and he's already looked at as a joke by he and his wife's country club contemporaries, who can't wait to get in on the action when they realize his latest dream could actually bare financial fruit.

Ray's complete rejection of these rich, retired country clubbers' investment in this franchising when he recognizes their laziness and lack of commitment is probably his finest hour. Seeing him outside the restaurant on his hand and knees cleaning up the trash, more determined than ever to hire those who work and care about quality is the strongest case to be made for him as a decent human being. That, and his willingness to hire anyone from any walk of life (sometimes right off the street) he feels will do a good job is another feather in his cap. And yet Ray is also one of the worst candidates to accumulate such success and wealth at this rapid a rate because he's been beaten down so long. With a chip on his shoulder and something to prove, he's like a kid in a candy store when given just a taste of it. Not only does he roll over the McDonald brothers, he basically discards Ethel at the first sight of Joan (Linda Cardellini), the captivating wife of a franchisee (Patrick Wilson).

Despite knowing the terms when he signed, you could see how the brothers' dismissal of every one of Ray's ideas as crass commercialism or off-brand send him over the deep end. Ray definitely doesn't play fair and surely doesn't care, but while even his more Machiavellian methods could be defended as necessary to getting McDonald's where it needs to go, it doesn't explain the lack of credit or compensation for them once it gets there. He'd explain it away by saying it was business but you can't help but think back to Dick's statement that they "let a wolf in the hen house." Toward the third act of the picture it becomes clear that they may have actually franchised out their company and lives to someone whose business ethics are more closely aligned with Daniel Plainview's from There Will Be a Blood.

The casting of Keaton as Kroc is nothing short of a masterstroke. He's so inherently likable as a scrappy underdog that it could seem incomprehensible he'd take the actions he does later if not for the fact that this is an actor equally skilled at going to those darker, unlikable places. John Lee Hancock (director of The Blind Side and writer of 1993's A Perfect World) hasn't necessarily made a dark film here, but against the bright, nostalgic hue of 1950's America gorgeously photographed by cinematographer John Schwartzman and memorably scored by Carter Burwell, is this undercurrent of greed and avarice. Most of that is provided by Keaton, who has to simultaneously juggle multiple balls in the air playing someone who could have easily been categorized as one-note meglomaniacal businessman in the hands of a lesser performer. We don't sense your typical "transformation," because what happens is exactly what Ray wanted to have happen the second he saw McDonald's Burgers.

That gleam in Keaton's eye was there when he stepped on the lot and it's up to audiences to reconcile that with what comes later. While a specifically memorable shot in the film directly references a key moment in Citizen Kane and while it shares similar themes, a better comparison might be The Social Network, as a rejected outcast finally gets the opportunity to prove himself, hurting those around him on his way to the top. This is Keaton's movie, as it should completely be, but Nick Offerman really shines in his best big screen role to date as the doubting Dick McDonald, who ends up getting sucked into this anyway despite all his initial misgivings about how it could adversely affect his brother's health.

Released with such little promotion and fanfare that few knew it existed at all, it almost seems fitting that the studio behind The Founder is embroiled in a lawsuit over how mismanaged its release actually was, potentially costing Keaton another shot at an Oscar, this time for a performance that certainly would have otherwise gotten awards attention. Someone dropped the ball, which is a shame considering it's exactly the kind of film we need right now, and one of a select few this year that says as much about the times we live in now as the seemingly bygone era during which it took place. Hate or love Ray Kroc, there's no denying that what he did worked and had a serious effect on consumerism and branding all over the world, with its ripples still very much being felt today. How he did it should continue to be fodder for debate. You could say he drank the McDonald brothers' milkshake. And as an added insult, he used powdered milk.