A deeply appropriate parody of all music biopics, with sly commentaries on based-on-a-true-story anachronisms, falsehoods twinned with factual distortions and even white appropriation of Black music. This film solidifies Daniel Radcliffe as a rising comic genius.
If only this film wanted to be free. But as a Hollywood product, the pitch meeting was clear: Sarafina! + Soap Opera=Black Panther1.5. Viola Davis will get at least one Oscar nomination for this film that she produced with the best intentions.
An overlong but serious and well-done meditation on how Black American artistry is the engine for true 20th-century American freedom of any type, perhaps of any time. The first half grounds itself in a Magic Negro experience par excellence, a remarkable 21st-century achievement because it pretends to take on the issues directly; it attempts to muddle the mind so that cultural theft is confused with willing baptism into the Church of the Real Thang. In this flick, Elvis–whose early life is presented with all the speed, rhythm and wail of early rock ‘n’ roll and then some–is recast by biopic history as a public champion of Black stylings, his struggles made to mirror and parallel another, and more dangerous, freedom movement taking place outside his door and largely off-camera. And then the bejeweled latter half, the slow, disappointing realization of being lied to, exploited and manipulated by The Man. Powerful, but ultimately, however well-intentioned, racially manipulative.
Director Ron Howard excels at this kind of dramatic story about brave-but-not-reckless leadership. He strains to prevent a White Savior narrative, and I think he succeeds.
As folks who follow me on social media can see by now, I spend a *ridiculous* amount of time each week watching #JohnCampea, #GraceRandolph, #ScreenCrush, #NewRockStars and others to get my TV/movie superhero news fix. Because of this act of kindness, I will no longer feel guilty about the two hours I spend with Campea almost every damn weekday! #TJCS #TheJohnCampeaShow