The one bright spot in the nightmare that was 2018’s Bohemian Rhapsody was a renewed focus on another film: 2007’s Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story, by director Jake Kasdan. This film, a spoof of the musical biopic inspired most directly by James Mangold’s then-recent Walk the Line, has only become more comically potent as time has passed and the genre’s formula has been further codified. Amongst many other things, it was Rhapsody’s deference to the tropes that had been so thoroughly skewered a decade earlier that made it a target of derision. The idea of trying to map any kind of formula onto a life as rich and unique as that of Freddie Mercury feels not only ridiculous but cruel and exploitative. That Bohemian Rhapsody was produced decades after Mercury’s death by the people with a vested financial interest in controlling his image makes this dynamic all the more transparent.
In Baz Luhrmann’s take on the musical biopic, Elvis, we are invited into the titular figure’s world, not by the man himself, nor the people he called friends or family. The first voice we hear is that of Colonel Tom Parker (Tom Hanks), Elvis’ long-time manager. His are the eyes through which we first see Elvis (Austin Butler) and his death is the closest thing to an inciting incident that prompts this story’s telling. He remains in the role of ghostly narrator for much of the film and this choice frames its entire story. We are introduced to Parker as a music promoter, working with country artists Hank Snow (David Wenham) and his son Jimmie Rodgers Snow (Kodi Smit-McPhee), but his fascination with Elvis is immediate, with the film’s first half chronicling his efforts to ingratiate himself with the man and his family while actively constructing the image of “Elvis.” As a consequence, the signature and reliably exciting Baz Luhrmann excess, along with the detours into familiar biopic territory, begin to feel like an extension of that construction, with an emerging sense that Hanks’ Colonel is directing the film itself.
This tension comes to define the film as Elvis Presley, the man, butts up against Elvis, the icon. Parker is more than happy to shave off the nuance of Elvis’ life, to accept credit that doesn’t belong to him, and ultimately ignore reality itself. As a result, the film’s most exciting moments are the ones that feel like a rebellion against that restraint. The most effective moments of Austin Butler’s performance are not the ones where he recreates recorded acts for audiences to applaud at the accuracy, but when he injects incredible pathos into scenes the wider world would have never seen. Similarly, the film’s attempts to trace the history of the music that made Elvis a star lead to some incredible scenes that, while they do little to further the image of Elvis Presley, are absolutely fundamental to painting a picture of the debt that is owed to Black artists. Standout amongst them is Alton Mason’s appearance as Little Richard, performing Tutti Frutti (with vocals provided by Les Greene). This is a song Elvis would also record, but the film does not even consider undercutting the weight of that original version.
In a sense, the film does buckle under this tension, with its last act being a much more laborious and less frantic presentation of Elvis’ later years. It’s in this stretch that the Colonel transforms from a cruel businessman to an out and out monster, effectively locking Elvis in a tower that the film frames as if it houses the eye of Sauron. In this last section, Elvis commits to depicting the turmoil of its star as he struggles with addiction and exploitation on the part of a figure about who we still know very little. It is here that the film begins to lean entirely on Austin Butler’s still impressive performance as it becomes clear that the direction of its earlier acts perhaps too successfully escaped the man’s humanity. As Elvis Presley before him, Butler is tasked with embodying only the image of Elvis until the credits roll. It’s a sad choice that feels a million miles away from the glamour of his rise but it is perhaps the most effective middle ground between the film as a sincere tribute to Elvis and an exploration of the wider genre. This decision equally makes the omissions from Elvis’ life story somewhat easier to swallow as they are offered by a presumably self-aware Baz Luhrmann as the inherent sacrifices of constructing an image.
Elvis is exciting and emotional and as erratic as any Baz Luhrmann movie before it (with the exception of Moulin Rouge, which is harder to top). Its musical sequences are across the board fantastically constructed and captured and whatever awards Austin Butler wins will be deserved (Tom Hanks’ prize will be in retrospect).
Anyone heading to the movies for the Elvis biopic will not be disappointed. It is however also a film that brings its own existence into question, positioning the idea of celebrity in direct opposition to humanity and the act of attempting to control another person’s story as an act of cartoonish cruelty. Finally, it’s a product; the output of an estate hoping to continue making money from the image of Elvis and keep his record as clean as possible. There are few filmmakers who are capable of holding these conflicting ideas in any kind of coherent balance but this is exactly where Baz Luhrmann excels. In a filmography defined by contrasts, Elvis fits perfectly.
