David Bowie
Top 10 Performances
The death
of David Bowie has left a Ziggy-sized, Aladdin Sane-sized, Thin White
Duke-sized hole in the world. As a musician, he was obviously peerless, but as
an actor? As an actor, even a cracked one, Bowie seemed to get a continually
frosty reception from critics, his performances frequently subjected to the
common refrain that he, indeed, could not act. Of course, there was always the
exception of The Man Who Fell to Earth,
because he was just playing himself there.
I’ve never
understood the barb; I can see Bowie wasn’t necessarily preeminent in the
field, an Oscar-worthy thespian (although, when has that stopped a statuette
being given out?), but I’ve always found him highly watchable in his roles, and
appreciated his deftness in a variety of genres, from drama, to fantasy, biopic
and comedy. Among those not on this
list are his cameo in Yellowbeard (trying
not to laugh as “the Shark”) his appearance in Dream On (as Sir Roland Morecock, no less; I’m only including film
appearances, but the character name alone is worth a mention) or in Absolute Beginners (as the contrastingly
appallingly named Vendice Partners). Bowie wasn’t a prolific movie actor, his
most prolonged burst coming during the ‘80s, but of a little over 20 movies,
it’s very easy to select 10 memorable performances.
10. David
Bowie
Zoolander
(2001)
“I believe I might be of service?” The
former David Jones cameoed as himself in a number of movies and TV shows, but by
far the coolest appearance of “David Bowie” finds him compering a walk-off
between Derek Zoolander and Hansel in Ben Stiller’s 2001 classic. Bowie had
perfected a certain middle-aged cool at that time, an older (rather than elder)
statesman of pop but one who still exuded “it”. In the the early ‘90s to early ‘00s
he discarded the meticulous personas of old but revealed an “undisguised” guise
no less arresting. Bowie completely gets the joke with Zoolander, of course, revelling in an exaggerated, playful version
of himself. In particular, his reaction to Stiller’s attempted underwear
extraction is priceless. Bowie is only on screen for a couple of minutes, but
he even out-cools Billy Zane. And Billy Zane’s a cool dude.
9. Phillip
Jeffries
Twin Peaks:
Fire Walk With Me (1992)
Another brief
appearance from the Bowie, looking most un-FBI in a Hawaiian shirt as long-lost
Agent Philip Jeffries, missing on a mission to track down the Black Lodge. Of
all the deranged and distracted elements in Lynch’s elusive and intriguing
prequel/sequel to the TV series, Jeffries is perhaps the most intriguing. He
never fully returns to the land of the living per se. Rather, Jeffries materialises
ever-so-briefly in FBI HQ Philadelphia for a marvellous spot of Lynchian spatiotemporal
oddness.
Dale Cooper,
guided by a dream, views the video playback of a corridor in which he was stood
moments before, staring up at the camera until the (formerly) non-present
Jeffries walks by his video image. Jeffries attempts to deliver a message (in a
less than glorious Southern accent, it has to be admitted) to Lynch’s Gordon Cole
while intimating that Cooper (or rather his other side) isn’t what he seems. We
also witness flashes of Jeffries’ visit to the Black Lodge meeting. Mainly,
though, the antic presence of alien Bowie is a shorthand signifier and little
more; who else would one expect to come across in the strangest of strange Lynch
milieus? As such his performance requires him to do little other than weird us
out, which of course, he does consumately.
8. Jareth the
Goblin King
Labyrinth
(1986)
One of George
Lucas’ failed ‘80s, post-Star Wars
attempts to come up with a new thing, this Jim Henson effort is much loved by
(girls of) a certain generation, a reworking of The Wizard of Oz and Alice in
Wonderland as teenager-on-the-cusp Jennifer Connelly enters a muppet land
presided over Bowie’s Goblin King, a Goblin King who has kidnapped her baby
brother. A Goblin King packing quite a pouch in his goblin tights. That, and
Dame David’s fright wig, got the most attention here (he bears a resemblance to
Joanna Lumley at certain angles), although he also does some clever stuff with
his (crystal) balls, sings a bit and strolls casually about a topsy-turvy
Escher-esque castle lair.
You can see where this went wrong with
hindsight; Bowie’s posturing would have been fully at home amongst the Adam
Ants and New Romantics a half decade earlier, but seems adrift amid Henson’s
very family sensibility (Dreamchild,
a year earlier, was much more effective). The picture is thus rather less than
the some of its parts, but Bowie is having a lot of fun, particularly singing
to, and kicking, muppets, and as a whole it’s much more agreeable than his
other flirtation with (attempted) mainstream fare of the era, Absolute Beginners (even if, conversely,
that yielded one of his best singles, while Labyrinth’s
tunes are rather forgettable).
7. Major
Jack “Strafer” Celliers
Merry
Christmas, Mr. Lawrence (1983)
Nagisa
Oshima cast Bowie after seeing him on stage in The Elephant Man, citing his “indestructible”
inner spirt. You can leap frog contemporary critics during this era if you want
to find one praising Bowie’s performance and avoid the next slating it. He
rises to the challenge of the role guilt-ridden Cellers, but it's the exotic
unattainability of the star that is perhaps the key ingredient, as prison camp
guard Ryuichi Sakamoto finds himself powerfully attracted to the thin white
duke.
Except,
this is the Bowie of Let’s Dance, the
perma-tanned Bowie of the ‘80s rather than the milk and green pepper ingesting coke
fiend of the mid-‘70s. Merry Christmas,
Mr. Lawrence is very much of its era (throw a stone in that decade and
you’d hit a movie with Tom Conti in it) and there’s a feeling that, for all the
inflamed thematic explorations, this is ultimately more resonant for its
aesthetics and imagery (Celliers buried up to his neck) than content. The
dovetailing of Bowie’s newly inclusive pop face with the role is perhaps a
little too neat, and, with its striking but intrusive Sakamoto synth soundtrack,
Mr. Lawrence at times feels a little
over-performed and over-telegraphed, rather than enabled to become its own
fully immersive thing. Still, a more rewarding picture than the recent Unbroken, with which it shared certain characteristics.
6. John
Blaylock
The Hunger
(1983)
Bowie is
the devoted, 200-year-old vampire companion who discovers his time has come, destined
to be inevitably cast aside by long time companion Catherine Deneuve when the
more delectable Susan Sarandon supplants him for attention. Duped into believing
he was granted eternal youth, John Blaylock learns he is merely eternal, begins
aging at an alarming rate and he is left to wither and waste away in the attic,
along with Deneuve’s other former lovers.
Ostensibly this
is a cautionary metaphor for addiction (somewhat addled, to Sarandon’s chagrin,
by the revised ending), but one might also read into Bowie’s role a commentary
on the ephemeral nature of the pop star, albeit he bucked that trend, retaining
a permanence few were capable of. Bowie went on to resume his Hunger relationship as the host of the
second series of the late ‘90s TV anthology of the same name, and this is one
of his most affecting turns, coming on as too cool for school with Catherine
Deneuve, to the strains of Bauhaus, but then rapidly devolving into a helpless
state, left to rot like a Dorian Gray painting in the attic.
The early
‘80s, post-his success on stage in The
Elephant Man, saw Bowie attempt a variety of movie roles, all them at least
interesting, and as such they presented an almost inverted relationship with
his investment in his musical career. One thing they evidenced is that he was
in his element with a supporting role, brought on for maximum impact because he
needed to do relatively little to make his mark. Bowie had reservations
regarding the picture at the time, but The
Hunger’s subsequent cult reappraisal has been largely justified. As an
aside, it’s a shame it wasn't a bigger hit, since the also sadly departed to
soon Tony Scott started out with the almost art-pop aesthetic of his brother
but soon discarded it for frequently empty, shiny Hollywood baubles (which he
invariably rendered with consummate skill).
5. Andy
Warhol
Basquiat (1996)
Julian
Schnabel’s biopic falls into the diligently linear trap of many a biographical
movie, added to which, feeling such leeway is endorsed through depicting an
artist, it indulges a less than focussed telling. What it definitely has going
for it, that sees it through its rather languid course, is vibrant cast, from Jeffrey
Wright’s outstanding lead turn to the many names in minor supporting roles
(presumably many of whom wanted to express their art appreciation credentials).
These include Dennis Hopper, Gary Oldman (as a Schnabel stand-in), Christopher
Walken, Willem Dafoe, Courtney Love and up-and-comer Benicio Del Toro. And
Michael Wincott, not playing a
psycho. The most recognisable figure in this exploration of the empty commercialism
of the ‘80s New York art scene is its forefather Andy Warhol, as essayed by
Bowie no less (wearing Warhol’s actual wigs).
It’s a very
funny performance, lifting what is a fairly downbeat, listless movie. His aging,
not altogether there Andy is particularly amusing during a dinner party exchange
where he gives up insisting that Saddle Row is in New Jersey, in response to a
guest claiming, in an increasingly heated manner, that it is New York. “Oh, I didn't know that. Did you know that?”
he asks Paul Bartel after a spell of back-and-forth, defusing the situation. In
another scene, Basquiat walks in on Andy observing “oxidisation art” (piss-painting,
sourced from a particular brand of beer). Asked why he doesn’t try it himself, Andy
replies “I don't like beer”. Then
there’s Basquiat’s mirthful response to Warhol’s anecdote “When I was little my brother and I had two pet ducks. We called them
the Garcia brothers”. It’s all in Bowie’s approximation of Warhol, which is
gloriously elsewhere.
4. Pontius Pilate
The Last
Temptation of Christ (1988)
This rather
absurd notion that Bowie couldn't act seemed to be the rehearsed script from
most critics for along time, right up until his death, when miraculously they
were suddenly singing a different tune. Fickleness knows no bounds. There is a
certain truth, though, that he was best served by a role that made the most of
his inimitable presence, the same way, say, you (hopefully) try to cast
Christopher Walken in parts that don't waste him. In many cases (much on this
list) it means he stands out against the background or his screen partners, and
is given an accentuated or unusual role.
Last Temptation is something of an exception, wherein Bowie
underplays as Pontius Pilate, offering a weary ruler whose matter-of-fact
cynicism makes him seem the most reasoned and almost sympathetic personification
of the man who sent Jesus to his death. Christ offers change in the way people
think and feel, and Pilate informs him simply, be it killing or loving “We don’t want them changed”. His calm
stillness is the perfect contrast with the storm that surrounds Willem Dafoe’s
Jesus and, thanks to the eclectic cast assembled by Scorsese, Bowie doesn't
seem at all out of place in this (over-stated as such) controversial telling.
3. Colin
Morris
Into the
Night (1985)
“You’re really very good” Bowie’s moustachioed
English hit man confides in Jeff Goldbum’s strung-out insomniac, who is engaged
in a peculiar nocturnal odyssey with Michelle Pfeiffer’s alluring diamond
smuggler. John Landis has always had a thing for the cameo, particularly prone
to dropping in directors all over the place, and Bowie here is just another
ingredient in the scene-by-scene different flavours of strange Goldblum
encounters. He relishes the chance to deliver a cheerful vignette of black comedy.
Like all the best villains, Colin Morris embraces being a bad guy, and treats
Jeff as one of his professional equals (rather suggesting Colin might not be that
good after all), before putting a gun in his mouth (“I like you, Ed. I do like you”). If Bowie appearances were rated
for the impact he makes in the shortest time, this might come top, so delightfully
dangerous is he. The last we see of Bowie’s Colin Morris, he’s engaged in a
particular nasty knife fight to the death with Carl Perkins.
2. Nikola
Tesla
The
Prestige (2006)
“The first time I changed the world, I was
hailed as a visionary. The second time, I was asked politely to retire.” Falling
into the camp of “Who better to play an icon of history than an icon of the
present?”, Bowie’s manifestation of Nikola Tesla is a genius piece of casting
on director Christopher Nolan’s part (Bowie initially turned it down, until the
director flew out to see him and persuaded him no one else could play the part);
Tesla remains an enigma, his scientific art and craft shrouded in half-legends concerning
the potential of his work and conspiracy theories regarding the sabotage of a
bright future of free energy for all. Who better to play him than an embodiment
of mystery, a star known for keeping his audience guessing about his motives
and just what he will come up with next?
Tesla also
gives the Bowie the actor the opportunity to proffer a mature sage, embodying the
wisdom that comes from having one’s ambitions derailed (a flip side to Jerome
Newton in that sense, for whom the years lead only to advanced stupor). Bowie
was in hibernation musically during this period, and withdrawn from the public
arena generally, making the mysterious Tesla all the more potent a presence. He
comes on with a magician’s sleight of hand, in a movie (possibly Nolan’s best
movie) about the craft of stage magic, produces a spell out of (numerous) top
hats and then withdraws, fundamentally affecting the thrust of this tale (and
for some, bizarrely, spoiling it).
1. Thomas
Jerome Newton
The Man Who
Fell to Earth (1976)
Bowie’s
signature role, one often lumped in with the also-Nicolas Roeg-directed Mick
Jagger in Performance as a rare
example of a pop star acquitting themselves with aplomb at the old acting lark.
Whereas Mick can boast few other examples of his skill in this arena (Freejack, anyone?), Bowie fully grasped
the thespian mettle at various points. Nevertheless, it’s surely no coincidence
that Thomas Jerome Newton’s resonance is down to reflecting the fragile state
of its gaunt star at the time, mired in a ravaging coke addiction and, as an
actor, responding in the moment, instinctively offering an alien adjusting to
and being debased by the debilitating world of Earth; as he said “I actually was feeling as alienated as the
character was”.
While this
couldn’t be said to “be” David Bowie any more than his cameo in Zoolander, there’s a raw, transparent
quality here that is only accentuated by Roeg’s fractured yet intimate
construction of the film as a whole (see also Don’t Look Now for the director eliciting powerful performances
from his actors). Newton obviously counted for a lot with Bowie, not just in
terms of that period in his life but also the broader subject matter, a Howard
Hughes-esque recluse placed under a microscope as the world passes by, the
potential of his life mission come to nothing (not that Bowie isn’t the last
person anyone would look at in those terms), as he revisited it in his final
year for the stage musical Lazarus.
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