Love &
Mercy
(2014)
Well here’s
a surprise: a decent biopic. Probably because Love & Mercy isn’t slavishly fuelled by a sense of its own
importance, and because it stresses the emotional life rather than the itemised
history of its protagonist. Who is Brian Wilson, in his 20s and 40s, portrayed
by Paul Dano and John Cusack respectively. Which was even more of a surprise,
as I didn’t spend the duration possessed
with the urge to thump Dano, who generally is just that kind of performer (and,
I’m not a violent man, Mr Fawlty).
So the
skill of Bill Pohlad (more usually a producer; this is his sophomore directing
gig) is not to be underestimated in inducing me to empathise with Dano-Brian.
He also pulls of the trick, with writers Oren Moverman (credited with cracking
the story, he was in line to direct until realising Pohlad had such a clear
vision, persuading him to step up to the megaphone) and Michael A Lerner, of
making me invested in the genius of Wilson. Not that I don’t recognise the
genius of specific Beach Boys songs,
but I’ve never had the urge to sit down and listen to an entire album; for me, they
just don’t hold that kind of allure.
The gradual
disintegration of Dano-Brian, striving for ever-purer creative expression in
the face of doubts about performing, reluctance on his fellow band members’
parts to go with his outré fare (Jake Abel’s Mike Love being most vocal), and a
father from whom he seeks acknowledgement from but who is simultaneously entirely
poisonous (Bill Camp, brazenly unsympathetic), while consuming substances that
aren’t exactly helping his fragile psyche, makes for a compelling compendium signalling
imminent mental collapse, particularly when spliced by the fractured time
frames, as we shunt back and forth over two decades. For once, Dano’s naturally
wan, insipidly-minded demeanour meshes with a sympathetic character, and
alchemy ensues.
Cusack-Brian
is, in contrast, solid rather than spectacular. Ironic, as I always rather
rated Cusack, at least until he hooked up with Nic Cage and Val Kilmer’s tax
adviser and started making any shit, anytime, anywhere. I shouldn’t be
surprised that the performance is merely competent, as Cusack has never been exactly
an immersive actor; he is very much always himself playing his subject. So, while
we perceive Wilson’s distant, little boy lost, he never disappears into the
role. This actually doesn’t matter too much, because while the ‘60s passages
are very much about Brian being centre stage, his passivity in the later phase
requires someone else to take the lead: Elizabeth Banks as romantic partner and
saviour Melinda Ledbetter.
Melinda
locks horns with Brian’s suffocating, vainglorious “Dr” Eugene Landy, a classic
case of the psycho prescribing psychotics, in a typically excessive, loathsome,
two-dimensional, bug-eyed turn from Paul Giamatti. Which is to say, he’s very
good, but I suspect I’m suffering a wee bit of Giamatti fatigue. I see him
everywhere, walking around like normal people, in everything. The ‘80s sequence
is more traditional in structure perhaps, providing as it does the essential
catharsis, but this also makes it a hands-down winner purely in emotional
stakes.
It would
have been easy for Pohlad to get carried away with the ‘60s nostalgia and
namedropping (“Paul McCartney said God
only knows is the best song ever written”), but rather than obvious
recreations, the best moments find Brian striking sparks off his session
musicians (“Well, if you repeat a mistake
every four bars, it’s not a mistake anymore”) and one of them comparing him
to other greats they’ve worked with (“Phil’s
got nothing on you” of Spector). That said, Wes Anderson’s regular
cinematographer Robert Yeoman does a standout job evoking the era and its
colours, man, its colours.
Perhaps the
biggest compliment I can pay Love & Mercy
is that it doesn’t need to be about
Brian Wilson for it to work. It fosters enough empathic sustenance that the
simple message “You need to find a way to
get back to yourself” would hold true even if the lead character had been a
nobody. Maybe that’s the key to a good biopic; get to the heart of the individual,
and the rest will follow.
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