Velvet Goldmine

I first learned of Todd Haynes with the release of his 2002 drama "Far from Heaven", starring Julianne Moore as a 1950s housewife who develops a relationship with her African-American gardener after discovering her husband kissing a man. It turned out that Haynes had been making movies for some years by that point, including 1998's "Velvet Goldmine". This Academy Award-nominated spectacle is a look at the glam rock era, with Christian Bale as a reporter trying to find out what became of a glam star from the early '70s. This movie has it all: drug use, orgies, sexual fluidity, and everything else that was characteristic of the era.

It's not a masterpiece, but damned if the cast members don't put their all into the roles. I recommend it, but mind you, this is NOT a fluffy, "Almost Famous"-style look at '70s music; there are some shocking things here.

It is quite an extraordinary experience to sit through this film years after its controversial outing back in the distant 1998. Like many of the great pieces of art, or wine for that matter, time gives it that extra something that evolves its taste into something that you crave. The erotic innocence of the story is very much Oscar Wilde territory. Innocence, yes. - I've been arguing about it with some people about the inclusion of the word, if not the feeling, innocence in this context. I insist the word is perfectly fitting because at the end of this rainbow there is the longing for love. Ewan McGregor's cock is already famous the world over - and with reason - here it dangles across his frame like a child, unaware of his own nakedness. Jonathan Rhys Mayer is a delight. Strange to see him in feathers after "Match Point" and yet it makes a lot of sense. Christian Bale one day, will leave behind the pouting arrogance that is rapidly becoming his trademark - even as Batman - and come back to the glorious promise he insinuated here. All in all a triumph, Todd Haynes style.

Todd Haynes' fantasy rethinking of an era in rock history, as a David Bowie-like singer in the early '70s burns out and disappears, and one of his most ardent young fans--now a music journalist--interviews friends and colleagues hoping to get at the truth. Past-and-present collage isn't given a very pointed treatment (once the narrative has gone a certain distance, a flashback dating back even further in time drains the immediacy out of the proceedings), though the design of the picture and the personalities involved are very colorful, as is the soundtrack, a mix of newly written tunes and classics. The U.K. truly got a colorful slice of the glam-rock era (as opposed to the U.S., which pretty much missed the boat--and the musical point), and the film, mostly set in England, nails that distinctive time and place with embracing accuracy. Haynes is also shrewd enough to remember the particular talents impersonated here were not the originators of the scene--that all musical trends date back, and nothing is ever truly original or lasts forever. The cast is uniformly excellent: sexy, decadent, kinetic, nervy. Haynes isn't a master of the outré (like, say, Ken Russell), but neither is he a junky or disrespectful filmmaker, and even in the lowest moments of their lives, this crazy collection of hedonists still look and sound pretty great. **1/2 from ****

i really enjoyed this movie. the person who reviewed it so negatively seems to have missed the point. yes, it is over the top, campy & sometimes corny. but come on! you were expecting a restrained movie about david bowie and iggy pop?

i loved the camp, outfits, and excesses, and was unexpectedly moved by the story. using a queer, ex-fan reporter to frame the movie--so as to emphasize the effect that this bi-positive bi-posing rock star had on queer kids, and how upsetting his betrayal of them was--worked brilliantly. the use of arty-fairydust moments to capture the importance of fantasy to this scene worked wonderfully. i really appreciated jack fairy, as a character and as a link from glitter to the drag scene--this is not usually acknoledged. and whenever the movie veered too far into preciousness, the iggy pop/kurt wild character showed up to redeem it. his origin story--18 months of electroshock after being caught having sex with a boy--was a much-needed dose of reality in the midst of the glitter. and whenever the movie needed testosterone and directness, he appeared to supply it.

well, i think it's pretty clear that i'm the demographic for this movie--i'm the right age, i'm a fag, and i love both punk and glitter. but my straight boyfriend adored it too. if you ever enjoyed glitter or punk, keep an open mind & check it out, i think you'll like it. even if you don't, you can always look at the pretty outfits.

Even if I didn't think this movie was fantastic (which I do), I would have to be impressed with the incorporation of Oscar Wilde, his fascination with the decadence of pop culture, and his brilliant philosophies concerning art.

At the end of the film, when Arthur Stuart sits to have a drink with Curt Wylde (Oh look! A play on Oscar!, Wylde looks up and tells him that, "The true artist creates beautiful things, and puts none of his own life into them". This is one of the several scenes in which Oscar Wilde is referenced subtly, seamlessly and beautifully.

Curt is not simply Iggy Pop. He is Oscar Wilde. He is the true artist of the crowd, because he creates music without using the art as a form of autobiography.

Brian Slade is Dorian Gray. He invests all of his persona into the public, and into his songs, trapping himself in an expectation. The alter-ego Maxwell Demon is eternal youth. It is the embodiment of Slade in a single moment. Unfortunately, he traps himself, and leaves no room for growth. The shooting accomplishes two things. Slade arranging this pseudo-murder is Dorian gray destroying his portrait. At first Dorian was intrigued, even excited by the changes he saw in the painting. Then it began to wear on him. So with Slade/ Demon. The hoax liberates Slade the way death does Gray. Also, This secures Maxwell Demon a place in history. Brian Slade was a pop-star who was too controversial and too personally naked in his work to have any real longevity. The hype would have faded, and if he changed or grew as a person, that would have meant changing everything about his art (as they were so interlocked) and would have led to cries of "sell out". Either way, he would have faded out and been likely forgotten (the way Britney Spears will hopefully do one day). By enacting this faux death, Slade guarantees Maxwell Demon some form of eternal youth, trading in his career to do so (selling his soul).

There's more, as well. Jerry Devine, for instance, is Lord Henry. Mandy is Sybil Vane. They aren't exact, of course, and there are other veins running through them that make them unique, but one can see the influence.

Beautifully done, and a well paid tribute to the genius of Oscar Wilde!