Velvet Goldmine

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 ****

Slash Fanfiction is when a person writes a story involving two (usually) males characters from a television show or movie in a homoerotic romantic relationship. And this is what Velvet Goldmine is. A visually stunning, incredibly tasty piece of slash fanfiction. But instead of Kirk & Spock or Mulder & Krycek, it's someone who's a lot like David Bowie and someone who's a lot like Iggy Pop. Perhaps that appeals to you. Perhaps it doesn't. But despite its fanfiction feeling, this movie is absolutely visually stunning. The imagery will last with you long after you leave the movie, your eyes blinking as you adjust to a rather grey drab world. The movie isn't about substance, it's about style; about creating and rearranging yourself to fit the time, to fit the world around you. It's about fluidity, fluidity of gender, personality, ideas, and romance. Because, like all Slash fanfiction, above everything else, it's a love story.

A presumptuous movie that hasn't grown old well.

It could have been more bold or daring, but it is just sentimental and nostalgic in a strange way: I got the impression that the movie doesn't fully respect it's characters or their actions, which is not a problem if it creates a feeling of objective distance, but such detachment is broken by the sentimentalism: should we miss glam rock or laugh at it? The movie is about glam rock as a musical and a social movement, as an attitude, but the general tone is closer to an elegy than to a defense without actually being neither.

I liked the movie, though, specially Ewan McGregor and the performances by bands highly influenced by glam rock.

After watching 'Velvet Goldmine' for a second time I still have absolutely no idea what Todd Haynes was trying to achieve. He could have approached it as a straightforward biopic of Bowie and 70s glam (with the names changed to protect the "innocent" if need be), OR as a surreal, camp fantasy equal parts Ken Russell, Russ Meyer and Grant Morrison (Zenith, Doom Patrol, The Invisibles). But by doing both, or rather, neither, it's ends up a confused bore that pleases nobody. As an Eno fan I was happy to hear quite a lot of his (and Roxy Music's) songs used on the soundtrack, and some of the Bowie pastiches were very good also, but I find 'Velvet Goldmine' to be overlong and ultimately unsatisfying. I also think Haynes not entirely accurate equation of glam rock equaling homosexuality sheds more light on him than the actual era. The movie is more a post-Morrissey look at glam than a truthful document of an exciting and innovative musical period. 'Velvet Goldmine' contains a few enjoyable moments but not enough to recommend it. A great movie could be made about Bowie but this isn't it.

I don't think I've ever seen a movie that has polarized people as much as this one, or at least very few. Some people have put down every single thing about it. As for me, when my roommate (who had already seen it) asked me what I'd thought of it I replied in all honesty, "I loved every single frame of it." She concurred, and we've both seen it again since. I plan to buy it as soon as I can find it for sale. It's heavy on metaphors, which seems to have annoyed a lot of people. As for it's structural resemblance to 'Citizen Kane', that was one of the points. Glam rock was in part about copying others for copying's sake, like Brian Slade copied from Curt Wild, and everyone copied from Jack Fairy. The performances are all great. Some may nitpick about how the characters were portrayed, but I think they were all apt. Ewan McGregor has gotten plenty of slobbering, ecstatic praise from me in the past, and this only encouraged the worship. Toni Collette, so mired in ugly duckling roles since 'Muriel's Wedding', is wonderful, as is Christian Bale's brittle, disillusioned reporter role. Jonathan Rhys-Meyers is, as Brian Slade, a glittering void, as cloaked in mystery at the end as he was at the beginning. Some of have criticized his role, but I think he did it just right, with a grand coldness. One believes that only such a creature could be the idol of an era that was, in the end, about glittering emotional voids and icy hipness. Why did he do what he did? We never know. That's one of the best parts. (I must embarrass myself here by noting, also, that Rhys-Meyers is so shockingly beautiful it's disgusting, like eating too much honey. Kinda makes you wanna puke on his shoes, doesn't it?) I suppose that not everyone can be expected to love this movie as much as I did, but I'm still a little surprised at some of the venom that's been spit at it. Then again, it is a truly enigmatic film, delicious for those who can appreciate a glorious feast of sight and sound, but just plain confusing and annoying for those who lack the imagination to appreciate it.