In 1984, British journalist Arthur Stuart investigates the career of 1970s glam superstar Brian Slade, who was heavily influenced in his early years by hard-living and rebellious American singer Curt Wild.
Jonathan Rhys Meyers,
Another dazzling suburban phantasm from writer-director Todd Haynes, Dottie Gets Spanked (made post-Poison and pre-Safe) is a stylized, bittersweet nod to his childhood fascination with I ... See full summary »
J. Evan Bonifant,
Six incarnations of Bob Dylan: an actor, a folk singer, an electrified troubadour, Rimbaud, Billy the Kid, and Woody Guthrie. Put Dylan's music behind their adventures, soliloquies, interviews, marriage, and infidelity. Recreate 1960s documentaries in black and white. Put each at a crossroads, the artist becoming someone else. Jack, the son of Ramblin' Jack Elliott, finds Jesus; handsome Robbie falls in love then abandons Claire. Woody, a lad escaped from foster care, hobos the U.S. singing; Billy awakes in a valley threatened by a six-lane highway; Rimbaud talks. Jude, booed at Newport when he goes electric, fences with reporters, pundits, and fans. He won't be classified.Written by
After considering a proposal to shoot the film in Romania (due to it's inexpensiveness), Todd Haynes decided to shoot the film entirely in Montreal. See more »
During the Los Angeles home sequences, Claire's/Robbie's telephone number has a 310 area code, which was introduced November 2, 1991. The area code should be 213. See more »
There he lies. God rest his soul, and his rudeness. A devouring public can now share the remains of his sickness, and his phone numbers. There he lay: poet, prophet, outlaw, fake, star of electricity. Nailed by a peeping tom, who would soon discover...
A poem is like a naked person...
It would be far too simplistic to say that there's an 85 min film starring Cate Blanchett trying to fight its way out of this. I mean, I rather like Haynes' basic conceit of having a dovetailed selection of fictionalised biopic. At one end is the immature, unselfconscious Marcus Carl Franklin as a Woody Guthrielyte; at the other Richard Gere as a schizophrenic samurai of civil rights. In between are conventional characterisations of Bob Dylan from Christian Bale (Julianne Moore entirely acceptable as a Baez-a-like) and an extraordinary cinematic cloning from Cate Blanchett. Heath Ledger's actor and Ben Whishaw's poet-abstraction are less well incorporated into the film's fabric.
In fact, there's simply no fabric to weave into. Total immersion takes over - and its as if there's a seventh character, the over reverent director with his Kristofferson voice-over trying to be Dylan and consuming any clarity there might have been. It's formless, directionless - voiceless.
There's some lovely photography and a great sense for the recreation of period footage as well as a heroic performance from Bruce Greenwood, a useful critic-trope abandoned by Haynes. But this is simply seasoning in a badly undercooked dish. 3/10
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