Glam rock!

Velvet Goldmine (1998)

Short: In 1984, journalist Arthur Stuart (Christian Bale) is assigned a story about the rise and fall of British glam rock icon Brian Slade (Jonathan Rhys Meyers), marking the 10 year anniversary of the concert where Slade faked his own death. Coincidence of coincidences, the only British man in New York happened to be at that concert, and he knows a lot more about Slade, Curt Wild (Ewan McGregor), and Mandy Slade (Toni Collette) than his editor could even guess.

Once upon a time, April was attacked by the HoYay. See, I so excited to see my long-term and original movie boyfriend in a movie that I started watching it in the middle, and I saw things that made me immediately snap off the movie. In fact, I pretty much broke up with Christian Bale after that.

Many a moon has passed, and I can handle the HoYay now. If you don't know what HoYay means, you aren't reading enough TWoP. And if you don't know what TWoP stands for, you aren't checking out my links. That's too bad for you, ma'am (or sir).

So, consider yourself warned about the HoYay. Apparently it arrives via spaceship with Oscar Wilde and a green pin.

Any way, you know that part in The Boondock Saints were Rocco accidentally shoots that cat, and Norman Reedus yells, (in an entirely Southern US and not at all Irish way) "Did that just happen?" Well, that's how I feel about this movie. There are only a handful of movies that I could toss in this category, but you know them when you watch them. As soon as the credits start rolling, I look around and ask no one in particular, "What did I just watch?" Not because I've instantly forgotten, you see, but because I have yet to process any of the information.

Now, with luck, some of those movies improve with repeated viewing. Others, however, are thrown into what I now refer to as the "take it or leave it" pile. I wouldn't want anyone to see it without being warned, but I wouldn't stop anyone from seeing it. Unless they didn't want to be neck deep in the HoYay.

I seem to be doing a lot of explaining for this movie, which is either a bad or a good sign. At this point, I'm not entirely sure.

I've been thinking about it, and, while many actors are well suited to their roles, there are few perfect role/actor combinations. I mean the ones where you couldn't imagine anyone else playing the role half as well, as though the actor were born to be [blank]. For me, Russell Crowe as Maximus and Renee Zellweger as Bridget spring to mind. She's the very embodiment of Bridget Jones.

To that list I add Jonathan Rhys Meyers as Slade. If any one else could look like, sing like, or be a better sociopathic (tm, Sobell!), androgynous, bisexual glam rock star, you let me know who it is. Because it's no one. Meyers, frustrating and useless as anyone normal, is bloody charismatic, and he knows it. You just sit back and wait for those pouty lips to curl and those expressionless eyes to start to gleam. Good for him.

Todd Haynes, who wrote and directed this bizarre little offering, also gave us the glorious and understated Far From Heaven, which also involved the HoYay. I'm thinking that Haynes wants to be a modern day Tennessee Williams. Good luck with that. Williams had the kind of characterization that speaks volumes decades after writing, unlike Haynes here. Far From Heaven, though, was the kind of film that requires multiple viewings to see past its muted tones and into its core. I'm undecided about Haynes.

Shades of Citizen Kane and David Bowie aside, I still don't know how to grade this one. If I give it a C, I worry that you'll interpret it as "average" or "middle of the road," but it's not middle of the road. It's on another street entirely. Still, C.