The Bikeriders

The "Wisdom" of the Tribe ("Whatta Ya Got?")

or

"It'd Be Funny If It Weren't So Tragic..."
 

Look. I get it.

 

I blog about movies because I love it. So, of course, I joined a movie-loving-cluster of bloggers—The Large Association of Movie Blogs (I've participated in a podcast for them about this very movie) and there is comfort there. It's a joy to commiserate with other people—of other ages, of other backgrounds, from other countries—who share a love of movies. We all have opinions. Sometimes we don't agree, and you can ignore that or you can learn from the different perspective. It's all about the process of understanding this thing you love. There's safety there, too. Sometimes you can share something in those discussions that it would be a fool's errand to try to communicate with your family and friends. For most of them, "movies" is something to do on a date-night, or when you want to just 'veg'. The last thing they want to do is to study the film and try to find out why (or why not) it communicates its message. For others, that's like assigning yourself homework. For me, it's something I "gotta" do.

 

So, here's The Bikeriders, written and directed by Jeff Nichols. It's a movie about a motorcycle club—the Vandals MC —that operated (in its hey-day) between 1965 and 1973, and was immortalized by the picture book of the same name by Danny Lyons.

It's a movie about a motorcycle gang. Haven't we seen enough movies (and bad ones) about those?

Sure. But, this is Jeff Nichols, one my favorites of the "younger" crop of directors, and his subjects are interesting, and if they're not box-office sure-things, they're at least interesting in the way he presents them. He made Mud, Take Shelter, Midnight Special, and Loving, all movies I'd recommend seeing (especially Loving) because of the way he tells stories so well. All his movies are about ostracized outsiders, and The Bikeriders is no exception.

We first meet Benny (Austin Butler) quite a ways into the story, but this is like a thesis statement for the movie. He's sitting in a bar, smoking, drinking, minding his own business. Then two beefy "townies" walk into the bar and object to the fact that Benny is wearing "colors"—his motorcycle jacket—and suggest that he take it off. Benny—as in the way of movie bikers—looks from one of the guys to the others—clenches his jaw and says "You'd have to kill me to get this fuckin' jacket off." 

So, there's a fight, seeing as there's no negotiation between the parties. It starts in the bar, then goes outside. It's starts as a fistfight, then Benny pulls out a knife and slashes one of the guys' face, then the other grabs a shovel and swings it at his head.

Just before it connects—and it IS going to connect—Nichols freeze-frames and we begin the movie proper with an interview (we're still not at the beginning of the story) and Danny (Mike Faist) is talking to Kathy (Jodie Comer) about the incident and about her relationship to Benny and of how the Vandals came to be—Johnny (Tom Hardy), a blue collar worker with a wife and two kids, saw The Wild One on TV and, like so many others, liked the freedom of the lifestyle depicted (ignoring the underlying message) and formed the club. It was about how a bunch of outsiders formed a community of like-interests, ignoring the typical organizations like churches, PTAs, and Elks. The reason? They're all outsiders who wouldn't fit in those clans, so why not form their own? "What's not to like?" (which is as much of a nothing sandwich as "Whatta ya got?").

The through-line of the movie is the passage of time and how the group changes, following Johnny's lead, which has some basic things like wearing the distressed leather jacket that serves as a uniform, and some arbitrary rules about being loyal to each other, and if there are any issues that are disagreed upon, they'll have a fight—"fists or knives" is the only specifics that need to be addressed—and whoever wins, gets their way, much in the way it worked in Black Panther (which sounded like a good system in that movie, but here smacks of "rule by minority").

While these things are going on, Johnny weighs the responsibility that being leader of such a group imposes on him, and Kathy realizes that Benny will always be conflicted whether to choose her or the club, even as that club faces challengers from a couple of fronts—the incoming Vietnam vets with chips on their shoulder and a disdain for authority and the young kids who see the power in numbers and want in on it. The "outlaw" mythology starts to get the better of the Vandals and it starts changing as time gets longer and meaner. It leaves Johnny with one of the few articulate insights in the movie: "You can give all you got to a thing" he tells Kathy at one point. "And it's always gonna do what it's gonna do" and it applies for Kathy to Benny and it applies for him to the club.

But, that's about it for depth. Things happen. Things get worse. And the vague rules of the club seem to go by the way-side as its reputation swells and new members begin to dilute its purpose and turn it into a gang. The rules don't apply to anybody anymore. And any good intentions are drowned out by bad behavior.

That's the gist of it. And as good as the performances are—although the actors' recreations of their characters' voices may produce giggles, they're based on Lyons' tapes of interviews with them—and as okay as the visuals are and as strenuously Nichols tries to recreate the books' look, it doesn't amount to much. One gets left with the impression that The Bikeriders is less about the gang than it is about Kathy's observations of them, and that's an outsiders' perspective (like, frankly, the guy who made the book). We see her struggle for the soul of Benny, but we really don't get to know him—he's a James Dean wanna-be—and the audience doesn't really get to know the Vandals—do they have jobs? how do they get the money for all that beer? They own a bar, sure, but there never seems to be anybody in it—because they're a bit of a mystery—and an antagonist—to Kathy. Like Brando's challenging non-answer of "Whaddaya got?" there's no "there" there. And the story of the Vandals is just another cautionary tale of what happens when you don't apply the brakes every once in awhile. Or check the gas-tank.

If Nichols wanted to make a film of a picture book, he accomplished it. But, it's all captions with nothing between the lines and nothing between the pictures. The Bikeriders is more of a scrapbook than a fully fleshed-out movie, with a veneer of remove as he's trying to recreate what somebody already documented—"The Golden Age of motorcycle clubs"...but that age is long gone. Thomas Wolfe said you can never go home again. Apparently you can't make a movie of it, either.

 

But, Nichols is a fine director. This time he merely took a spill. And I look forward to his next one

 

Dune: Part 2

Lead Them to Paradise

or

You Can't Have a Messiah Without a Mess at the Beginning.

 

"God created Arrakis to train the faithful"

from "The Wisdom of Muad'Dib" by the Princess Irulan

When last we left Paul Atreides (Timothée Chalamet), he and his Mother Jessica (Rebecca Ferguson) were the last survivors of an attack on their new home on Arrakis by the House Harkonnen, in order to win back the all-important spice-mining business, around which the very Universe itself depends. 

The first film ended with Paul's pivotal killing of the Fremen Jamis—his first real doubter of the Arrakis indigenous tribe—in order to become part of their number and learn their ways, and Dune: Part 2 begins almost immediately after that act.

It is clear—even without a viewing of his continuation—that writer-director Denis Villeneuve dearly loves Frank Herbert's story, and, as a result, it's more faithful than the previous versions (the story is so dense, with plots, sub-plots, and arcana that is was dubbed "unfilmable"), certainly in regards to the ways of Arrakis' inhabitants, the Fremen and their relationships with water and the predatory sand-worms—the "Shai-Hulud"—while also delving a bit more into the ways of the manipulative Bene Gesserit sisterhood, of which Jessica is a part.*

So, along with the blistering action sequences, the vast desert vistas, and the Leni Riefenstahl-styled troop formations, we get a bit more of the sociology of the Fremen, their belief systems, their legends...and that, though they may be monolithic, they are not as homogeneous in their ways as in prior depictions. These Fremen actually have personalities, as opposed to the stoic stalwarts they've been portrayed as before. 

That's good. And it gives them a chance to shine (seeing as how they dominate this second act), and provide rich characters for Javier Bardem and Zendaya to play around with, rather than as merely devoted followers to be led. Bardem's Stilgar is shown to be a bit of a romantic zealot, but with enough years to still be suspicious of the legends coming true, while Zendaya's Chani distrusts the prophecies, knowing full well that giving in to a messianic leader is just another form of slavery.

Those are good concepts, part of a couple of the dualities that Dune: Part 2 leans in on—dualities which Herbert chose not to spell out, but merely allowed to percolate as sub-text. And it shows that Villeneuve is confident enough in his work that he complicates it even more than the original author did.

So, there was quite a death-toll among the A-listers in the first Dune, so, right off the studio logos, we start being introduced to the new cast-members, starting with Florence Pugh as Princess Irulan, daughter of the Emperor Shaddam IV (Christopher Walken, and it's nice that composer Han Zimmer didn't give him any background music with cow-bells), as the Princess notices the Emperor's ruminating silence over the death of Duke Leto Atreides in the previous film; she is the chronicler of the tale, and it's a good thing because there's quite a lot of catching up to do.

We also get to meet Feyd-Rautha (Austin Butler, proving he's not a one-trick-pony depending on his looks) the Baron Harkonnen's younger, more psychotic son, who is Paul's final test, and, as well, a character no one's bothered with before, Lady Margot Fenring (Léa Seydoux) who's deep in the depth's of the Bene Gesserit conspiracy.

"I'd wish you the (best of luck), but it seems you've won your battle."

Then, there's one character, who's always problematic—Paul's sister Alia (yeah, I'm not going to tell you), the last child of Duke Leto Atreides. Villeneuve eliminates the two year gap that Herbert inserted into the book, so we don't get to see a walking talking two year old, instead we see the child in Jessica's womb, talking to both mother and brother through her thoughts. Okay, weird, but not as weird as it could have been.

A lot of set up here, much like you could say Dune was merely the set-up for Part 2 (which is accurate, but there was so much of worth in the first one that it wouldn't be a fair assessment). It is nearly three hours of non-stop posturing, gritty action and a soundtrack you can feel in your ribs, with all sides circling around each other for a big pay-off that is, justifiably, a little melancholic. Think of The Godfather meeting "Game of Thrones". It certainly does the book justice, and although "Dune" devotees may quibble with a couple of changes—no two year gap, so no Alia and no Guild and the changes to Chani (which I'll get to in a second)--one can't deny that this is as close to movie-form as we're going to get. It's amazing. It's fantastic. It's a must-see. Simple as that for being as complex as that.

And I want to see where they go with the next one ("Next one?" Yeah...author Herbert wrote a few books!). They've done a very logical, character-driven change to the character of Chani...to the betterment, I'd say, as I've always had an uneasiness about her character, previously. It will add a complication, and a personal element to the road ahead (if they follow Herbert's road-map) and if Villeneuve is willing to already muddy the...er.. sand and stir things a bit, I'm all for it.

It's one of those movies that I can recommend without hesitation, and those are few and far between. And I'd love to be able to eavesdrop some of the post-viewing discussions. 

 

For me, being a fan of the book (and a couple of the others), it's nice to be able to look at these two films back-to-back and say that we finally have a "Dune" adaptation, we don't have to make excuses for.

He was warrior and mystic, ogre and saint, the fox and the innocent, chivalrous, ruthless, less than a god, more than a man was. There is no measuring Muad'Dib's motives by ordinary standards. In the moment of his triumph, he saw the death prepared for him, yet he accepted the treachery. Can you say he did this out of a sense of justice? Whose justice, then? Remember, we speak now of the Muad'Dib who ordered battle drums made from his enemies' skins, the Muad'Dib who denied the conventions of his ducal past with a wave of the hand, saying merely: "I am the Kwisatz Haderach. That is reason enough."

--from "Arrakis Awakening" by the Princess Irulan

 

* In fact, the only thing Villeneuve ignores is the Spice Guild, particularly its Navigators, spice-mutated humans who have attained the power to "bend space" and thus travel between worlds, a necessary component in a story about commerce, and the resources needed to maintain them for power. 

Elvis (2022)

The King is Dead. Long Live the King (Accept No Further Substitutions)

or

"You're a Devil in Disguise"

"The people gave their money and they gave their screams, but the Beatles gave their nervous systems, which is a much more difficult thing to give."

George Harrison

 

Baz Luhrmann is a favorite in these quarters for his brio and audaciousness, but his "throw-it-at-the-wall-and-see-if-it-sticks" approach to film-making can be off-putting to purists. Too many mash-up's, too many liberties taken with authenticity, too many anachronisms. 

 

Yeah, yeah. So what?

 

Baz Lurhrmann makes kaleidoscopic multi-media myths with the emotional histrionics of grand opera, and a design sense that is stuffed with equal parts sub-text and glitz. So, if Lurhmann was going to continue the trend of making movies dissecting the lives of pop artists (Bohemian Rhapsody, Rocketman), he would laser-in on the career of Elvis Presley, the culture-described King of Rockn'Roll, who flashed like a meteorite in the the 1950's and crashed to Earth, dying at the age of 42.

Not everyone might know the story of Elvis, although they might know the prevailing culture—the hoardes of imitating Elvi, the wedding chapel versions, the general prevalence of over-the-top glitz, the rotation of movies on TCM, and maybe the vast catalog of music he produced. Presley was born in poverty in Tupelo, Mississippi and became a sensation in the fledgling field of rockabilly and Rockn'Roll, which he'd morphed from their origins in Rhythm n' Blues. His stage-work was what made him famous, as he dervished and swiveled on stage that sent bobby-soxers swooning and the morality police into over-drive. He became a pop sensation with equal efforts to exploit him and contain him—his first appearance on "The Ed Sullivan Show" would only show him from the waist up.*

There was a brief period of inactivity after he was drafted into the Army (which became the origins of the musical "Bye-Bye, Birdie")—where he met his future bride, Priscilla at the tender age of 14—and once his tour was over returned to recording and a career making movies in Hollywood, which he found lucrative but ultimately unsatisfying as, after making a couple of dramatic roles (he idolized James Dean), he was relegated to made-to-order musicals to serve the fan-base but not much else.

To jump-start his career in the late 60's, he made a couple of television specials that recalled the old Elvis, pre-Hollywood, revived his recording career (and critical regard) and contracted a long-standing "residency" in the big International Hotel showroom in Vegas. The grueling schedule had a detrimental effect on his health, his marriage, and his life, and he began taking drugs—he'd previously sworn off any drugs or alcohol (there was a lot of alcoholism in his family)—to maintain his commitments. He finally succumbed to a heart attack.

By now, we've come to expect a bit of gloss in our musical bio-pics, especially when it comes to the darker aspects of celebrity (can't risk discouraging the ambitious, now, can we?) and Elvis has plenty of that. And it's not just in little details (Elvis is coerced into enlisting in the military to promote a wholesome image rather than—as the truth is—being drafted) so much in the big arc of the story—that Elvis (Austin Butler), a child inspired and enraptured by Rhythm and Blues and Gospel music, is enticed by success and then trapped in it by music promoter—and con-man—Col. Tom Parker (Tom Hanks). There's a lot of truth in that—Parker was a rascal—but Elvis was not so much the innocent as portrayed in the movie. But, then, Luhrmann wouldn't have been able to match the story to more operatic roots.

And that opera is "Faust." Based on Goethe's play, it is about a philosopher who, to attain transcendence, makes a deal with the Devil at the cost of his soul. Here Col. Tom is the Devil, who tempts Elvis with fame and fortune, controlling his life—despite Elvis' repeated acts of rebellion—until the singer is contracted to endure a brutal performance schedule from which he cannot escape that will eventually kill him. The movie is narrated by Parker, who constantly makes the case that he is innocent of Elvis' fate, but the story is rife with evidence that he's a con man, a grifter, and—in a touch that's a little too much on the prosthetically enlarged nose—a provider of "forbidden fruit." Giving audiences, in his words, "feelings they didn't know they should feel." When he sees the audience's reaction to Elvis' jittery first stage performance, he stalks him in a carnival house of mirrors to propose his business deal, delivered at the top of a stopped ferris wheel. The pact is completed on a precarious foundation.

Hanks' performance, like his other rare villainous roles is over-the-top. Sporting a vaguely Germanic accent—Parker, whose real name was Andreas Cornelis van Kuijk, was Dutch—and swaddled in layers of latex, he is all twinkling malevolence and insinuation, always upping the ante for his targets and hedging his personal bets. Luhrmann has him rising from a hospital bed to descend to his own version of Hell, a darkened casino showroom festooned with slot machines; Parker was an insatiable gambler and used the Elvis fortune to pay off his soaring debts.

But every villain must have a sympathetic victim and Luhrmann's ace in the hole is Butler, whose prettified Elvis is all guileless mamma's boy. Butler resembles Presley in the all-important eyes, but his jawline and cupid bow mouth are more feminine than the real guy; the resemblance really kicks in when Butler sports a cocky grin—it's just that Luhrmann offers few opportunities for that expression. Except on-stage, and that's where Butler's performance goes full-tilt. In fact, when Luhrmann's directorial energy flags mid-stream that's when Butler's stage theatrics take over, giving the movie a boost right when it needs it most.

At times, it's uncanny; the director uses a lot of split-screens of archive footage of the hysterical crowd reactions (it would be tough to duplicate today) and every-so-often Elvis pops into it and it takes a moment to realize if it is Elvis Presley or Butler—it's always Butler until towards the end of the film when footage of the real singer is used in a montage of images culminating in a stage performance of "Unchained Melody" where a clearly out-of-shape and exhausted Presley gives a powerhouse performance and, making it through it, gives a delighted, spent smile to the audience. That footage alone slaps away any disparaging "fat-Elvis" comments and makes you realize what an amazing talent the man had...even at the end.

Which, ironically, makes Butler's performance that much more impressive. He sings during the concert footage and does a great job as an Elvis imitator (according to ABC News, there are more than 35,000 as of 2002—I wonder what the unemployment rate for them is after Covid?). Well, their job is just that much more difficult now. There can be no more half-measures, no lame karate moves. Butler rises to the occasion in the Elvis royalty; if not quite The King, certainly an excellent torch-bearer.

Oh, one other thing: Luhrmann makes an interesting through-line of the story, taking Elvis from a little kid fascinated with gospel and the devotional reactions of the congregation and extending it to its culmination in the International's Vegas show-room, seeing it as its own Church of Elvis and his own personal ecstasy—while for Parker it's his own personal Hell, both trapped in prisons of their own making.

 

Damned clever, that Luhrmann.

Okay. I'm leaving the blog-post. You've been a fantastic audience. (Thenkew! Thenkewvermuch.)

* They relented in his next appearance, but Presley toned down his act considerably, even knowingly teasing it.