Four stars. Rated PG-13, for dramatic intensity, profanity and drug use
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 6.5.15
Brian Wilson’s life story is
fascinating enough on its own merits, with enough drama, betrayal and crisis to
fuel a lengthy and thoroughly fascinating TV miniseries.
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| During one of her first encounters with Dr. Eugene Landy (Paul Giamatti, left), during a seemingly benign afternoon barbecue, Melinda (Elizabeth Banks) is about to discover just how cruel this celebrity psychotherapist can be toward Brian Wilson (John Cusack). |
That said, director Bill Pohlad
and scripters Oren Moverman and Michael Alan Lerner deserve credit for the
intriguing manner in which they’ve chosen to depict these events, in an
engaging, economical two-hour film that charts the exuberant highs and
heartbreaking lows of a musical genius who truly suffered for his art.
Rather than giving this tale an
old-fashioned monaural spin, Pohlad and his writers have opted for a brighter,
dual-track stereo treatment, with two actors playing Wilson during the strikingly
distinct points of his life.
Paul Dano is spot-on as the
cheerfully round-faced 1960s-era Brian, who married teenage sweetheart Marilyn
Rovell and spearheaded the enormously popular pop/rock band that released an
astonishing 10 albums in four short years. John Cusack, in turn, is equally
compelling as the heartbreakingly subdued 1980s-era Brian, initially in thrall
to control-freak celebrity psychotherapist Eugene Landy (a truly scary Paul
Giamatti).
Artistically, this two-tone
portrayal makes perfect sense; Brian became an entirely different person when,
during the making of the albums “Pet Sounds” and “Smile,” he succumbed to
artistic pressure, drug abuse and (probably) legitimate manic-depressive
schizoaffective disorders. No surprise, then, that Pohlad should depict the
musician’s before-and-after personas with different actors.
This gimmick isn’t new. Director
Tim Fywell guided Ashley Judd and Mira Sorvino through the pre- and post-fame
guises of Marilyn Monroe, in 1996’s intriguing “Norma Jean & Marilyn.” Not
to be outdone, director Todd Haynes employed half a dozen actors — the most
intriguing of whom was Cate Blanchett — to depict various aspects of Bob
Dylan’s soul, in 2007’s “I’m Not There.”
Stunt casting for its own sake
can be an eye-rolling distraction, of course, but the result is entirely
different when the project warrants such treatment. In this case, Pohlad’s
finished film is by turns fascinating, informative, tender and distressing;
I’ve no doubt he and editor Dino Jonsäter fretted over every frame, and the
timing of every sequence, with the same care that Wilson brought to his later
albums.
Pohlad cross-cuts between the
parallel storylines, enhancing our fascination by bouncing skillfully to the
other time stream each time we settle into a given chapter. That can be
jarring, even unsettling, but it also mirrors the increasing chaos into which
Brian’s life descends.
