Review of Velvet Goldmine (1998) by M. O — 22 Feb 2008

There are two things you need to know about [i]Velvet Goldmine[/i] going in. One: it's about David Bowie and Iggy Pop. Two: it's wildly inaccurate.

Ebert says that it *may* be based on Bowie's career; that's like saying the Pope may be Catholic. It's clearly, transparently, hit-you-over-the-head obvious. The thing is, a story which may have worked otherwise (well...dubious) raises certain ethical questions as a clear-cut allegory on Bowie and Pops' careers. Namely, at what point does artistic license become slander? When so many of the characterizations and events parallel real-life events (down to Bowie-figure Brian Slade's portrayal of a glam-rock star masquerading as a rock-and-roll space alien), when do deviations from the known truth become, well, devious? Did Bowie and Pop have a sexual relationship? While not impossible, it's doubtful. How did they feel about this take on their relationship, I wonder?

For a movie on one of the wildest and rockin'-est periods of recent musical history, the music itself left something to be desired. I have to give it to Ewan McGregor as Iggy-type Curt Wild; the characterization, charisma, and kick-you-down-and-steal-your-lunch-money energy of Iggy and the Stooges was pretty much dead-on; unfortunately, he only got two performances throughout the film, which were, incidentally, the highlights. These were original Stooges songs; Bowie did not allow his own music to be used in the film. While I can't fault his resistance to this generally dismal affair, their absence did make it just that much poorer. The soporific fabrications in their place were sub-par, uninteresting, and not worthy of Bowie's legacy. Meyers did not, unfortunately, manage to channel any of Bowie's sexiness, charm, or over-the-top weirdness, which made for a rather boring and unappealing Brian Slade. There are a few other nods to glitter-rock with tracks by Lou Reed and T. Rex, which suggested that the director knew just enough about the scene to toss together a truly terrible film.

While visually appealing (this and McGregor's performance are pretty much the only redeeming factors), the plotline is as twisted as a pretzel with as many holes as a good piece of Swiss. Flying saucers swoop low in the sky at several points in the film; the reason is not quite clear. An emerald broach is passed incoherently from pop star to pop star. Some dude named Jack Fairy keeps popping up, although I never really understood who he was (the other side of the Bowie persona? There is mention of his and Wild's making a Berlin record, which Bowie and Pop did, indeed, do...). A journalist keeps totally getting in the way with too much additional emotional turmoil of his own, then ends up sleeping with Wild (apparently the inter-cast relationships weren't already baffling enough). At the end we are expected to sit up in our seats with shock when Brian Slade is uncovered as yet another (pug-ugly) pop star; at this point, I didn't give a damn. I just wanted it to be over.

In conclusion, skip the film. Listen to the song "velvet goldmine." It will give you the theme of the thing in a tidy three minutes and leave you with plenty of time to check out some excellent glam rock, unhindered by idiotic pseudo-biography or cheesy scripting.