FFWD Weekly
Copyright © 1999. All Rights Reserved
| Film by Robert Tarry Velvet Goldmine This is a movie about glam rock. It’s kind of silly to come right out and say it, but if you like glam rock, you’ll like Velvet Goldmine. Just like glam itself, Goldmine is pretentious and fun and glittery and theatrical and wild and, in the end, about as substantial as a cotton candy sandwich on Wonder Bread, purposefully so. Even the title has the showy flair of the era. Velvet Goldmine. Sounds good, what does it mean? Nothing, really. Call it fun, call it insightful, call it a bang-on re-creation of an era (early ’70s London), but what you won’t call it is brilliant. Maybe that’s because Velvet Goldmine was handicapped to begin with. Rarely has a piece of musical history been so profoundly influential and profoundly empty at the same time. How would you make a movie about a short-lived era that celebrated style over substance, amplifying clichés to make a point? Glam challenged everything (gender roles, identity, performance norms, musical genres, studio techniques) but offered few answers. But director Todd Haynes has certainly given it the ol’ college try. He’s assembled a who’s-who of vintage and modern day glam rockers, a stellar cast (though Toni Collette, Ewan McGregor, and Ewan McGregor’s penis steal the show), a script that gleefully borrowed from real life (the links to David Bowie, Iggy Pop and Roxy Music are fun to decode), and a breezy, fast-paced storytelling style that frolics through time like a happy puppy, with more flashbacks than David Crosby. (Likewise stolen, this time from Citizen Kane, of all places.) And what if you hate glam? You’re going to be bored by the plot-freezing musical numbers and occasionally flat-footed dialogue ("We tried to change the world – we ended up changing ourselves"). But Goldmine’s limited if strong appeal didn’t have to be. Haynes could have done himself a few favors, like making his star character, Brian Slade, more of a real person, less of a dimwitted pawn. Glam, especially in Europe, was a sophisticated, intelligent era. Bowie was a sophisticated, talented media manipulator. He deserves better than Slade’s surprisingly dull life, revealed to us only in flashbacks that keep him at arm’s length. Haynes delivers a delicious helping of glam, but not the how, the why or the who. In other words, Velvet Goldmine needs more Ziggy, less Stardust. |
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