Todd Haynes, ever unpredictable, follows up his experimental trilogy Poison and his restrained Safe with this flamboyant study in glam rock through the kaleidoscopic lens of Citizen Kane. Christian Bale plays Arthur Stuart, a reporter sent to investigate the legend of rock legend and bisexual pop icon Brian Slade (Jonathan Rhys-Meyers as a not-so-thinly veiled David Bowie), who disappeared a decade ago after staging his own mock assassination. But Arthur is flooded with memories of his own adolescence as he interviews Slade's friends and business associates, peeling back the layer of makeup and spangles that was the model of rebellion for a generation of middle-class British kids and discovering a hollow center. Ewan McGregor almost steals the film as the punk pioneer Curt Wild (equal parts Iggy Pop and Kurt Cobain), the genuine article to Slade's calculated, coifed image of glitter stardom. Haynes's film lacks nothing in capturing the flamboyance and spectacle of the era with flashy filmmaking and kitschy costumes, and if the plot seems lost in the preening and visual fireworks, perhaps that's the point: behind the façades and manufactured fronts is nothing but glitter, energy, and a beat. --Sean Axmaker
2.
Loosely based on the experiences and personalities of David Bowie and Iggy Pop, VELVET GOLDMINE is a wild, glitter-laced trip through the 1970s era of glam rock. Fictional characters Brian Slade (Jonathan Rhys-Meyers) and Curt Wild (Ewan McGregor) are personifications of glam rock's ideals, with the mysterious and androgynous Slade balanced by the intense, raucous Wild. When Slade disappears, the era itself seems to melt away, swallowed up by the slick 1980s. But Slade's story, and the story of glam rock, is retold when journalist Arthur Stuart (Christian Bale) is assigned to discover what really happened to Slade. Through his own memories of this time, Arthur faces his childhood fears and fantasies. With a nod to Oscar Wilde, a CITIZEN KANE-like structure, and an overall sumptuous atmosphere, VELVET GOLDMINE is director Todd Haynes's unique look at homosexuality, indulgence, and, most importantly, rock 'n' roll.
3.
The Rise Of A Star…The Fall Of A Legend!
Starring Ewan McGregor and Jonathan Rhys Meyers executive producer Michael Stipe of R.E.M. presents this electrifying journey through rock 'n' roll's most outrageous era! It's been 10 years since glam-rock superstar Brian Slade faked his own death and vanished from the spotlight. Now, it's the job of an investigative reporter, Arthur Stuart, to locate this living legend and uncover the truth behind his disappearance! Through the course of Stuart's investigation, you're taken for a wild, all-access guided tour back into a vibrant music scene…for an uncompromising look at the flamboyance and excesses of its larger-than-life stars!
4.
Somewhat misleadingly described by many as a mock-biopic based on the life of David Bowie, Velvet Goldmine is so much more than that. Journalist Arthur Stuart (Christian Bale) who sets out to discover whatever happened to Ziggy Stardust-like Brian Slade (Jonathan Rhys-Meyers), the famous bisexual glam star who crashed and burned spectacularly, but in the process helped Arthur awaken his own sexuality. It's an insane homage to 1970s glam rock in the UK as only American, who knew the movement from a distance, would make; it's a tribute to film director Nicolas Roeg's best work, particularly Performance and the Bowie-vehicle The Man Who Fell to Earth; it's a sci-fi movie about an alternative reality (the film's "present" is a 1984 that never existed and frustratingly never clearly explained); it's a queer Citizen Kane with lashings of eye-glitter, a complete mess, an absolute delight and a chance to see Ewan McGregor naked in case you didn't catch him in The Pillow Book as the Iggy Pop-like Curt Wild, Slade's lover/protégé.
Director Todd Haynes, who made the incredibly spare Safe and a biopic about Karen Carpenter with Barbie dolls, crams in everything--including the kitchen sink, all the washing-up and half the larder--as if terrified he'll never get another chance to shoot even a commercial again. The pacing drags like catwalk-queen's glittery taffeta train at times, but then glorious swooping musical numbers and clever bits of allusive business arrive that will brighten the day of many a pop-fan and film-buff. Never anything less than ruthlessly inventive and demanding of patience and an open mind, it's one for connoisseurs. Viewers who prefer easy-viewing eye candy are well advised to stick with fluff like Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. --Leslie Felperin
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