He can hardly walk, almost gasps for breath. A valet helps him to a grand piano, holds the microphone for him. ‘This is a song that I just recorded . . . it’s an old song . . . is it out?’ In two weeks, someone confirms. He makes a hazy joke. ‘I don’t know all the chords so . . . show me the right keys.’ People laugh, he does too, then fumbles. ‘It’s called Unchained Melody.’
If one credit must be given to Baz Luhrmann, is to have revived the memory of one of the most touching moments in the history of popular music by seamlessly cutting from Austin Butler to real Elvis in one of his latest public appearances—his second to last concert held in Rapid City on 21 June 1977, to be exact—less than two months before he died. He was sweating like I never could even if I went drunk into a sauna, but his singing was still jaw-dropping, pristine in fact, his coolness unscathed, his gaze killer as he briefly turned to the audience and smiled at the sight of their joy.
But apart from the fortunate intuition of discreetly intercutting the entire film with archive footage, Elvis looks very much like one of the stunning outfits he used to wear—sexy, elaborate, expensive—yet ultimately lacking the same seductive brazenness. A two hours and forty minutes hysterical montage of acrobatic digital camerawork, Elvis might have the merit of not attempting at revealing the mystery of genius nor displaying the arrogance that most biopics have of purporting to own the truth, but at the same time it doesn’t seem to even try and dare beyond the myth or challenge any of the ideas I had about Elvis Presley.
Narratively, its approach is disappointingly conservative—all the more so being the anticipated work of a director rightly praised for his unique style as he deals with a subject that, at least on paper, seemed to naturally fit his own idiosyncrasies. Despite the promising concept, Colonel Parker is a Salieri without the depth Shaffer put into his devilish fictional narrator or a hint of that provocative nature, because he—the villain, the miserable, the untalented, the envious—is the one among all the characters that most resonates with us. Scary. But who is Parker? How in the bleeding world are we supposed to relate to him if his dramatisation is so shallow and one-dimensional?
As a retrospective reflection—while on the go it felt a little frustrating—I think it is an interesting choice to never show Elvis performing Can’t Help Falling in Love, leaving it to other voices or as a distant echo in the background. ‘Take my hand. Take my whole life too.’ But then again, if the bare thought of these few words has just made goosebumps appear on my skin, I regret saying it is not quite this overly post-produced cinematic take on his short life that I have to thank.
