Chasing stories, scoops and interviews is much easier now than it was in 1998. Velvet Goldmine hopes to understand the intricacies and the headbutting of walls that can be perceived in hunting down an artist or work lost to time. At least Todd Haynes’ directing efforts here are in good company, with journalist Arthur Stuart (Christian Bale) hunting down an elusive pop star influenced by an American rock star portrayed by a post-Trainspotting Ewan McGregor. What a sentence. What a line-up. Where did it go so wrong? Haynes earmarks this piece as a work of fiction, but is the cultural demise of someone living all that rare? It has happened before. It will happen again.
Initially, Velvet Goldmine feels like a visual spillover of Wizard of Oz influence. That yellow brick road that a youngster follows down, clutching the green emerald, it all feels a tad underwhelmed. Non-linear vignettes are the heart of this piece though, hoping to take on a David Bowie-like creation who fakes their own death to escape the premise of horrifying fame. Cultivating fictional bouts of fame appeared in Almost Famous, and the glamourisation of rock journalism and the aesthetic of a period passed by are as warm and welcoming as the story at the heart of Velvet Goldmine. But what Velvet Goldmine understands too is that musicians detest the life they initially pursue. That is a tragic tale sputtered out by almost everyone that has dared to touch the rock-oriented sun. Jonathan Rhys Meyers does well to articulate that.
There is, post-death and post-revelation of it being a stunt, a feeling of authoritarianism. Bale wanders the streets, journalist Arthur Stuart absorbs motionless people, armed guards and large screens that filter through the latest commodity on tour. But it soon loses itself, and Velvet Goldmine, for all its caricatures and vignettes, becomes a music video interspersed with vapid, colourful imagery and the occasional reminder that the star at the core was an eccentric. It is visually interesting, the Bowie allusions are obvious and a little too tiring as it tries desperately to leave some dreadful impression on the mind. Still, the narrative at the core of this, and the way it is told, is at least an interesting pocket. Meyers’ performance is tremendous, enough to remove himself away from the Bowie connotations but not the film around him.
“Rock music has always been a reaction to accepted standards,” is the bullet of wisdom fired by Trevor Finn (Guy Leverton), and Haynes adapts that well to Velvet Goldmine as the standard. There are moments within that feel a tad closer to Tommy, the adaptation of The Who’s massive piece. Eddie Izzard’s performance, especially the introduction to Brian Slade, feels closer to a Garth Marenghi rendition than anything particularly serious, but it is exciting to see. That is that. Christian Bale is superb too, as is Ewan McGregor. Individuals that come together with great aplomb and scope, although weighed down somewhat by the intensities that come from dictating the potential life and times from a glam rocker that wanted out of the spotlight. It would be remiss not to mention the finest of them all, though, Toni Colette, whose work throughout Velvet Goldmine gives an intense perspective on the hangover that comes from shadowing the highs of the famous.
