There’s nothing that creates a stronger sense of nostalgia in a generation than the loss of a cultural touchstone. But even before his death in 1977, at the age of 42, Elvis Presley had become a punchline to many; testament to the unofficial Hollywood adage that the bigger you are, the harder the public wants you to fall.
Elvis’ incredible and far-reaching renown, built on a charismatic sexuality deemed too dangerous for impressionable 1950’s youth that was as irresistible to thousands of screaming fans—far more than the modest 50,000 count from the RCA Victor compilation—as to dishy Ann-Margaret and sui generis cultural mooch Andy Warhol who captured it on the silver silkscreen in double and triplicate, was roundly being replaced by images of fat Elvis bursting out of his white jumpsuit, cheeks ostensibly shiny with grease from fried peanut butter, banana and bacon sandwiches— his favorite.
Although barely middle-aged, the King of Rock and Roll didn’t seem to belong to the same time period as Star Wars, Grace Jones and Atari. He was no longer the poster boy for pop culture, but a throwback — sad, lonely, pathetic.
In his latest film, Australian director Baz Luhrmann (The Great Gatsby, Moulin Rouge!) wants to resurrect the charismatic Elvis. In many ways, the film follows the standard musical biopic formula so easily satirized in 2007’s Walk Hard: a childhood in poverty and the defining moments that create driving ambition and opportunity. However, Luhrmann is also determined to redeem Elvis’ reputation and , excuse my use of the R-word, make him relevant again. Composer and executive music producer Elliott Wheeler peppers strands of hip-hop, techno and synth over scenes set in Memphis in the early days of Elvis’ career, as if in answer to questions about Elvis’ musical artistry and lasting influence and accusations of his appropriation of Black music and fashion.
It's said that the best defense is narrative, but what if its source is an unreliable narrator? Telling the story of Elvis is his infamous manager, Colonel Tom Parker (Tom Hanks)., who, shedding his Dutch identity, emigrated to the United States without documentation and reinvented himself as a carnival barker. A self-described “snowman,” referring to his ability to make it snow money, Parker recognizes the paradox that is at the heart of this business we call “show” : the power of attraction mixed with the simultaneous fear of that attraction. And Parker sees that Elvis has it in spades. For that insight, he rewards himself with 50 percent of the king’s earnings for the entirety of his career.
Even shrouded in prosthetics and a fat suit, Hanks can’t disguise his amiability. Delivering lines with that trademark twinkle in his eye, Hanks seems more like a sad, overreaching Santa Claus than a controlling predator driven by an addiction to gambling. This serves Luhrmann’s intent to show how rinky-dink Parker’s schemes, dependent on merchandising and sponsorship, are in comparison with the world stadium tours proposed by Steve Binder and Bones Howe, the creative team behind the famous comeback concert of 1968. Wondering where Elvis’ career could have gone had he fired Parker and his carnival tactics in favor of this new, modern creative direction is its own form of heady nostalgia.
Anyone hoping for real insight into Elvis will be disappointed by the film. Played by Austin Butler (Once Upon a Time in Hollywood), a relative newcomer plucked like a ripe plum from the Disney and Nickelodeon talent juggernaut, this version of Elvis is nervous and entirely too earnest. When he first takes the stage, he doesn’t understand what all the screarming is about.
Yet, Luhrmann’s love of elaborate set pieces makes Butler’s time on stage, particularly during the rehearsals and performances for his Las Vegas show, the best moments of the film. They’re almost on par with Paul Dano as the Beach Boys’ Brian Wilson in the recording session scenes in Love & Mercy, which holds the bar on musical biopics simply because of its depiction of Wilson’s creative process. But anyone who has seen the 1970 documentary, Elvis: That’s the Way It Is, available to stream, can attest that Butler’s portrayal is a near-perfect facsimile of those rigorous performances, with songs remixed to include Butler’s vocals. Despite these enlivened moments, the film is clear evidence that there’s never been a better Elvis impersonator than Elvis himself.