Love & Mercy: A Window into the life of Brian Wilson
Blaise Radley | 29th July 2015
Photo Credit: Facebook
Biopics are a tricky territory for any filmmaker, and an even trickier puzzle to decipher for any filmgoer. Though they are clearly much more indebted to the truth than other genres, they're still ultimately a recreation of reality, meaning that discerning where the line between 'truth' and 'inspired by true events' lies can be difficult. Even documentaries shape the truth in order to present a narrative and thus engage the audience, so a film purporting to be an unbiased representation of the truth often feels like anything but.
It was with some relief then, that following my viewing of Love & Mercy I discovered that the film had been lauded for its uncompromising presentation of what really transpired (even if at times they seemed too outlandish to be true). Directed by long-time producer Bill Pohlad, the film opens a window into the life of Brian Wilson, the wunderkind lead-singer and songwriter for The Beach Boys, or rather two windows, thanks to its dual-narrative. We see a young Wilson (played by Paul Dano) as he begins to step away from the limelight during the recording process for Pet Sounds, and an older, more broken Wilson (played by John Cusack), at a similarly pivotal point in his life.
What works so well about this biopic is its ability to entwine these two narratives to give more shape and meaning to one another. The film excels in its deeply affecting representation of mental health, and the terrifying powerless faced by someone whose sense of reality is slipping through their fingers, which we see best in the contrast between Dano's and Cusack's segments. It's not a matter of hopping wildly between the two periods, forcing the comparisons down the viewer's throat, but rather holding each side of the story up for the viewer to soak in and appreciate both the differences and the similarities.
Photo Credit: Facebook
It's the differences that are most interesting thanks to the distinct tone to each performance. Cusack is pleasingly nuanced in his portrayal of a more subdued, introverted Wilson, but it's Dano who really gets to shine thanks to the broader range gifted him by the material. Once more it's the juxtaposition that makes Dano's performance really pop off the screen, with his descent into chaos being grounded in the lofty heights of success we see him reach beforehand.
Elsewhere Elizabeth Banks delivers an assuredly competent performance as Melinda Ledbetter, thankfully ensuring she never boils down to just Wilson's love interest, but his friend and liberator too. Where Dano's performance gives shape to Cusack's, here it is Banks that shapes Paul Giamatti's chilling turn as Wilson's legal guardian/psychologist/tormentor in later life. Seeing these two clash is a real delight, though as Cusack sits helplessly between the two in varying degrees of awareness, you can't help but remember the painful reality of it all.
Beyond the performances, it's the stunning attention to detail that carries this piece of cinema. It's not just taking us behind the scenes of photoshoots for album covers or classic concerts, it's evident everywhere. Though visually there are enough beautifully framed shots to remind you that this is a work of fiction, by ensuring that the sets, clothes, hairstyles, and, most importantly music fits the tone and time period, Love & Mercy elevates itself above the rest of the genre.