Rocketman is the story of one of Rock & Roll’s most enduring legends, that of Elton John, a singer, who, along with his lyricist Bernie Taupin, created hit after hit for decades through the 1970s until well into the 2000s. The film is directed by Dexter Fletcher and tells, through music, how a young boy from a 1950s Britain broken home rose to international superstardom fighting a slew of addictions and heartbreak seemingly at every turn.
We gave the film a solid four stars, though I am not quite in agreement with Steven’s excellent review, feeling the film is far too layered in adherence to a kind of musical stage show to really work as it should for me. While the film does well enough in revealing the struggles, which dominate the entire story as if John was in a constant state of absolute despair while being one of the most popular artists of all time (he may well have been, no judgement), it is a depressing experience that uses his music to tell his tale but so out of order and with gaps in the narrative, it seems more like a long MTV video than an accurate depiction of his life.
Either way, I am a fan of his work, having grown up with his music and attended two of his live shows. His truly artful approach to song combined with Taupin’s imaginative and so deftly human lyrics make for a unique combination that, obviously, resonates with millions around the globe. I quibble about the film because, no matter how good a movie is in trying to tell the story of a person’s life, I would always always prefer a well made documentary to anything that is ‘based on real life.’ I get that doesn’t have the larger appeal of an epic flamboyant production, so if anything, I’m glad it did well and got maybe more people interested in John and Taupin’s music. So, that said, I rewatched Rocketman the other day and found myself (perhaps ironically given my earlier thoughts) drawn into a terrifically stylized moment that closes the first act and want to write about why it works.
To this point in the movie, we’ve met John – real name Reginald Dwight (played as an adult by Taron Egerton) – and have joined him in group therapy as he tells of his hardships in flashback. We’ve learned that is father (Steven Mackintosh), already disinterested in the family, abandoned them after his mother (Bryce Dallas Howard) begins an affair. Dwight is a confused but incredibly talented boy who is gifted with a musical touch that earns him a position at the Royal Academy of Music, though is soon inspired by this new wave of music called Rock & Roll. Growing up, he joins a backup band and is advised, based on his skills, to write his own songs and find a new identity. So he does. Dwight sheds his former self and evolves into Elton John.
He’s introduced to Taupin (Jamie Bell), himself a talented lyricist and the two connect immediately, their work coming together as possible hit songs. Represented by a small record label, they get some attention and then it’s off to the famous Troubadour in Los Angeles, a night club that is where all the big acts of the time play. John is incredibly nervous about the appearance, not yet feeling the confidence needed to get up on stage on such a big scale. He hides in the bathroom and is verbally angry at his decision to make this trip, while Taupin desperately tries to encourage him, as does a member of the record company that sent him. When called a twat, well, he finally comes out.
A little shaky, John take the stage in his now trademark wide-rimmed glasses and sits down at the piano in front of a packed house of young music lovers ready to see something new. There’s a long hush of quiet while John seems further hesitant, looking as if he may fumble his chance, meekly tapping the keys while beginning to sing in a sort of crackled voice. We feel this is going to be a huge failure and perhaps he will run from the stage and need another chance at another time … however, John is only toying with the audience, and after a bit of flirty, Bluesy swipes on the keys, he erupts into a full-blown rockstar pounding out an explosive version of Crocodile Rock. The crowd goes wild. And so do we.
Okay, so this is not so much an unexpected transition in a film like this of course, one we’ve seen many times before as the fragile artist makes that first big show in front of a live audience. I’ve even written about it before. Here though, Fletcher introduces a unique twist not in the way it brings us to a successful outcome for John but in the way we observe it. That begins with a slight head movement backstage as John is introduced, the camera suddenly going in slow motion and a blur signalling that for the rest of this moment, we are inside John’s head as he sort of ‘becomes’ the showman he is now famous for.
That then culminates in a visually arresting sequence in the middle of the song when John suddenly elevates off the stage floor followed closes by the audience themselves who all rise up about a foot off the ground, the music dissipating to a choral repeating refrain from the song as everything slows to a beautiful fantastical instance of pure unadulterated joy for John, his audience, and we the viewers. This is where he has always searched to be. And then a tick later, it’s back to feet on the floor and jubilation spreads like a wildfire. It’s exhilarating.
This was surely a creative decision with some thought behind it and probably one that needed some fight to get in as it does something a little challenging and (thankfully) completely devoid of explanation. I can see in a lesser film where a trick like this would be followed by John running off stage explaining to Taupin that he felt like he was flying on stage to make sure the audience understands that it was symbolic and not real. Fletcher wisely lets it be and allows us to “feel” the same flight of fancy John does, giving us time enough to absorb that this an atomic shift in music, one the crowd at the bar also experiences. I love this image of Taupin while John is floating in slow motion when he recognizes that what they are witnessing is going to change everything.
While the entire movie is like a stage musical with people breaking into song throughout, it is this live performance that singularly does the job best, where we slip into the euphoria of it all and get inside the rare joy John seems to have felt during much of his career. Everything about this sequence works, one that could have been deflated by exposition and needless dialogue about the wonders of being in front of a live audience, instead left up to our imaginations, inspired by a powerfully visual moment of sheer theatrical bliss. That’s great movie making.