Ryan McNeil
Once upon a time, movies like BOHEMIAN RHAPSODY were commonplace. For a while there, nary a year went by without Hollywood immortalizing a goddess or god from our musical past. For a while there, projects could withstand controversy and misconduct and still be lauded.
That “while there” was not even such a long while ago, but that was the past…and these are the days of our lives.
BOHEMIAN RHAPSODY is the story of rock icons Queen. Brian May, Roger Taylor, John Deacon, and the incomparable Freddie Mercury (Rami Malek). This film begins as the band first forms, follows them through exhaustive-but-exciting songwriting, a mercurial rise through sold out theatres, arenas, and stadiums, and nearly losing it all as the group frays at the seams. In the centre of the storm is Mercury himself – a gay man struggling with his own identity, and ultimately a high-profile victim of the AIDS virus.
Malek is a good bet to win Best Actor for his portrayal.
If that description seems like it could be ripe for intricacies and nuance, well it is…but that isn’t the film we are handed. We are never shown personal complexities, or shades of grey. We don’t witness ambiguity and we were never going to be shown ambiguity. That’s because this is the movie that Queen wants us to see and the only version it wants us to see. The band members and the Mercury Estate hold the rights to the music, so nobody was going to allow themselves to be painted in an unflattering light, and then sign off on Fox weaving all of those iconic songs into the soundtrack.
That right there is the contradiction at the heart of every musical bio-pic: Storytellers can use the music, or they can venture to pull back the curtain on a legend….but they can’t do both. Want to tell the tale of Kurt Cobain? You better write a script Courtney Love likes. If not you can go as you were because you sure as hell aren’t getting the rights to “Come As You Are”.
Of course, this leads to the flaws and intricacies of these people being papered-over, and the real marrow of the matter going unexamained…and what is the point of telling such tales anymore? They are far too safe, and tipping towards dishonest. There are details we know happened; what we don’t know, we can probably guess. To pretend otherwise is a waste of time and a disrespect to the subject, the art form, and the audience.
Speaking of disrespect…
BOHEMIAN RHAPSODY would have been a puzzling 2018 nominee strictly at face value, but below its surface is a controversy that shouldn’t be denied. The film is still officially credited to Bryan Singer, despite the director being fired off the project by Fox for unprofessional conduct and creative differences. Since those developments though, the truth about Bryan Singer has come to light.
Knowing as much as we know, it feels disingenuous at best and completely insulting at worst to reward the project. Singer’s involvement with the picture can never be completely divorced, and a film that dare not speak the name of its director should not be in position to be lauded. And yet, here we are; a film that tells the tale of an iconic gay man who had to hide who he was, with the gay man who brought the story to light in exile for his blatant series of sexual abuses.
Once upon a time, we did not know about such things. Controversies like these were whispers, rumours, all shrouded in the hushed tones of Hollywood. Once upon a time, we were content to see our heroes portrayed on a giant silver screen.
Not anymore though. The illusions need to end and don’t deserve to be rewarded. BOHEMIAN RHAPSODY is a fantasy, but this is the real life.