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Soul Man: Film Review of Elvis by Geoff Carter
Years ago, I went to an Elvis impersonator contest—yes, Virginia, there is such a thing—and was fascinated, although not surprised, that there were two categories for the performers: young Elvis and Vegas Elvis. Of course, to nearly every American, these categories speak for themselves. The young Elvis is the leg-twitching, hip-swinging bad boy of early rock and roll while the Vegas Elvis is the sequin wearing, cape swinging, sideburn sporting, and overblown version of a manufactured show biz persona—sort of a kitsch king.
The contrasts between these two very different artists come sharply into focus while watching Baz Luhrmann’s movie Elvis, which takes great pains to understand how one of music’s most unique voices became a hollow shell—and then a parody—of himself.
The narrative is framed through the rather myopic eye of Colonel Tom Parker (Tom Hanks), Elvis’ lifelong business manager. The film starts as Parker is hospitalized, having suffered a stroke, and continues as he recalls in a vivid flashback how he discovered and cultivated Elvis Presley into one of the biggest marketing golden geese of all times. While Parker’s vision of Presley is couched in bright neon, sequins, and carnival mirrors and dominates much of the film, the narrative does at times break into the side of Elvis that Parker chose to ignore, and then finally was forced to squelch in order to keep the golden goose laying—and that hidden part was Elvis the soul man.
The film traces Presley’s fascination with music, particularly African American music, from when he was a boy. One sequence shows him spying on a blues player through a knothole and then—in almost the same breath—crashing a revival show where he is completely taken by the spirit and the power, shaking and quaking with the word of the Lord, sensations which served him well later in his career. While this is in the context of Parker’s narrative, it is a part of Elvis that he does not—or chooses not—to understand.
After hearing “That’s All Right”, one of Elvis’ first Sun Records singles, and discovering that he is in fact a white boy, Parker travels to see him at The Louisiana Hayride, a country concert, is wowed by Presley’s impact on the crowd, and signs him. After his meteoric rise in popularity (under the Colonel’s guidance), Elvis is asked to sing on TV’s The Milton Berle Show, a performance which unleashes a tidal wave of criticism about his suggestive and sexually charged dancing.
Colonel Parker, the quintessential marketer, tells Elvis to clean it up, to stop dancing, that he’ll turn him into a clean-cut All-American boy, a movie star, and make him a fortune in the process. All he has to do is stop his suggestive dancing and play different music—to stop being himself.
Frustrated by these restrictions, Elvis returns to his roots on Beale Street, where he meets with B.B. King, Little Richard, and various other rhythm and blues artists, telling King that this is the music that makes him happy. Understanding that this type of Elvis would completely alienate the white market of the South, Col. Parker starts the process of remaking him.
Enlisting Elvis’ dad Vernon (Richard Roxburgh) as his “business manager”, Parker begins hawking everything from Elvis action figures to teddy bears to board games. Over the objections of Gladys (Helen Thomson), Elvis’ mom, Vernon and the Colonel do everything possible to keep the money ball rolling. To counter charges by segregations that he is a threat to morality and white womanhood, Parker plays up Elvis’ induction into the Army and begins—through a series of mostly awful movies—cultivating his good-guy image.
Sick of the hype, and unable to play the music he truly loves, Elvis resists, rebranding a Christmas special engineered by the colonel into a platform for his own music and the presentation of a protest song “If I Can Dream” and insisting that he will go on a world tour. Parker pushes back, enticing Elvis with the prospect of doing a series of concerts at the New International Hotel and Casino—where the Colonel happens to owe significant money.
He persuades Elvis to sign a lengthy contract at the International and despite promising to design a world tour, the Colonel ultimately refuses to schedule the tour, leading Elvis to fire him. The colonel, however, bills Elvis over eight million dollars for expenses incurred since the beginning of their relationship. This is the beginning of Elvis’ downfall; addicted to prescription pills, he eventually collapses from exhaustion. Priscilla divorces him, and—as the world knows—the King passed away on August 16, 1977, at the age of 42. The colonel passes away, destitute, in 1997.
Elvis is a film that tells two stories. At first, it is an energetic, flashy, and sometimes glitzy film. The opening sequences especially, in the Colonel’s recollection of his dream of becoming the new P.T. Barnum, flash with the neon sparkle and naked hustle of the carnival midway. This visual analogy of this pecuniary aspiration, including split and moving screens, is a perfect emblem of the colonel’s ruthless—and tasteless—greed. It is all shine, flash, and glitter with absolutely no substance.
Elvis Presley’s story, on the other hand, is the story of a young boy whose family is so impoverished, they are forced to live in the African American section of town—a disgraceful fate in the 1950s South, but it is this environment that roots Elvis in the music that would initially become his trademark—the music he loved.
The two tales intersect at The Louisiana Hayride where the colonel, using his formidable powers of persuasion, seduces Elvis into signing with him. At first, it is a marriage made in heaven. Elvis is a sensation. The colonel makes bucketloads of money for both of them, but when his roots start showing and the segregationists start screaming, the colonel strives to turn his star into a pasteurized boy next door. Elvis cannot escape the thrall of the colonel and his chronic frustration turns into bitterness and eventually morphs into self-destructive behavior.
In a sense, Elvis is an allegory of the coopting and ultimate corruption of art in a capitalistic society. It’s hard to imagine how The Beatles might have turned out under Parker’s tutelage. A multi-year gig in Vegas? A multi-B-movie Hollywood deal? Where would Elvis have ended up without the colonel? Nashville? Memphis?
Elvis is at times beautiful, at times hugely entertaining, and at times agonizing. It is a film that is well worth watching. Austin Butler delivers a stunning performance as Elvis Presley. The performance footage is impeccably faithful to the real-life Elvis and Butler’s vocals are incredible. It is a stellar performance.
As Colonel Parker, Tom Hanks somehow falls short of delivering a completely believable performance. He skillfully portrays a despicable conniving man taking advantage of a naïve young man, but somehow—to me at least—he is not despicable enough. While an actor like Kevin Spacey can easily convey a malignant aura, Tom Hanks seems to have a harder time with it. Maybe his nice-guy persona is just too hard to shake.
Elvis grew up on the roots of the soul music he loved but had that love pulled out of him by ruthless management and a culture that valued money more than art. Elvis, the soul man, never stood a chance against Colonel Parker’s all-American cash cow.