Butler's Cinema Scene

Taron Egerton as Elton John

“ROCKETMAN” My rating: B+

121 minutes | MPAA rating: R

I’m not sure exactly what I expected from “Rocketman” — probably just another musical biopic — but this retelling of the rise and near-fall of Elton John is nothing short of terrific.

Oh, sure, it has the standard-issue narrative — musical genius rises from nothing to fame and fortune, then almost loses it all in a whirlwind of drugs, drink and ego — but writer Lee Hall (“Billy Elliot”) and director Dexter Fletcher (“Eddie the Eagle”) keep finding inventive, eye-popping ways to tell the story.

It doesn’t hurt that they had access to the Elton John musical library of hits (at one time he was selling nearly five percent of all albums worldwide) or that young star Taron Egerton (of the “Kingsmen” franchise) is absolutely riveting in the transformational starring role.

Toss in a slew of very fine supporting performances (especially Jamie Bell as Elton’s long-time lyricist Bernie Taupin) and you have one of the best musical biopics ever made, one that blows “Bohemian Rhapsody” out of the water.

The film begins with the flamboyantly attired Elton (orange sequined jumpsuit, red angel wings, horned helmet) charging into a rehab group session.

As he “shares” with the other addicts, the film shoots back in time to the boyhood of little Reggie Dwight (Matthew Illesley), keyboard genius and unloved son of an emotionally numb military man (Steven Mackintosh) and a borderline floozie mum (Bryce Dallas Howard, utterly convincing as a working-class British mater).

The first sign of just how off the rails this film is willing to go comes early with a scene set in the local pub where the teenage Reggie (now played by Egerton) witnesses a bar brawl and in one complex, uninterrupted shot stumbles out into the streets singing “Saturday Night’s All Right for Fightin’,” weaving in and out of dozens of gyrating dancers.

It’s a bacchanal of music and sex and heavy-breathing (it’ll leave audiences breathless) and announces that “Rocketman,” though remarkably factual, will at times be played like a Felliniesque musical fantasy. (At times I was reminded of Julie Taymor’s Beatles tribute “Across the Universe”…and that’s a very good sign.)

Jamie Bell as Bernie Taupin, Taron Egerton as Elton John

Reggie starts playing professionally, teams up with Taupin to write songs, and takes seriously the advice of a somewhat jaded American r&b musician: “You gotta kill the person you were born to be in order to become the person you want to be.”

And so is created Elton John,  man of many pairs of spectacles, outrageous costuming and mock-heroic poses.

His American debut at Los Angeles’ Troubadour is one of the finest four minutes of  cinema seen this year. The nervous Elton struts out onto the stage, begins singing “Crocodile Rock” at half speed, then kicks it into a hurricane force performance that finds him and his audience floating weightless — until a crashing chord drops them back to terra firma for some uncontrolled revelling.

Holy shit.

But it’s lonely at the top. For the public, anyway, Elton must hide his homosexuality. Indeed, the moral arc of “Rocketman” is about finding, recognizing and fessing up to your truth and turning away from self hate.

Reeling from an affair with his manipulative manager (played by Richard Madden with so much undiluted sexuality that I’d do him), Elton then stumbles into a marriage not so much of convenience as of desperation (the brief Missus is briefly portrayed by Celine Schoenmaker).

Finally neither end of the candle can be further burned, and our man bails on a big concert tour to get clean and to get right with himself.

There’s almost always something interesting to look at here, and always at center stage  is Egerton’s Elton.  Egerton doesn’t really look like Elton, but with the right costumes, wigs and gapped front teeth he sells the illusion.  He’s especially good at duplicating the musician’s body language and semi-maniacal grin. He’s equally at home with silliness and pathos. An Oscar nomination seems likely.

Particularly effective is the way the film uses the Elton John songbook to comment on various stages in its subject’s life.  Thus “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road” becomes a perfect vehicle for Elton to triumphantly  announce he’s returning to his own particular truth (“I’m going back to my plough…I’ve finally decided my future lies beyond the yellow brick road”).

Similarly, “Your Song” becomes a sort of love poem to Elton’s best friend, Taupin.

If there’s any downside to all this it’s that the film feels a bit overlong and loses some momentum in the third act.

But that’s a small criticism of a joyous and supremely entertaining movie that’ll keep you humming all the way home and late into the night.

| Robert W. Butler