By Dora Black.
I’m sure that I’m not alone in feeling kind of bombarded by the influx of celebrity biopics in the last few years: they are non-negotiable trend of the current cinema-sphere. Baz Lurhman’s ‘Elvis’, Andrew Dominik’s ‘Blonde’, Singer and Fletcher’s ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’, to name only a few, not even accounting for the unreleased ones. Aretha Franklin, Emily Bronte, Amy Winehouse (again), and Whitney Houston are soon to join the lineup. Because hey, coming up with original stories that don’t dredge up people’s private lives is sooo last year! Bitchiness aside, it’s worth mentioning that though some of them are ultimately good, respectful, and commemorative (Asif Kapadia’s ‘Amy’, for one) so a pinch of salt wouldn’t go amiss. And yet there is one stand-out common factor between these more recent films, revealing a more specific trend: scenes of trauma, personal struggle, tragedy, and intensely private moments exploded into a big screen setting. Whilst this seems, one some level, like an inevitability as these stories warrant the most dramatic, evocative, and turbulent representations, it is hard to ignore the fact that famous figures with less problematic lives (and deaths) are simply not given the same attention. I mean I get it, who wants to watch two hours of someone working hard, having a great career and dying happy surrounded by their loved ones and accomplishments. I’m snoring already. I do think it is worth considering, though, the glaring ethical grey area of dramatically displaying the trauma of celebrities who, having died, are ultimately powerless and unrewarded in their own depictions. This is not to say that, by definition, autobiographical films are an exploitative genre, but the line is getting pretty thin. Or maybe they’re fine and I’m just jarred by the scene of Marilyn Monroe/ Ana de Armas getting confronted by the disembodied voice of her unborn child begging to not be aborted.
One thing that bothers me about this format is the guise of dramatising the story to show a real truth, to unveil the mask of fame, to humanise the muse; there is an illusion of truth concealing the fact that often, the protagonist-muse has zero input. It is an indirect interpretation of truth, often with little more insight than any other person who can take the time to search the celebrity’s name on google. ‘Blonde’ for example, was marketed relatively strongly as a biopic, stressing the research, the prosthetics, the striving for accuracy, when the film itself is based on a fictional novel… ‘Spencer’ similarly, took a real life person and generous helping of artistic licence. The irony of this narrative is then that the celebrity is, once again, helpless, voiceless, subject to the whims and creative direction of corporations or management figures, a power struggle that is almost a staple of these tragi-drama biopic genre films (see Princess Diana and the Royal House, Elvis and Colonel Parker, or basically any representation of managers and agents, for example). It creates a paradox of irony; it becomes almost impossible not to perpetuate the problem that these films depict. By consequence of this common structure, guilt is deflected onto the masses: the sprawling audiences, obsessed fans, harassing press: we the audience feel sympathy, we feel our own complicity in the damaging effects of global celebrity upon these sky-rocketed individuals. We see ourselves in the inevitable shot of screaming faces and hands reaching through fences. The natural consequence is then a deflection of complicity away from the directors, away from the huge-budget production companies, and the cycle continues, creating a bountiful, and morbidly self-sustaining industry. The irony continues in the fact that these protagonist-centred, often triple-threat-requiring roles are a beacon for up-and-coming stars to take on the project and break through the barrier of not-so-serious tv actor, or bombshell, or action stuntman, into the glittering gates of respectable, award-worthy acting spheres.
Another interesting relationship to consider that I think could explain the sudden explosion of the genre into vogue would be the relationship between biopics and the awards industry. Through these pre-existing stories, the directors and production teams are given, or at least hijack, a story structure bespoke-fitted to the award season criteria:
– They are uncommon and yet follow the common man (people with normal backgrounds but unusual talent and unusual careers). Mass relatableness without being mundane.
– They are epic and dramatic. The absolute highs of global acclaim, whether of extraordinary career success, economic and material prosperity, extravagant and star-studded social circles, are off-set by the common problems of substance abuse, or mental health fluctuations, abusive relationships, traumatic experiences etc.
– Audiences have a pre-existing excitement and sentiment. There is a developed connection between the audience and protagonist, independent of and preceding any knowledge of the film at all, bolstering popularity and somewhat warping the public critical eye.
Though this connection is mostly speculation and a personal theory, it does circle back to the issue of ethics in the use of these stories. Are these production companies trying to ‘capture the magic and charisma’ of someone’s life, ‘bring awareness’ to the traumas of industry, or are they trying to blatantly exploit a dead icon’s personal life in order to lean into the favour of institutions like The Academy? Who can really tell!