A couple of weekends ago, when Spy and Entourage were the big releases at the movies, another gem was released somewhat under the radar at your local theater. If you’re a movie buff, you’re probably already aware of Love & Mercy, a clever, compelling biopic about musician Brian Wilson. (The pitcher Brian Wilson can only hope he gets a movie someday.) If not, and you want an alternative to big-budget blockbuster summer fare, this is a refreshing diversion.
Growing up, my uncle fed me a steady diet of the Beatles, the Monkees and the Beach Boys. That was largely the music that shaped my tastes. As an adolescent, teenager and young adult, those songs stayed with me even as I broadened my musical preferences and friends poked fun at me for not listening to “cooler,” more modern bands.
(Many will surely take issue with me including the Monkees with those two other legendary groups. Hey, I’m just telling you what was around and what I listened to. I’m not suggesting that the Monkees were anywhere near as influential or resonant. But sometimes, the world just seems a little more right after listening to “I’m a Believer” or “Pleasant Valley Sunday.”)
It’s kind of amazing that the story of Brian Wilson hasn’t already been told in a movie. Maybe that’s because writers and directors couldn’t figure out how to do it right.
There was the ABC miniseries The Beach Boys: An American Family in 2000, but that took on too big of a narrative, factoring in the entire band as well as the era during which it was most popular. More importantly, the miniseries portrayed Wilson’s mental illness and breakdown too melodramatically and clichéd, focusing more on eccentric and manic behavior than what was actually wrong with him. (As you might also expect, Wilson himself didn’t like the film.)
Maybe the Beach Boys aren’t just Brian Wilson’s story. But while he may not have been the popular on-stage or on-camera presence for the band, Wilson was certainly the creative force behind its music. And he evolved far beyond writing pop ditties about surfing, summer and fun, pushing the boundaries of what was expected from rock ‘n’ roll music, what was possible with compositions and instrumentation. Forget two guitars, bass, tambourine and drums. Or even keyboards. How about cellos, harps and kettle drums? Or the Electro-Theremin! (Later the Moog ribbon controller.)
This is at the heart of Love & Mercy. Wilson had so many ideas working in his head that needed to get out. Only he could hear the music his mind had created, and the different components he asked session musicians to play didn’t make sense individually. (Especially when he obsessively asked them to play those parts over and over again until they were just right. In one scene, Wilson and producers spend hours trying to get the right staccato on those cellos in “Good Vibrations.”) But when those pieces came together in a song, it was musical magic.
To me, songwriting seems like such an intangible, ethereal process. Hearing a melody in your head is one thing, but then to play it on an instrument and go on to build a song? And that’s not even considering the lyrics. I have admiration even for terrible songs because creating music is something that is so beyond my ability, my circle of experience. Maybe other films have depicted this process well. If so, I haven’t watched them. Love & Mercy portrays the craft of songwriting and creating music in a studio better than I’ve ever seen.
Paul Dano’s portrayal of a younger Wilson, during the Beach Boys’ heyday, has a lot to do with that. If genius is a fine line between clever and insane (as opposed to clever and stupid, as David St. Hubbins once said), Dano conveys that precarious walk well. You see the joy in his face and mannerisms when he’s allowed to do what he needs to in the studio, when the music comes together in the production booth. He’s crushed when anyone expresses doubt in his vision or suggests sticking to the same, familiar hit-making formula. His head almost can’t contain everything going on in there. The world and the people around him just don’t see — or hear — things as he does.
Personally, I was just happy to see Dano in a role in which he played some spineless toad whom you’re rooting to get beat up, as in There Will Be Blood, Looper or 12 Years a Slave. (And the poor guy really got beaten up in Prisoners.) Dano plays that role very well, and maybe I need to see more of his films, but I enjoyed watching him do something else, something far more compelling and interesting.
However, there’s another side of Wilson that we see in Love & Mercy, the musician as an older man, played by John Cusack. Because of his mental illness, Wilson has become isolated and completely dependent on others to help him. Unfortunately, the person he’s turned his life over to, psychotherapist Eugene Landy (Paul Giamatti), has taken advantage of that power to serve his own means.
Landy treats Wilson as a child, as a guinea pig for jars full of medications and treatments that render him barely able to function, especially in a social aspect. He’s a repugnant control freak who won’t let his prized patient go unsupervised at any time, yet ultimately needs him to continue creating music and writing his memoirs because that will bring in more money.
Wilson is a lonely, scared man trying to find someone to share his life with, someone with whom he can enjoy simple pleasures like going out to dinner, who can inspire him to write music again. We have no idea how many times Wilson may have tried to find such a companion, but the story of Love & Mercy begins when he meets Melinda Ledbetter (Elizabeth Banks), a Cadillac salesperson who’s initially impressed by meeting a legendary musician and songwriter, but also touched by a man in great pain who needs help. When it becomes clear Wilson isn’t getting that help from the people he’s trusted, she steps in to save his life.
Some might argue that the developing relationship between Wilson and Ledbetter, and the eventual conflict between Ledbetter and Landy over Wilson’s best interests, are the heart of Love & Mercy. I agree that the love story is important and a key part of Wilson’s biography. And it’s certainly a pleasure to see Cusack and Banks — two talented actors who don’t often get the best material to work with — interact with each other on screen.
On its own, this side of Wilson’s story — a troubled man who just needs the love of a good woman — could almost have been a Lifetime movie, even with the talent involved. Actually, the battles between Wilson and Beach Boys singer Mike Love over the musical direction of the band could have been a soapy cliche in less talented hands as well. Fortunately, director Bill Pohlad and writer Oren Moverman were interested in the dual sides of the man, a tortured genius at the height of his creative success and the depth of his loneliness.
Moverman is just good at writing non-standard biopics, also responsible for 2007’s I’m Not There, which depicted Bob Dylan’s musical legacy through multiple incarnations representing different stages of his career. I’m Not There was one of my favorite movies of that year, so I shouldn’t be surprised that Moverman wrote another excellent musical biopic. How about he writes all of them from now on?
We’re not even through June yet, so it’s far too early to declare a movie my favorite of the year. (I’d feel a bit more comfortable taking a stand if I’d seen more of this spring’s offerings, such as While We’re Young and Far from the Madding Crowd.) But I can’t imagine enjoying anything else I see this year more than Love & Mercy. Yes, my love of Brian Wilson’s music probably makes me a softer touch for this one, but the movie doesn’t take advantage of that to take any creative or emotional shortcuts. Watch the movie, then go listen to Pet Sounds, and you’ll have a pretty fulfilling day.