CHRONICLE – In a spectacular film, Baz Luhrmann brings King Elvis back to life in the light of his relationship with his impresario.
What would Camille Claudel have been without Rodin, Celine Dion without René and Mireille Mathieu without Johnny Stark? The cinema has provided its answer (“not much”) for the first two. He offers the same about Elvis Presley and his impresario, a stateless man from Holland calling himself Colonel Parker when he discovers a 19-year-old kid in the South singing and moving on stage like a black man. We know the rest.
In Elvis (in theaters June 22), a big spectacular production, lively, exuberant, shimmering, rhythmic like a piece of Fats Domino, the best moments are shared between the incredible performances of Austin Butler in the skin of the King and the scenes where appears then the man in the shadows (played by a pot-bellied, almost bald and frenzied cigar-smoker Tom Hanks) disappears.
Indispensable and detestable, odious and visionary, manufacturing the success and the decline of the interpreter of Blue Suede Shoes, that he literally locked up in a casino in Las Vegas…