At the end of "Get On Up," there was none. At least from the crowd I was with. Admittedly, most of them were 75-year-old plus alterkockers who were sleeping off their pre-movie dinner at the Olive Garden. But the film ended with utter silence.
And that's probably the way it should be. Because as cinematic entertainment, "Get On Up" is a complete bust.
This was the summer of music biopics. First, we had the terrific "Jersey Boys" which told the story of Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons. Now we get the saga of the Godfather of Soul James Brown. And the difference is that, in the sure hands of director Clint Eastwood who also had the benefit of the Broadway show to work from, "Jersey Boys" was a compelling tale. Under the mawkish guidance of director Tate Taylor, the life of James Brown is incredibly dull and incomplete. While Eastwood has a story to tell, Taylor has an ax to grind. And, at the end of 2 hours and 18 minutes, he has buried it in your skull.
Okay, truth be told, I was never a fan of James Brown and his music. While growing up in predominantly Black Mount Vernon, New York, I was exposed to and liked plenty of soul music. I just didn't like Brown's act. Neither did my grandmother who, while watching his antics on the Ed Sullivan Show, suddenly screamed at the TV seat "oh, shut up already!"
But I digress...
I was interested in the movie because I wanted to learn more about this legendary entertainer who had his share of problems. Drugs, tax problems, prison time, a last will and testament that was fought over his heirs. Um, you find little of it in this movie. Essentially, director Tate Taylor and producer Mick Jagger provide us with a white-washed version of a Wikipedia entry.
In this film, Brown does little wrong. Oh, you do see him in jail briefly. You see him hit his wife once. But, most of it, told in flashbacks and talking to the fourth wall, gives us Brown the put-upon legend. There is no depth. And, oh, if you're looking for any reference to the fact that the King of Funk openly supported both Richard Nixon and Ronald Reagan in their Presidential campaigns...well, Taylor and Jagger forget that part of the Wikipedia page.
Taylor previously dumped on us the over-rated and over-everything "The Help" and here he even borrows two of its co-stars, Viola Davis and Octavia Spencer. And he hammers home the same theme of racial discrimination from the movie whether it fits the narrative or not. It's like the secondary title of this film could have been "The Help Goes to a Recording Studio."
The same note is hit constantly with all the subtlety of a snow plow. I'm wondering if Taylor is working out some guilt feelings about his own background. He's White and grew up in Mississippi on a plantation. Hmmm. I'm just reading what I see in Wikipedia. It's time to make a movie about something else.
Much has been made about the performance of Chadwick Boseman in the lead role, fresh from his portrayal of Jackie Robinson in "24." I would argue that here he's doing more impersonation than acting. Boseman channels Brown's almost unintelligible way of speaking. If you're dumb enough to buy the DVD of this movie when it comes, prepare to access "subtitles" before you start to watch it. But, suddenly, Boseman is apparently the go-to guy for Hollywood when they make a movie like this. Expect to see him in the screen adaptations of the life stories of Barack Obama, Travon Martin, and Sherman Hemsley. The latter reference is fitting since, in depicting Brown's later year, the lousy make-up actually reminds you of Isabel Sanford.
Over the closing credits, you actually get a glimpse of the movie you really wanted to see. There are many cool photos of Brown performing with legends, meeting Presidents, and appearing with folks like Johnny Carson. Now that would make a great documentary.
I'm glad Tate Taylor doesn't do those.
LEN'S RATING: One-half star.
Dinner last night: Pepperoni pizza at the Dodger game.
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