Producer-turned-director Bill Pohland’s Love and Mercy is an experimental, psychologically unsettling but surprisingly down-to-earth biopic about the Beach Boys' Brian Wilson and his stranger-than-fiction struggle with mental illness. It tosses aside conventional storytelling in lieu of a past/future dynamic between a younger, more eccentric Wilson (Paul Dano) and a quieter, more deeply-disturbed older version of himself (John Cusack). The biggest highlight of Love and Mercy is the textured performances given by Dano and Cusack, whose interpretations of Wilson, from the facial cues to vocal inflections, feel deeply informed by the other, to the point that they feed off of each other. They work together even as they act apart, making the movie’s past/present narrative meld smoothly.
The movie seems most in its element when director Pohland and composer Atticus Ross have Dano’s Wilson make music: fiddling with pianos, perfecting cello accompaniments (ka-ka-ka), singing on a soundstage, arguing with his bandmates about who the Beach Boys are going to be as opposed to who they once were, etc, etc. Unlike most in its ilk, Love and Mercy is a biopic that really wants to be both about Brian Wilson and how his strange life informed his craft. The movie’s experimental style and sharp focus on the creation of music is a tribute to the subject, Brian Wilson -- along with screenwriters Oren Moverman and Michael A. Lerner, Pohland dives in to feel the era, the sounds, and, as a younger Wilson comments in a music studio, “the vibrations.”
The present story doesn’t feel pasted together, but thoughtfully interspersed. Both Brian Wilsons seem to be going through similar journeys of struggle and eventual triumph. That’s why the film -- even as it sometimes forces moments of recognition between the two Brians (the central motif of parental figures in the film being the most obviously placed) -- it remains throughout immensely watchable.
But certain elements never blend: While pleasant, Melinda Ledbetter’s (Elizabeth Banks) heroic excavation of Eugene Landy’s abuse feels too action-y for Love and Mercy’s nuance. Paul Giamatti seems to be replaying a psychotic version of his one-dimensional villain/con-man in the long-forgotten Big Fat Liar (this is not a compliment), though one can certainly blame the writing (“no more hamburgers for you!”) rather than the tried-and-tested actor (John Adams).
A refreshing breather from the stale music biopic (see David’s review of Bessie to see what I’m talking about), there’s much to love in Love and Mercy, (especially for Beach Boy fans and music nerds) and Paul Dano’s performance certainly towers. Unblended artistic elements keep the viewer at an arm’s length, however; the Kubrick-like ending sequence is unsuccessful and makes the film a little more heavy handed than it needed to be. Nonetheless, you’ll leave the theater with a greater appreciation for Brian Wilson and his music, and maybe it’ll inspire you to buy Pet Sounds on iTunes and relive it once again.
Grade: B to B+