Love and Mercy

Rating – 8/10

**SPOILERS**

A couple fun facts about me: despite being a huge 60s/70s music nerd, I’ve never been crazy about the Beach Boys, and I am really, really tired of musician biopics. Since Bohemian Rhapsody reignited the sub genre in 2018, we’ve gotten roughly 2-3 high profile biopics a year, with many more on the way. So why have I seeked this movie out is a fantastic question. 

The good news is that Bill Pohlad’s Love and Mercy is absolutely worth it, taking a more dynamic approach to its subject that serves as more than a highlight reel of his life. It follows maestro of the Beach Boys, Brian Wilson, during 2 distinct periods of his life: his production of the legendary album Pet Sounds in the 60s, during which he is played by Paul Dano, and his time under the influence of his overbearing therapist Eugene Landy in the 80s, played here by John Cusack. These two portrayals and time periods overlap to create a portrait of Brian Wilson as a person rather than an icon, as someone with incredible talent burdened with personal issues no one bothered to see. 

The 60s sequences are the absolute highlights here (not to disparage the 80s sequences, more on them later). Most of them follow Brian in the studio, as we get a detailed and engaging look at his creative process and experimentation. A lot of these scenes are shot almost like a documentary (the cinematographer, Robert Yeoman, actually wasn’t included in rehearsals of the scene to emphasize this effect). A lot has been made of the film’s dedication to realism, as efforts were made to mirror Brian’s behavior in the studio and to accurately portray the people and events with as few discrepancies as possible. Paul Dano’s performance is the centerpiece of this. His Brian is indistinguishable from the archival footage dotted around the film (use of grainy 35mm film in some places makes it nearly impossible to tell if some moments were made for the film or actual footage of Brian Wilson at work). 

Of course, a music biopic always has the artist’s music involved (unless the estate didn’t give them permission and they made the film anyway. Pro tip if you want to try this: it never works). Whereas a lot of these films treat the music as fan service and entertainment value, Love and Mercy uses its songs to develop our understanding of Brian. At one point, we see Brian performing an early version of God Only Knows for his father. It starts choppy. Brian still seems to be feeling out some of the chords, and maybe hasn’t finalized the lyrics. But as he goes on he sings with more confidence, he plays the piano with more certainty. In this one shot, we hear how Brian isn’t always sure of himself, but can change that through his art. It’s not about the music here, it’s about the man himself. If you ask me, this should be a blueprint for other music biopics. The music here is always a window into who Brian is: his creativity, enthusiasm, innocence, doubts, and vulnerabilities. That’s what a lot of the biopics I’ve seen miss. Something like Bohemian Rhapsody relates to the music as a fan would. Something like Love and Mercy tries to see the music as the artist does: a tool for self expression. 

This is a perfect segway into the film’s use of sound. There are several moments where we get an insight into Brian’s thoughts. He hears the music in his head, and finds ways to translate that into songs. This is presented through lush sound collages, made from bits of Beach Boys music and compositions by composer Atticus Ross. It’s a wonderful motif, and serves to translate both Brian’s creativity and how his mental health takes a turn for the worse, as the symphonies sometimes turn into harsh distorted sounds of pain. This might be the best part of the movie for me. 

The 80s sequences are still excellently done, even if I don’t like them as much as the 60s sequences. They depict a lesser known time period of Brian’s life, when everything he did was monitored and controlled by an overbearing manipulator. They’re actually presented from the point of view of Melinda Ledbetter, Brian’s future wife (played by a solid Elizabeth Banks. Her last scene with Landy is amazing), as she meets Brian and learns of the situation he’s living in. Everything feels different about these scenes. The colors, while warm and vibrant in the creative 60s, are cold and sterile here. John Cusack’s Brian is quieter, meeker. This Brian’s mental health is at an absolute low point, in no control of his life and seemingly a shell of his former self. Cusack still allows the innocence and kindness of Wilson to come through, but he’s been warped by drugs, poor treatment, and loneliness. Paul Giamatti’s genuinely unnerving performance as Eugene Landy also heightens these scenes, bringing an instant air of tension and sliminess to the role. It takes a special kind of actor to be terrifying and unsettling even when not doing anything particularly scary.

If I have one criticism, it’s that I don’t think the two portrayals of Brian Wilson are as cohesive as they should be. Cusack and Dano actually were told to not collaborate on their performances, to make the performances feel distinct. They met with the real Brian and took note of his mannerisms and speech, but didn’t work together. I don’t think it’s an inherently bad idea, and both performances are great, but they don’t necessarily feel like the same person. I think this could be down to the decade between the two time periods that wasn’t shown. Both these performances could be perfectly accurate, but we don’t get a perfect idea of how one led to the other. We see the circumstances that resulted in the change, but the performances still ultimately feel too distinct for their own good. To be clear, not showing that period of time was the right choice. We can see the effects of it in Cusack’s performance, and we don’t need much more. I think Cusack and Dano just should’ve been allowed to share some notes a little more, to let some similar mannerisms come through on both ends. Even if it slightly alters how Brian acted in those times, I think it would’ve made for a stronger film. 

However, what makes Love and Mercy really come together where a lot of its contemporaries fail is almost comically simple: it gives insight to who Brian Wilson is, and does so effectively. It gives insight to his creativity and artistry, but also the great tragedy in his life: how the people around him saw him as a source of profit instead of a human being in need of love and support, sending him down a darker and darker path. The film focuses on how Brian was changed by the world around him, rather than how he changed the world. It’s more concerned with who he is and why rather than what he did, and that’s what biopics should be.

Another sign of a good music biopic, in my opinion, is if it generates interest in the music. And you know what. I think I’m going to give Pet Sounds another listen. 

(And to those who love hating Mike Love as much as me, don’t worry. Here he sucks almost as much as he does in real life.)