No doubt some crybabies will turn apoplectic at the stark contrast of Paul Dano and John Cusack splitting the challenging chore of portraying popular music genius Brian Wilson in the new biopic Love & Mercy. They’ll whine neither one (especially Cusack) looks like Brian and, furthermore, the two actors don’t even look like each other. None of that matters a lick. If it’s the essence of the Brian Wilson mystique that you are after, this film provides much insight and resonance. Although not perfect by any means, the film overcomes the inherent limitations that a Brian Wilson biopic by definition presents.
When it comes to white boy pop icons in the rock era Wilson is possibly surpassed by only Bob Dylan and John Lennon. The finest aspect of this Bill Pohlad-directed film is the attention given to the creative process. Brian’s panic attack on an airplane serves as a catalyst to spark him to stop touring at the height of the group’s success in order to create a more intricately textured album. He’s a mere 23 years old at the time. It’s loads of fun to witness just how cutting edge was the recording studio process and just how much respect Wilson received from the classically trained studio musicians he gathered to meticulously record what would become Pet Sounds (1966).
It’s a shame he got mostly scorn from his bandmates, which included two of his brothers, once they returned from the tour. Brian’s cousin, Mike Love (Jack Abel), leads the charge, telling Wilson, “Even the happy songs are sad.” Then there’s Brian’s dad, Murry (Bill Camp), who we witness offhandedly dismissing Brian’s new direction as far too off-formula and wimpy. Ironically, Murry’s wrath is directed at an early sketch of a song that would soon be “God Only Knows” — a track no less than Paul McCartney would come to call the greatest pop song ever written.
The bulk of Love & Mercy deals with Brian’s tenuous mental state and the efforts of Melinda Ledbetter (Elizabeth Banks) to help Brian come to grips with it. Melinda, a car salesperson Brian meets while shopping for a new Cadillac, would come to be Brian’s second (and current) wife, but not before she battles an additional thorn in Brian’s side. As if his dad (who beat his sons unapologetically) weren’t enough to deal with, the Cusack-era Brian must contend with a “guardian,” Dr. Eugene Landy, (Paul Giamatti), a dubious psychologist who monitors Brian’s every action via bodyguards. His misdiagnosis of Brian’s mental state as paranoid schizophrenia is just the beginning of his abusive treatment of him. Landy keeps Wilson doped up and a virtual prisoner. The always sharp Giamatti puts a plausible sheen on what could have been an overwrought depiction of a monster. Cusack, spacey and genuine, seems like a mere kid emotionally in many of his scenes with Belinda and Landy. Yet underneath his kowtowing to Landy lurks a rebellious nature just waiting for the right moment.
As performances go, though, the film belongs to Dano. His sheer innocence, coupled with a certainly tangible neurosis, permeates the early going. I can’t think of a finer actor to capture the rawness of the joys and setbacks of this fertile yet ultimately futile period. Screenwriter Oren Moverman (the bizarre but intriguing Bob Dylan biopic I’m Not There) decides to shift back and forth between the 20 years separating the two Brians rather than go chronologically — a wise move. Musical selections, while kept to a relative minimum, are well chosen. The segues from a live Dano hammering out a demo of a tune to the full-blown original recording couldn’t be better. The group’s hits are represented but so is as essential a Beach Boys non-hit as Caroline No.
Brian Wilson carried The Beach Boys on his back. His efforts to “keep up with” The Beatles as they were going through their revolutionary change to the Revolver/Sgt. Pepper era were basically done not only with very little help from his bandmates, but against the grain of their wishes. The film implies Brian’s pending descent into LSD-fueled despair was in large part the result of the commercial disappointment of Pet Sounds and Brian’s subsequent inability to finish its successor, Smile.
In the interim years between the Dano-era and Cusack-era Wilson, Brian would not leave his house and more or less not get out of bed for a few years. Although these years are referenced rather than depicted, in one eye-opening scene, he revealingly sits barefoot at his piano which lies on a bed of beach sand. That this genius not only recovered, but is recording and touring to this day at the age of 72 is no small feat. That he created such an immortal body of work amidst personal demons that would have killed most of us is even more stunning.