Starry drama stuck in the past
A Star is Born (M, 135 mins) Directed by Bradley Cooper Reviewed by Graeme Tuckett ★★1⁄2
Along time ago, in a multiplex far, far away, I watched Baz Luhrmann’s adaptation of Romeo and Juliet.
Walking out as the film ended, musing on what a fantastic retelling of the ancient story it had been, I heard a teenager in front of me – barely audible through her sobs – say to her friend, ‘‘I didn’t think they were both going to effing die’’.
I’ve been wary of spoilers ever since. Even reviewing a remake of a remake of a remake of a plot that wasn’t particularly original to begin with, I’m not going to assume that you know how A Star is Born even begins or ends.
This 2018 iteration kicks off on the road, with Bradley Cooper’s handsome stadium country-rock god slaying them yet again in an unnamed American city.
Later that night, looking for more vodka to quell the demons, he stumbles into a drag bar and is instantly besotted with the woman vocalist belting out a ferociously good rendition of La Vie en Rose on the tiny stage.
They meet, drink, stay out all night and a relationship gets under way. He takes her on the road to join him on stage for a couple of songs. And as their love grows, her own career starts to take off independently of his.
Even if you’re not familiar with the plot, there is nothing in that recap you couldn’t glean from watching the trailer. But from here on in, I’ll try to keep this review spoiler-free. Promise.
A Star is Born is predicated on the underlying idea that a woman’s success will always be an existential threat to the man who stands next to her.
This 2018 reading plays the storyline as sensitively as is possible, but still can’t escape the essential imbalance at its heart.
In the leads, Cooper and Lady Gaga are both beyond fine. Cooper channels Kris Kristofferson’s 1976 interpretation of the character, right down to his cowboy boots and stadium rock licks, but still trades on the hoary idea that guitar rock, preferably played by a harddrinking white man, is still the most authentic and admirable form of modern music.
As Gaga’s Ally gains success of her own, we are asked to believe that this tough, smart and intelligent artist – who we are told is a writer of terrific songs herself – would gratefully submit to warbling anodyne ditties in front of a troupe of back-up dancers on Saturday Night Live, if that is what her new manager demands.
Meanwhile, Cooper’s Jackson Maine turns back to the vodka and his bottle of pills in what is presented as a valid response to the success of the woman he loves.
By the time the film ends – to a chorus of sniffles in the audience – we are being shown what amounts to a celebration and exultation of male self-pity and selfdestructiveness as somehow still admirable and heroic.
A Star is Born is in many ways a very good film. The music is fine, the performances are excellent and the technical credits are everything they should be in a film that is being touted as a serious contender in the race for this year’s baubles.
Around Cooper and Gaga, Sam Elliot as Cooper’s brother and a criminally underused Dave Chapelle as Cooper’s best friend both turn in a great shift.
Likewise, Lyttelton’s own Marlon Williams is in typically great voice in a late cameo.
But are we still supposed to celebrate a film that posits the male ego as too fragile to accept a woman who equals or surpasses him?
Or that a woman’s ‘‘authenticity’’ will only truly flower in response to a man’s sacrifice?
Is it also worth mentioning that all three of the film’s credited writers are men? Or that Dolly Parton told this whole story with more insight in three minutes when she wrote I Will Always Love You?
I wish this film all the success it deserves. But A Star is Born is undeniably an artefact from another century. I’m not certain this much remade film ever needed – or needs – to be made again.
The Hatton Garden heist in London was cooked up by four men aged 60 to 76. They had a younger accomplice – known as Basil – who had access to the keys and alarm codes that made the job possible.
Over Easter weekend 2015, the gang accessed a safety deposit company’s premises via an elevator shaft, then used industrial drilling equipment to breach the vault.
Once inside, they helped themselves to vast amounts of cash, jewels and gold. Much of the haul was undocumented and uninsured.
Like me, you probably read about the heist, and immediately thought ‘‘give it a couple of years and that’ll be a film with Michael Caine’’.
Well, we were wrong. It actually took three years for this retelling of the robbery to make it to the screen. There was another film released last year (The Hatton Garden Job), but no one seems to think much of it, so the field was
I’ll pay money to watch Michael Gambon in nearly anything, but he’s as credible as a refugee from a Christmas panto here.
still wide open for James Marsh (Man on Wire) to do the story justice. But, no.
King of Thieves has a passable crack at being watchable and entertaining, but is also ultimately let down by some pedestrian pacing and being far too in love with one idea: That old blokes working as villains is inherently hilarious.
Caine, Ray Winstone, Tom Courtney, Paul Whitehouse and Jim Broadbent play the central four, with only Broadbent really rising above the expected as the possibly psychopathic lieutenant to Caine’s genial guv’nor.
Caine, who can still turn in a great shift if needed, is doing not much more than self-parody here. The grit of Harry Brown and the pathos Caine brought to Paulo Sorrentino’s Youth are missing.
A couple of scenes featuring Michael Gambon as a decrepit alcoholic the gang apparently trust to store the loot should have been reshot. I’ll pay money to watch Gambon in nearly anything, but he’s as credible as a refugee from a Christmas panto here.
King of Thieves plays like a film that doesn’t know what it wants to be. While the dialogue and tone often veer into gratifyingly dark places, the next moment will be nothing but lazy gags and creaking cliches. It is occasionally a crowdpleaser, sometimes a not-bad heist thriller, but too often it’s just a fairly average comedy.
The only true crime is that such a brilliant yarn has still not been given the on-screen treatment it deserves.