They’ve watered down feral Freddie into a cup of milky tea

Clearly it’s been no bed of roses. No pleasure cruise. However, after eight years of delays, several different directors, strops, rows and – uh oh! – artistic differences, Bohemian rhapsody finally staggered out of the shadows and on to the silver screen last night. and was this biopic of rock band Queen worth the wait? Not quite. Not really.

Not unless you prefer a watered-down, milky tea version of the great Freddie Mercury; here portrayed as a mild-mannered occasional bisexual who was happiest with his cats and his soft furnishings.

It is no secret that in real life, Mercury was a reckless hedonist with a feral streak; a man with an enormous appetite for sex and drugs and rock and roll, all of which was reflected in the passion of his music.

you would never guess that from this 12arated film of an X-rated life, the biggest whitewash of a global legend since they painted the Taj Mahal (not that they did, but you know what I mean). Meanwhile, the rest of Queen plod about in bad wigs whining about Freddie being late for rehearsals and throwing bacon at each other over breakfast to show everyone how wild they are.

The last 20 minutes of the film are the best, but expect to wade through a damnable gulch of godawful rock and roll cliches before you get there, including misunderstood youths, the broken-down van on the way to the gig, the tour bus roaring down an american highway, the arguments in the studio, the record company boss who thinks Bohemian rhapsody is a lot of rot and even, yes, the loneliness of the long-distance performer.

It is truly incredible that while Mercury was one of the greatest showmen on earth and Queen were one of the most original and innovative rock bands of all time, this film turns out to be so pedestrian – and even dull.

Comedian Sacha Baron Cohen was originally signed to play Mercury, but he left after reportedly falling out with Brian May and roger Taylor, who were heavily involved in producing the film. apparently, their plan was for Freddie to die halfway through, with the rest of the film devoted to their heroic struggle as they battled on without him. ahem. AlTHougH

both men are incredibly talented, we all know that Freddie is the king of Queen. a film that even had five minutes without him would be like a wedding breakfast without the bride, the ugly sisters sans Cinderella, all burden and no beast. The fact that they even wanted this is a worrying portent.

Then Ben Whishaw, who plays Q in the James Bond movies, took the role before also leaving. In the end, the carousel stopped with rami Malek, a talented but little-known egyptian-american actor. He was fitted with a set of Freddie-shaped false teeth and told to get on with it. In several key scenes of this 134-minute film, there is unfortunately something of the chipmunk about poor rami; it’s hard to tell if Freddie really did speak like that, or if the actor is just having trouble with his gobful of Bugs Bunny fangs.

‘you promished me you would never take-it-

toff,’ he tells his fiancee Mary Austin (Lucy Boynton) when she tries to remove her engagement ring after confronting Freddie about his sexuality.

‘I have suspected it for some time,’ she peeps in full Sherlock Holmes mode.

Much of the blame for the film lies with the band themselves. With Freddie gone and John Deacon living in self-imposed rock and roll exile, it was down to May and Taylor to burnish the legacy.

Instead of telling the fabulous truth, they have made a rosy glow heritage movie, which nicely launders the Queen legend.

This should have been a sweatdrenched, liverish, palpitating throb of a film instead of this anodyne offering that seizes every opportunity to show us the rest of the band were brilliant, too – in case you hadn’t noticed.

We are reminded several times that Brian studied astrophysics while Roger was a dental student – it feels rather pathetically like old scores being settled in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. And that we are caught in a vortex of incorrigible egos, on and off the screen.

Decades ago, I met Queen after they played a gig at the NEC in Birmingham. Backstage, four limousines waited to whisk them individually off to a restaurant.

While the rest of the group joined a communal table with us journalists, I’ll never forget that Freddie dined alone; haughty, disdainful, forever and always a cut above. And I don’t think the band forgot this kind of behaviour either.

Of course Queen loved him, but it is hard to overlook the residue of resentment that runs through this film. And were his teeth really that bad? I don’t think so.