The Beach Boys are something of a cultural anomaly. They’re respected but rarely praised, and even those who appreciate their talents rarely adore them. Even more a social idiosyncrasy is its lead figure Brian Wilson, and the decades-long pains he endured to the sake of his art are displayed a tad too reverently but nevertheless maturely and diligently with Bill Pohlad’s reflective Love & Mercy.
A talent potentially on par with peers like John Lennon, Paul McCartney and Michael Jackson in his prime, at least according to Pohlad’s film, Wilson is a rich but allusive figure. He’s a passionate man with genuine skills but a foggy worldview, one clouted by family struggles, mental health problems and a lingering desire to live up to his fullest artistic potential admit conventionalism. Thankfully, the filmmakers respect this by taking an unconventional biopic approach to his life story. Anchored by two powerhouse performances from John Cusack and Paul Dano, both playing the focal musician, Love & Mercy is a somber but rich lullaby tribute to an unappreciated music idol, one whom gets his spotlight now even while still hidden in the shadows.
Chances are Dano’s performance is the one people will really recognize and praise, and it makes sense. He’s not only gained 35 pounds for the role but also has the showier work on display, and he does more than a fine job with the real-life figure. But it’s Cusack who really shines in Pohlad’s character study. Restrained and well guided in ways he hasn’t been on screen in years, it’s a gratifying return-to-form and astoundingly humble portrayal, one that instantly takes your heart, as it does for his love interest Melinda Ledbetter (Elizabeth Banks), and refuses to let go for even an instant. It’s ironic the actor people often forget is as good as he is — Dano — is likely the one who’ll walk away with more accolades than his stronger peer, but life’s funny like that sometimes.
Cusack work is what really makes the melodramatic third act go down much smoother. That said, he’s no miracle worker. Paul Giamatti gives another exceptional performance as Dr. Eugene Landy, the doctor attempting to have the former musician be a functioning human again but makes him lose any humanity in the process. It very well could have been a dense and fascinating character had screenwriters Oren Moverman and Michael A. Lerner choose not to give him such a black-and-white portrayal in Wilson’s story. Giamatti’s dedication to the role keeps him captivating, but there’s clearly more here to be explored.
Unlike most musician biopics, though, Love & Mercy doesn’t focus too much on the rising talents and humble origins stories, and this actually makes the movie more thematically fruitful. With one opening credits montage, everything one needs to know about The Beach Boys, their songs and their legacy leading up to the film’s plot is explained in an entertaining but more importantly straightforward manner. People often forget brevity is bliss, and here it should be. For the complexities of Wilson’s character are far more attention-worthy.
Everyone’s heard “Surfin’ U.S.A.” and “I Get Around” on the radio before, but little is known about the sacrifices Wilson put himself through to realize his musical vision with the band’s eleventh album, Pet Sounds. Moreover, what became of him in the wake of fallen fame was an even bigger mystery; one Pohlad’s film shows with sympathy and yet refined restraint. It’s a difficult but smartly handled balance Pohlad creates that’s far more accomplished than most directors second features typically have the right to be, especially one who hasn’t made a film in 25 years.
As a celebration of art as it is a look inside the unstable mind of misunderstood greatness, it’s fitting Love & Mercy is an unstable ride, simplifying some matters too hastily and painting others much too broad and cookie-cutter. But in the wake of this comes some delicately catered performances, finely focused direction and heartfelt storytelling with enough distance to recognize both the faults and strengths of its lead. And while cutting back and forth between young and middle-aged Wilson can make the film appears as though it comes cut from two different cinematic cloths, this envisions a meditative examination of one’s elongated journey with under-appreciated attributes.
Wilson’s band often seemed as conventional as could be, but thankfully this look at its lead is more non-traditionally engaging than most of its musician biopic peers. It’s a warm, sweetly handed ode to a “little boy in a man’s body,” a musician posed to bigger and better things but unable to shake his peers expectations and his own insecurities. With this, Love & Mercy seemingly does the impossible: it makes you feel care deeply for the artistic virtues of The Beach Boys, and that’s worth celebrating as much as the movie praises its primary subject.