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Moonage Daydream
Directed by
Brett Morgen
Produced by Brett Morgen
Produced by Brett Morgen
Editing:
Brett Morgen
Runtime:
135 min
Release Date: 15 September 2022
Aspect Ratio: 1.78 : 1
Color: Color
Release Date: 15 September 2022
Aspect Ratio: 1.78 : 1
Color: Color
Brett Morgen's David Bowie movie isn't a concert film, nor biography, or even a collage-picture. It's best described as an experiential pastiche of the specific "sound and vision" of a singular performer, writer, and artist. Utilizing a vast array of footage from Bowie's archive, Morgen leans heavily into the iconic Ziggy Stardust concert footage (returning to it often), and footage from various other key tours in Bowie's career (though several major live performances are not included). There are some near-complete songs, but for the most part, we get snatches of the music intertwined with TV interviews and clips from Bowie's various film appearances, most notably the ones that were close to his persona at the time like Nicolas Roeg’s The Man Who Fell to Earth.
The way Morgan pops in and out of these performance clips does not take away from our experience of them. In fact, this sampling effect is what makes the movie so addictively stimulating. Just as this film is not concerned with the specifics of Bowie's biography, this is not a rock-doc that aims to cover all his great songs, all the specific nuances contained within them, and how they specifically relate to the era (in Bowie's life and the evolution of popular culture) in which they were created. The film follows a loose chronological framework but isn't tied to any linear narrative. And most details about Bowie's personal life, his artistic collaborators, his children, etc. are not explored. This film is most concerned with the versions himself that he created: Ziggy Stardust, Aladdin Sane, and the Thin White Duke in the '70s, and the successful pop star of the '80s (that Pepsi commercial he did with Tina Turner, which made my young heart break a little when I first saw it—even though I wasn't yet a big fan—is referenced, though that "Danicin' in the Streets" short he made with Mick Jaggar where they grind their butts together and drink soda on a soundstage is not included). To a lesser extent, we see him in his cinematic and theatrical personas of The Man Who Fell to Earth, the Elephant Man, the Goblin King, and Maj. Jack "Strafer" Celliers. Eventually, the various versions of David Bowie that he played (and that he was) in his life offstage emerge and we're left with a rich understanding of a man who still remains mysterious.
Morgen's mélange approach is the type that usually can't sustain itself over a full feature-length film, especially if one is not already a devotee of the artist at the center. But in this case, even if you're not super familiar with Bowie's career or aren't a fan of his music (though how can anyone not be at least a little bit of a fan, even if they only know the most mainstream hits), you get swept up in the energy, audacity, and creativity of this footage. There is always something new to see, hear, and feel. That is, until the final act of the film, which unexpectedly becomes repetitive and uninspired. Most of the energy gets sucked out of the picture once Bowie's marriage to the model Iman is mentioned, and we're left wondering what happened to that sensation we had been experiencing for so long. This is especially odd because it is not a reflection of Bowie's arc. He continued to produce all kinds of interesting work late in his career, appeared in significant, off-kilter films, and was never short on fascinating observations which he shared whenever anyone pointed a camera at him—many of the most profound are not included in this final section, which feels like a major missed opportunity.
The tapering-off sensation is unfortunate. It brings one of the most exciting, distinctive documentaries of the year down several notches. Still, it's a feat for a film as long, eclectic, and sensorily assaultive as this one to leave you wanting more. Moonage Daydream is also ideal use of the digital IMAX format, in which the images are larger than life, the sound comes at you from a myriad of angles, and the aspect ratio is constantly (but subtlety) changing, as Bowie himself constantly changes. Standard cinematic frames are too rigid to hold this performer's many identities, personas, and thoughts.
Twitter Capsule:
The way Morgan pops in and out of these performance clips does not take away from our experience of them. In fact, this sampling effect is what makes the movie so addictively stimulating. Just as this film is not concerned with the specifics of Bowie's biography, this is not a rock-doc that aims to cover all his great songs, all the specific nuances contained within them, and how they specifically relate to the era (in Bowie's life and the evolution of popular culture) in which they were created. The film follows a loose chronological framework but isn't tied to any linear narrative. And most details about Bowie's personal life, his artistic collaborators, his children, etc. are not explored. This film is most concerned with the versions himself that he created: Ziggy Stardust, Aladdin Sane, and the Thin White Duke in the '70s, and the successful pop star of the '80s (that Pepsi commercial he did with Tina Turner, which made my young heart break a little when I first saw it—even though I wasn't yet a big fan—is referenced, though that "Danicin' in the Streets" short he made with Mick Jaggar where they grind their butts together and drink soda on a soundstage is not included). To a lesser extent, we see him in his cinematic and theatrical personas of The Man Who Fell to Earth, the Elephant Man, the Goblin King, and Maj. Jack "Strafer" Celliers. Eventually, the various versions of David Bowie that he played (and that he was) in his life offstage emerge and we're left with a rich understanding of a man who still remains mysterious.
Morgen's mélange approach is the type that usually can't sustain itself over a full feature-length film, especially if one is not already a devotee of the artist at the center. But in this case, even if you're not super familiar with Bowie's career or aren't a fan of his music (though how can anyone not be at least a little bit of a fan, even if they only know the most mainstream hits), you get swept up in the energy, audacity, and creativity of this footage. There is always something new to see, hear, and feel. That is, until the final act of the film, which unexpectedly becomes repetitive and uninspired. Most of the energy gets sucked out of the picture once Bowie's marriage to the model Iman is mentioned, and we're left wondering what happened to that sensation we had been experiencing for so long. This is especially odd because it is not a reflection of Bowie's arc. He continued to produce all kinds of interesting work late in his career, appeared in significant, off-kilter films, and was never short on fascinating observations which he shared whenever anyone pointed a camera at him—many of the most profound are not included in this final section, which feels like a major missed opportunity.
The tapering-off sensation is unfortunate. It brings one of the most exciting, distinctive documentaries of the year down several notches. Still, it's a feat for a film as long, eclectic, and sensorily assaultive as this one to leave you wanting more. Moonage Daydream is also ideal use of the digital IMAX format, in which the images are larger than life, the sound comes at you from a myriad of angles, and the aspect ratio is constantly (but subtlety) changing, as Bowie himself constantly changes. Standard cinematic frames are too rigid to hold this performer's many identities, personas, and thoughts.
Twitter Capsule:
A thrilling pastiche of the specific "sound and vision" David Bowie embodied. It takes a singular performer to sustain a film of this type, which is also ideal use of the digital IMAX format. Standard cinematic frames are too rigid to hold this performer's many identities, personas, and thoughts.