Stardust: Imagined David Bowie Adventure Lacks Imagination and Adventure

By Kim Hughes

Rating: D

Stardust is a movie ostensibly about David Bowie that contains no music by David Bowie. It also begins with the disclaimer “What follows is mostly fiction” which, at least, is a promise fulfilled. That admission should be followed by this one: “In 20 minutes time, you will want to tear your hair out.”

The Bowie presented here, played earnestly if pointlessly by Johnny Flynn, is not a Bowie most of us would recognize, bad teeth notwithstanding. And while the idea of discovering the inspiration behind the invention of Bowie’s ground-breaking Ziggy Stardust character and eponymous album holds appeal, Stardust buries its rich concept under mountains of limp drama and fey ridiculousness.

It’s 1971 and David Bowie arrives alone in Washington D.C. for what he anticipates will be a U.S. tour. But his androgynous manner and lack of paperwork spurs crusty U.S. immigration officers to shake him down hard. It is just the beginning of what will be a nightmarish visit both for our protagonist and for us.

Through flashbacks we learn that Bowie’s Man Who Sold the World album has tanked in America. Just too weird, his manager says, too dark. In a meeting, Bowie’s hectoring wife Angie (Jena Malone) insists the manager work harder to convince the Yanks of her husband’s brilliance.

Thus, a favour is called in with a Mercury Records publicist who can see the talent behind the façade. Bowie will take his chances and go to America.

Fast-forward to D.C. Once free of the shackles of immigration, Bowie is collected at the airport by said publicist, Ron Oberman (Marc Maron) who tries to window-dress the situation even though there is no tour, no radio support, no media interest. There isn’t even a hotel. Bowie will stay in a spare room in the Oberman family home as the fast-talking publicist maps out a Plan B.

PROUDLY SUPPORTS ORIGINAL-CIN

All of this has comic potential, even grand dramatic potential (Lou Reed! Marc Bolan! Drugs! The Stones!) but Stardust doesn’t leverage it. The main narrative follows Oberman and Bowie as they toot along via station wagon through the Midwest, trying vainly to drum up interest in this oddball Brit with a penchant for wearing a dress.

Oberman works hard to create interest in his client, offering many clenched-fist pep talks along the way. Yet Bowie continually scandalizes press and radio personnel with his eccentricity, sabotaging his chances every step of the way. Does self-sabotage sound anything like a Bowie you’ve heard or read or watched previously? Maximum archness maybe but self-sabotage? Ah, no.

Everything that could be interesting with this story is either missing or portrayed in a way that just doesn’t make sense. A meeting with Andy Warhol doesn’t show Warhol. Bowie’s legendary bravado (trust me on this one) is apparently easily subverted by mere phone calls with his nasty wife back home. Rock writers are portrayed as incurious, incredulous, and impolite (which, granted, might be possible).

Publicist Oberman, apparently lacking an office or a desk at Mercury Records HQ, makes lame pitch calls from a diner within earshot of his client, who he eventually books at a convention for vacuum cleaner salesmen who don’t see Bowie’s genius, which, I dunno, is maybe because they are not hearing Bowie’s music?

Only Bowie’s interaction with his mentally ill brother Terry carries gravitas and palpable truth. Even the imagining of Ziggy Stardust — the film’s nominal premise and the album that put Bowie on the map — is played almost as an afterthought rather than being framed as the film’s anchor and launch point.

Apparently, the Bowie estate did not grant rights to use Bowie’s music, so the workaround is that Bowie isn’t permitted to perform in America because he lacks the necessary documentation. Ergo, when our fictional Bowie does mount a stage, he plays covers. It is but one in a long line of questions about why this film was even made and who was the intended audience.

It sucks dumping on obviously earnest work with a Canadian connection (Telefilm Canada helped to finance, filming happened here). And it’s clear those involved tried hard to make it work. But Stardust is just too lame, too lacking, and ultimately too dumb to recommend.

Stardust. Directed by Gabriel Range. Starring Johnny Flynn, Marc Maron, Jena Malone, and Derek Moran. In select theatres and across all digital and on-demand platforms November 27.