In the opening scenes of Rocketman, Dexter Fletcher’s Elton John biopic, we get our first sight of Elton (a standout, thoroughly immersive performance from Taron Egerton) making a theatrical entrance into a group therapy session. He is coming direct, we are obviously intended to assume, from the stage still sporting his characteristically over-the-top performance garb as a mock ‘devil’ complete with detachable horns. The early 90s therapy session serves as a framing device for the entire film, wherein Elton takes us through key episodes in his life, interacts with his younger self, and both literally and metaphorically strips away the layers of his ostentatious stage persona to eventually lay his complicated psyche bare. To its credit, the film does not shy away from the darker, more problematic aspects of Elton’s story, namely the damage wrought by years of substance abuse, dysfunctional relationships and celebrity monomania.
Despite an unsparing depiction of these darker elements, Fletcher paints his canvas overwhelmingly in lighter hues. In this endeavour he is helped by having access to exploit Elton’s extraordinary back catalogue, studded as it is with some of the most familiar tunes of the latter twentieth century. Key events in Elton’s life and career are played out against a soundtrack of his most instantly recognisable hits. Among the standout sequences are an exuberant, Broadway-style rendition of “Saturday Night’s Alright for a Fight” performed as an adolescent Elton and his fellow performers make musical progress through a London pub and a neighbouring 50s era fun fair. Elton’s famous American debut at The Troubadour in Los Angeles is presented via an exhilarating, literally transcendent version of “Crocodile Rock” with no small amount of dramatic licence. But possibly the most convincing and most affecting mix of soundtrack and dramatic recreation is in the use of the poignant “Tiny Dancer”, performed by Elton and his erstwhile collaborator Bernie Taupin (an excellent Jamie Bell) at a louche LA party where a Elton wistfully witnesses a liaison between Taupin and the woman who would, supposedly, be immortalised in the song’s lyrics. Elton, meanwhile, is being seduced by his soon-to-be lover and manager John Reid, played with a beguiling mix of charm and unctuousness by Richard Madden.
Despite its willingness to venture into the darker detours of Elton’s improbable journey, Fletcher’s film ultimately comes across as a celebration. Doubtless, this is because unlike so many of his pop industry peers (as witnessed by the fate of Freddie Mercury in Fletcher’s recent companion piece Bohemian Rhapsody) Elton’s story has a redemptive narrative arc, as he has apparently arrived in the safe harbour of a clean and sober lifestyle and a stable, loving relationship in his late middle age. In this light, the late elaborate staging of “I’m Still Standing” seems particularly apposite. This is obviously a welcome development for Elton himself, but at the same time provides much less compelling fare for a biopic, which helps to explain why the film’s narrative ends quite abruptly in the early nineties. Nonetheless, Fletcher’s film is immensely accomplished, directed with considerable flair and imagination, and gives the viewer an engaging and very watchable nostalgic tour through one of the more remarkable careers in popular music.