By all accounts, Ian Dury was a bit of a bastard. Having battled (and basically lost) a bout of polio when he was a child, he grew up physically disabled and very angry. Over time, that temper turned into a burning desire to succeed, with just a splash uncontrolled anti-social rage on the side. Thanks to the DIY drive of the '70s punk movement, Dury translated his passion and a burgeoning talent into a combination cabaret/musical hall bit of perverse pop performance art. Dubbing his final commercial incarnation Ian Dury and the Blockheads, he soon found stardom -- and the interpersonal excesses that lead many famous faces to an inevitable downfall.
As portrayed by Andy Serkis in Mat Whitecross' unique biopic, Sex & Drugs & Rock & Roll, Dury is viewed as more loathsome than likeable. His onstage schtick, a distillation of almost every British panto preconception, is viewed through a prism of private Hell, driven by many of the stereotypical strains the genre puts on such material. But Whitecross, a documentarian by trade, attempts to circumvent such cliches by encasing them within a whirlwind approach of rapid edits, animation, creative montages, and other flashy optics. For the most part it works, especially with Serkis in the lead. But instead of giving us a real look at the rise of one of England's most unique musical icons, the film constantly falls back on the basics of childhood horrors translating into adult demons.
As a boy, Drury is bullied mercilessly. As he grows up, unable to use his left leg, he channels a caustic bitterness that can be hard to swallow. While his music would become a cheeky companion piece to punk's original rage against the universal machine, his personal existence was littered with brightly burning bridges. Whitecross does do the sonic side of things a big disservice, featuring a minor amount of Drury's signature work, but avoiding most of the eventual chart success. Instead, we dive deeper into the backstage bedlam, turning the story of a certified eccentric into a typical rags to riches to rage scenario.
Such an overview is made even more maddening by the introduction of Dury's estranged son Baxter (Bill Milner). The product of his marriage to first wife Betty (Olivia Williams), he is supposed to mirror his rising star dad's own harried upbringing. As Dury runs off to be with his mistress (Naomie Harris), Baxter falls under the influence of his father's famed extremes. Yet what should feel shocking and sad often comes off as staged and surreal. Whitecross indulges the worst parts of Paul Viragh's scattered episodic script. One moment, Dury is narrating his life to a wary concert audience. The next, clunky illustrations of same seem to contradict everything described. This is supposed to be slick and cool. Instead, it's often unnerving.
Still, Serkis sells us with his portrayal. It's a fierce performance, sparked by an obvious appreciation of the man and an unwavering ability to channel his goofball UK jive. Without such a strong center, Sex & Drugs & Rock & Roll would be as vacant as the cinematic formulas it often follows. What we really want is more of the creative process, how Dury found a perfect collaborator in future Blockhead Chaz Jankel (Tom Hughes) and why their unusual stylistic smorgasbord of rock, funk, and flash worked so well. Instead, it's back to the debauchery. Yes, Ian Dury was a tough man to truly embrace. In the song the provides the film with its title, the lyrics argue that "sex & drugs & rock & roll/is all my brain and body need." Audiences, however, will clearly want a bit more.
As portrayed by Andy Serkis in Mat Whitecross' unique biopic, Sex & Drugs & Rock & Roll, Dury is viewed as more loathsome than likeable. His onstage schtick, a distillation of almost every British panto preconception, is viewed through a prism of private Hell, driven by many of the stereotypical strains the genre puts on such material. But Whitecross, a documentarian by trade, attempts to circumvent such cliches by encasing them within a whirlwind approach of rapid edits, animation, creative montages, and other flashy optics. For the most part it works, especially with Serkis in the lead. But instead of giving us a real look at the rise of one of England's most unique musical icons, the film constantly falls back on the basics of childhood horrors translating into adult demons.
As a boy, Drury is bullied mercilessly. As he grows up, unable to use his left leg, he channels a caustic bitterness that can be hard to swallow. While his music would become a cheeky companion piece to punk's original rage against the universal machine, his personal existence was littered with brightly burning bridges. Whitecross does do the sonic side of things a big disservice, featuring a minor amount of Drury's signature work, but avoiding most of the eventual chart success. Instead, we dive deeper into the backstage bedlam, turning the story of a certified eccentric into a typical rags to riches to rage scenario.
Such an overview is made even more maddening by the introduction of Dury's estranged son Baxter (Bill Milner). The product of his marriage to first wife Betty (Olivia Williams), he is supposed to mirror his rising star dad's own harried upbringing. As Dury runs off to be with his mistress (Naomie Harris), Baxter falls under the influence of his father's famed extremes. Yet what should feel shocking and sad often comes off as staged and surreal. Whitecross indulges the worst parts of Paul Viragh's scattered episodic script. One moment, Dury is narrating his life to a wary concert audience. The next, clunky illustrations of same seem to contradict everything described. This is supposed to be slick and cool. Instead, it's often unnerving.
Still, Serkis sells us with his portrayal. It's a fierce performance, sparked by an obvious appreciation of the man and an unwavering ability to channel his goofball UK jive. Without such a strong center, Sex & Drugs & Rock & Roll would be as vacant as the cinematic formulas it often follows. What we really want is more of the creative process, how Dury found a perfect collaborator in future Blockhead Chaz Jankel (Tom Hughes) and why their unusual stylistic smorgasbord of rock, funk, and flash worked so well. Instead, it's back to the debauchery. Yes, Ian Dury was a tough man to truly embrace. In the song the provides the film with its title, the lyrics argue that "sex & drugs & rock & roll/is all my brain and body need." Audiences, however, will clearly want a bit more.
