Alamo Drafthouse South Lamar
Beyond the Film: Spacey Is Darin
RECEIVED Wed., Jan. 5, 2005
To the Chronicle,
Why do I get the impression that Marjorie Baumgarten doesn’t like biopics? Or is it just Bobby Darin that she dislikes? In any case, her incoherent review of Kevin Spacey’s Beyond the Sea is more telling of her personal taste than of the film itself [Film Listings, Dec. 31].
Her snide reference to "that Rat Pack nightclub style so out of date today" reveals her inability to appreciate Darin’s music.
I don’t know how Baumgarten separates style from performance, but I wonder if she’d have felt better if Spacey/Darin had sung fixedly or, alternatively, had slouched around, making malevolent gestures, periodically grabbing his crotch. The fact is that Darin had a vibrant stage presence, that his movements – the dancing, the finger popping, etc. – expressed his complete possession by the music itself. Rather than being superficial and out of date, Spacey’s delivery captures the crisp energy of a Darin performance, perfectly suited to a singer of jazz and classic American repertory. Rod Stewart, reprising American standards, adopts a style similar to Darin’s as a natural expression of his intimacy with the music.
By the critic’s own admission, Spacey "so inhabits the body of Darin" with his "impeccable ... impersonation" that he reveals the sound and presence of the younger Darin. All the more puzzling that she indicts him for failing to capture Darin’s "soul and ... drive."
But Baumgarten’s entire critique is dismissive and unappreciative. Having conceded the accuracy of Spacey’s portrayal, it seems bizarre that she should fault him for spending so much time enacting the role of Bobby Darin in a film about Bobby Darin. Also confusing is her complaint that the film "progresses through virtually every song in the Darin catalog." In fact, Darin recorded well over 300 songs, of which perhaps 15, each organic to the story, were selected.
Finally, I don’t know how MB could fail to be moved by the story: a poor child from the Bronx, stricken with rheumatic fever and a damaged heart, is not expected to live past the age of 15. By virtue of his courage, determination, and talent, he fashions his own destiny, achieving musical greatness and recognition. The critic somehow can’t see "why any of it matters." But it’s not the movie that "fails miserably to make the case for Darin’s importance" – it’s the critic’s unsympathetic heart.
Why do I get the impression that Marjorie Baumgarten doesn’t like biopics? Or is it just Bobby Darin that she dislikes? In any case, her incoherent review of Kevin Spacey’s Beyond the Sea is more telling of her personal taste than of the film itself [Film Listings, Dec. 31].
Her snide reference to "that Rat Pack nightclub style so out of date today" reveals her inability to appreciate Darin’s music.
I don’t know how Baumgarten separates style from performance, but I wonder if she’d have felt better if Spacey/Darin had sung fixedly or, alternatively, had slouched around, making malevolent gestures, periodically grabbing his crotch. The fact is that Darin had a vibrant stage presence, that his movements – the dancing, the finger popping, etc. – expressed his complete possession by the music itself. Rather than being superficial and out of date, Spacey’s delivery captures the crisp energy of a Darin performance, perfectly suited to a singer of jazz and classic American repertory. Rod Stewart, reprising American standards, adopts a style similar to Darin’s as a natural expression of his intimacy with the music.
By the critic’s own admission, Spacey "so inhabits the body of Darin" with his "impeccable ... impersonation" that he reveals the sound and presence of the younger Darin. All the more puzzling that she indicts him for failing to capture Darin’s "soul and ... drive."
But Baumgarten’s entire critique is dismissive and unappreciative. Having conceded the accuracy of Spacey’s portrayal, it seems bizarre that she should fault him for spending so much time enacting the role of Bobby Darin in a film about Bobby Darin. Also confusing is her complaint that the film "progresses through virtually every song in the Darin catalog." In fact, Darin recorded well over 300 songs, of which perhaps 15, each organic to the story, were selected.
Finally, I don’t know how MB could fail to be moved by the story: a poor child from the Bronx, stricken with rheumatic fever and a damaged heart, is not expected to live past the age of 15. By virtue of his courage, determination, and talent, he fashions his own destiny, achieving musical greatness and recognition. The critic somehow can’t see "why any of it matters." But it’s not the movie that "fails miserably to make the case for Darin’s importance" – it’s the critic’s unsympathetic heart.
Jody Williams
