4.5 stars out of 5
The world didn’t necessarily need another David Bowie documentary. I mean, I’m a big fan, not a superfan or anything, and I’d already seen two different Bowie docs in the past several years. But director Brett Morgen, with full access to the Thin White Duke’s archives, delivers something very different, very accomplished, and very artful. And excuse me for being a little corny, but I left feeling like we’d been given one more gift from David Bowie.
I saw Moonage Daydream in IMAX, which I do think added another layer, wrapping the viewer in the sights and sounds. (I thank my friend Joe for the heads-up on a special Fandango/Record Store Day offer; total ticket cost, $8.59.)
The movie gives you just enough biography, and though it didn’t feel like it, remains mostly linear in its storytelling. But that’s not Morgen’s main drive here. He’s more interested in exploring identity — how Bowie thought of himself, and how he presented himself to the wider public. Bowie even seems to suffer from the “imposter syndrome” that often plagues the successful; maybe there was nothing behind all the clothes, hair, and makeup. He also seemed to identify (certainly lyrically) with gods and aliens — distant, strange, powerful. And of course was always impeccably dressed (even in his “casual Friday” Berlin period).
Morgen devotes a good chunk of screen time to the twin tentpoles of Bowie’s mainstream success: the Ziggy era and, a decade later, the Let’s Dance album/Serious Moonlight tour. In both instances, Bowie apparently craved and actively courted popularity, and then immediately recoiled from it, working on more challenging, less easily digestible projects. So again, that question: Who am I, really? The Artist or The Public Figure?
If I’m making this film sound like an intellectual exercise, don’t worry darling, it isn’t. There is so much incredible concert, interview, and news footage, that you can also just sit back and really bask in it. Be transported, and for 135 minutes, forget your own identity crisis.
Jack Silbert, curator