I’m Learning to Loathe Biopics
Today I decided to go to a movie. Although I haven’t seen The Aviator, I eschewed it in favour of a charming, beautiful French film, A Very Long Engagement. I realized, also, that despite my voracious movie watching, I also hadn’t seen Ray, Finding Neverland, Kinsey or Beyond the Sea. I saw Alexander, mind you, but it was profoundly awful. So too was Delovely. Does The Motorcycle Diaries count as a biopic? Not really, it’s more of a road movie. Regardless, I’ve soured on the biopic.
Why? I think it’s their predictability. Inevitably, we get a standard set of scenes: the big break, the discovery montage, the struggle with addiction and/or insanity, the supportive and/or departing spouse, etc. I enjoy most the films that surprise me (as Jean-Pierre Jeunet, director of A Very Long Engagement, does well). Biopics rarely surprise me. In part, it’s because I usually know something about the subject.
I know there have been great biopics, and I’ve enjoyed them. Recently, though, I’ve tired of the forumula. I just checked a top-twenty list of my favourite films I made a couple of years ago (and it’s still more or less accurate). There’s only one biopic on it, and that’s the exceptional (and frequently surprising) Thirty Two Short Films About Glenn Gould.
