Another failed biopic was The Trial of the Chicago 7, made in 2020. The movie is ballpark accurate. Demonstrations happened around the 1968 Democratic Convention. They turned into what an investigating commission later called a "police riot." But the movie plays fast and loose with the seven defendants, most notably Tom Hayden, who deliberately led peaceful demonstrators into a trap where they would be savaged by cops. The radical Hayden is turned into a choirboy, and several other characters and events are misrepresented. These deceptions are on Aaron Sorkin. By contrast, another Chicago biopic, Judas and the Black Messiah (2021), on the police murder of Black Panther Fred Hampton in 1969, aided by an FBI spy, got it all just right, including the ugly history, the Hampton character, and the complex role of the Panthers. Daniel Kaluuya, who played Hampton, won the Academy Award. What the successful biopics have in common is that they don’t mess with the history, which is plenty
powerful in its own right, and the audience learns something. In the case of Oppenheimer and The Imitation Game, upwards of 95 percent of the audience probably had no prior idea of this history. Likewise Judas and the Black Messiah. As our colleague David Dayen observes, most recent musical biopics are especially fictionalized and lame. The glut includes recent biopics on Freddie Mercury, Elton John, and Amy Winehouse. It’s like
Marvel movies, only with music, Dayen says. Invented episodes in movies about musical performers are less consequential than rewriting biography that depicts important history. By contrast, A Complete Unknown is far more than a musical biopic and it gets those historic times, the early ’60s, just right. Before the Dylan movie, the standout musical biopic was The Buddy Holly Story, in which Gary Busey channeled the sainted Buddy perfectly, the story and the era, as well as the music. Historically accurate biopics are relatively new, as our colleague Harold Meyerson points out. In Hollywood’s first hundred years, producers and writers using historical or biographical themes felt free to invent facts. The 1942 film Yankee Doodle Dandy, with Jimmy Cagney as George M. Cohan, had little to do with the real Cohan, but it was still
good entertainment. Some of the best ones of that era were not strictly speaking biopics, but movies loosely based on real events that accurately captured the larger import, including classics like On the Waterfront (1954) or Casablanca (1942). I have had a personal experience with the tendency of screenwriters and producers to try to "improve" on history. I wrote a treatment for a screenplay based on actual events that I was personally involved with. I was part of a writers’ room
that developed the treatment into a script. I saw firsthand the tendency of screenwriters to try to improve on a history that was plenty dramatic and suspenseful, with real-life characters torn between honor and expediency. And that tinkering was only the first step, as producers and then distributor platforms try to further improve the history. These commercial pressures are immense, and God bless the filmmakers who resist them. At a moment when so much of the media, especially social media, plays fast and loose with the truth, and ever fewer students get a serious education in history,
it’s up to filmmakers to fill in some of those blanks, as honestly as possible. My young grandchildren have never taken an American history course, but they all have detailed and accurate knowledge of a crucial era in the history of the early republic, from Hamilton. A favorite Dylan word was compromise, invariably used with
scorn. Dylan didn’t compromise. Neither should filmmakers who base movies on real people.
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