Bohemian Rhapsody

Music biopics are a tricky beast. Walking the line between playing the hits, and genuinely getting under the skin of a band or musician. Fan servicing, or giving new, or authentic insight, is a difficult endeavour. The issue with Bohemian Rhapsody is that the story of Queen inherently contains thorny, sensitive issues. Any attempt to sew that to crowd-pleasing, bombastic spectacle would be no mean feat, and one demonstrably out of the reach of Singer/Fletcher here.

The plot points – essentially the rise and rise of the band – are mapped out, as if script duty was tasked to an intern armed with the band’s Wikipedia page (we even get a short paragraph on the 1964 Zanzibar Revolution). A dot-to-dot, without much meat around the joining lines; a particularly well completed colouring book. It’s impossible not to wonder what Sacha Baron Cohen’s vision would have borne out. There’s an inevitable feeling that what we’ve received is very much a censored, band-endorsed ‘blockbuster’, viewed through somewhat rose-tinted Aviators.

Rami Malek is exceptional as Mercury. From the initial promotional shots of him sporting the famous moustache, any mourning of Cohen’s departure were stayed. His enthusiasm and bravura mirroring the frontman’s. It may be a similar charm that pulls the audience along with Malek, as they did with Freddy.

The rest of the band are also good, if not a little caricatured – Gwilym Lee does a great Brian May. They are, however, often reduced to delivering famous lines, providing plot signposts, and magicking up fully-formed, recognisable songs off the cuff. What Mark Kermode would describe as ‘Chubby? Hmm‘ moments.

And is there any way of representing ’70s England without being so… wiggy?

It’s in the moments between the moments in which the biopic has nothing to offer. The band’s rise is immediate and frictionless. In the more difficult aspects the film feels very awkward. It doesn’t have the lightness of touch, and hasn’t earned the right to talk about the subjects it (barely) attempts at. Freddy’s sexuality is introduced in such a cliched way as to be almost insulting. The treatment of AIDs is also ham-fisted, which comes as no surprise by the time we get there.

There is joy to be had in the spectacle, if you can ignore the sub-standard effects as we rise through the stadia. Malek is exceptional as Mercury at the various stages of hair/outfit/career. But don’t expect any subtlety or tact.