As is within my realm of reflections, this movie, less than a year old, was fair game for review. I’m glad I took the time to watch it.
Love and Mercy is certainly not a traditional biopic. It jumps between Brian Wilson as a younger Beach Boy to his life as an adult in the late 80s/early 90s. It’s not about the group’s music, although that’s present. It is instead more about the man individually and his music. It is about his gift. And it is about the high price with which that gift came tagged.
Much of the film focuses on Wilson’s writing of later Beach Boys music, specifically, the album Pet Sounds. (God Only Knows is simply such a beautiful song with so many fantastic layers.) The film paints a picture of an almost savant musician—using the ever-so broad brush strokes in Wilson’s mind, strokes blending colors in his vision to create a fluid, moving sight that he brings to the seemingly unconventional ensemble of instruments and musicians to produce a timeless composition. But watching him write this piece is the glimpse into the top of the cliff that he begins to spiral down. Whether that spiral is due to brain chemistry, the pressures of fame, abuse of substances—that is unknown. But looking back to how he created this piece, anyone might see that his gift, like that of so many artists, comes with a price to be paid with bits of sanity.
The film shows us this by switching between that time and Wilson’s later adult life. There, we see a Wilson being mismanaged, micromanaged—abused perhaps—and and probably taken advantage of by his doctor (manager too?). Further, a new love interest is involved. His children seem to be absent. And many in his life turn a blind eye. Ah, but as you might know, all is not lost. Things are not at the end.
Okay, so call me a cynic, but I couldn’t help but watching this part of the film with an eyebrow raised, wondering whose story this was. Did Wilson’s daughters have anything to do with the telling of the tale? Or, as it so strongly felt, was this a self-serving story told by Melinda Ledbetter, the second wife? (“Look at me! I am so wonderful. I saved Brian Wilson!” (Remember—I admitted my likely cynicism.))
Still, I certainly enjoyed the film. I especially enjoyed the dive into mental illness, or the insinuation of mental illness. (Regardless of any closing notes on the film just because someone does not have a diagnosis or adjudication does not mean the illness is lacking. (Congress would do well to understand that.))
And besides—there’s some great music in the film too. The deeper side of the Beach Boys. The side we need to remember them for.