Movie Review: Elton John's "Rocketman" Makes a Star Out of Taron Egerton

You can tell everybody… that Elton John’s musical biopic Rocketman is actually pretty good.

I hope you don’t mind that I put down in words… how much I disliked Bohemian Rhapsody back in 2018. That film sensation purported to tell the true story of Queen and Freddie Mercury, earning $US900 million at the box office and scoring four Academy Awards despite being, y’know, godawful.

It was partly made by disgraced filmmaker Bryan Singer, though Dexter Fletcher stepped in to complete the shoot when Singer was allegedly sacked. Whatever the extent of Fletcher’s involvement on Bohemian Rhapsody, he’s certainly proving he has a type with his follow-up, Rocketman, which tells the tale of yet another music legend from the ‘70s and ‘80s: Elton John.

Mercifully, Rocketman is a significant step in the right direction for Fletcher (that direction being 'watchable cinema'). It’s closer in tone to his giddy Proclaimers musical Sunshine on Leith, embracing 'movie magic' to present a fantastical version of John’s origins. By doing so, it succeeds in cutting to the heart of Elton’s showmanship and spirit, as well as his painful past. Rocketman uses a lie to tell the truth. Bohemian Rhapsody, with its precision Live Aid reconstructions masking historical falsehoods and heteronormative straight-washing, used the truth to sell a lie.

So, sorry, I still can’t give Bohemian Rhapsody a pass. However, I’ll happily trumpet Fletcher’s latest effort; one he can be proud to say finally includes his bedazzled name in the end credits.

Taron Egerton (Kingsman) stars as Elton, from his days as teenager Reginald Dwight in Middlesex to his early 40s, long after he’s claimed a new identity and become the biggest star in the world. Anyone familiar with Elton’s career—or the tropes of literally any music biopic—won’t need to be told that we see John overcome prickly parents, manipulative managers, heartbreak, and an enormous appetite for sex and drugs to cement his icon status. (Like Bo Rhap, there's also a cockney record exec to tell Elton he’ll never amount to nothing, and be all like: "Woss all dis den? 'Candle in the Wind'? Sounds like wubbish. Will nevah make a quid!") The big difference is the framing of Lee Hall’s screenplay (likely nudged along by producer David Furnish, AKA Elton’s husband).

You know you’re in for a broad, brash biopic from the opening moment, when a devil-suited adult John storms into a rehab centre and starts singing "The Bitch is Back". We suddenly enter his memories, where the red-hued John duets with his younger self, while the colour-muted dancers of his hometown break into a choreographed routine around them. Later, he’ll stroll through town shouting "Saturday Night’s Alright (For Fighting)" as people brawl in surrounding synchronicity.

It is, gloriously, the most.

The freedom of fantasy is intoxicating; it no longer matters if the songs don’t come in chronological order, nor do the makers have to pretend that specific life events informed the writing of individual singles, since we know that the process of songwriting is fluid, and especially because Bernie Taupin, played here by Jamie Bell, wrote all the lyrics anyway. Title track "Rocket Man" is allowed to soundtrack John’s descent into self-destructive addiction; "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road" gets to be a kiss-off delivered by Taupin; and "I’m Still Standing" becomes John’s anthem of newly-gained sobriety, despite preceding his sobriety by a decade. In this retelling, none of that really matters. Rocketman didn’t invent the concept of a jukebox musical, though it’s one of the best I’ve seen (from an admittedly shallow pool). It no doubt helps that John’s tunes are—here comes an understatement—cracking.

Also revolutionary and appreciated is how the flick treats John’s sexuality, particularly when you come to realise that this is maybe as queer as any mainstream Hollywood movie has ever been allowed to be. Richard Madden, from Game of Thrones, plays Elton’s former manager and lover John Reid, and he and Egerton share what is apparently the first gay male sex scene in a major studio production. Sure, these are records Rocketman can be proud to hold, but more important is how it actually treats John’s reckoning and sexual awakening. That’s truly where Egerton and Fletcher do their finest, most sensitive work.

There was no way to anticipate Egerton having a performance like this under his belt. His comic timing is impeccable, and his imitation of John—in look and temperament—is sublime. When the picture takes dark turns, Egerton follows, without losing John’s canny wit. And he sings all the songs too. They gave Rami Malek an Oscar for miming to Queen’s music while wearing giant dentures. By comparison, Egerton should probably get a knighthood from Her Majesty.

3.5/5

In Australian cinemas 30 May. Rated MA15+ for strong coarse language.