David Bowie’s artistic persona was so mutable during his six-decade career that even his death in 2016 initially felt, to some, like an act. Of course, it wasn’t. Bowie, privately suffering from liver cancer, worked in the final years of his life to turn his impending death into a work of art, releasing his final album, Blackstar, just two days before he passed. Critics and fans would go onto discover multitudes of clues embedded within Blackstar’s lyrics, the imagery of its haunting and obtuse music videos, and even visual patterns that would emerge when the album cover was exposed to various forms of light. Though none of this, much less many biographical details, are mentioned in Brett Morgen’s kaleidoscopic and experimental new documentary, Moonage Daydream, the motifs of transformation and the integral linkage between Bowie’s art and his physical/mental existence create the basic thesis of this unusual film.
This is not a traditional music documentary, in form or in length (it runs close to two and a half hours). Eschewing any linear structure and adherence to timeline or discography, Morgen instead uses a mixture of previously unseen footage and archival material to create a dense visual tapestry that freely associates between different eras of Bowie’s musical career, creating what feels like a peek into his subconscious more than a biography. The film opens with a quote, paraphrased by Bowie from Nietzsche, and the philosopher’s beliefs are echoed throughout the film. Basically – “we are who we choose to be and it’s up to us to define our own identity.” Throughout the film’s runtime, we return to interviews in which Bowie is continually asked whether he is the “real David Bowie” or if they are speaking to another persona. In archival footage, fans speak of being infatuated with him, but they can’t quite pin down why. Is it the makeup? The androgynous appearance? Maybe it is the sense of alienness, or the ambiguous sexuality that he freely embraces. During one particularly striking sequence, when informed by interviewer Dick Cavett that he knows a woman who is afraid to meet Bowie, fearing that he practices the dark arts, Bowie mostly appears bemused and slightly in awe of how his self-described “simple” personas have inspired so much analysis and scrutiny.
If there is a sense of chronology to the film, it’s in regard to age and maturity. As Bowie grows older, he struggles with the idea that his increasing comfort in life might affect his ability to write interesting music. One of the scant biographical details Morgen zeroes in on Bowie’s relationship with his older stepbrother Terry Burns, who introduces him in childhood to a litany of music and philosophy. Burns becomes a role model, before eventually succumbing to schizophrenia, giving Bowie an early fear of mental illness that informs much of his work. As that insecurity diminishes in his mid-30’s, Bowie strives to put himself in more uncomfortable situations that might prompt a change in sound, and in one of the film’s longer passages, experiments in the opposite direction by playing as much to audience’s desires as he can. These sequences, largely comprised of incredible concert footage, are thrilling to watch and hear. Moonage Daydream has been optimized for Dolby Audio and IMAX and is as much a spectacle of sight and sound as it is informational. As Bowie transforms, so does the film, as if picking up sonic frequencies from different areas of its internal universe. Morgen edits as well as directs. While it must have been a nightmare to cut, the end product is undeniable on the big screen. Credit must also be paid to the sound department, who have achieved a level of auditory immersion unheard of in most music documentaries.
Some images are odd and repetitious, which can cause the film to feel its length. More abstract sequences feel like they might be just as at home in an art gallery as they would on a movie screen, and it’s difficult to imagine this playing as well for an audience on their TV as it does in a theater. Whether that acts as a turnoff or enticement for viewers remains to be seen, but these are small complaints when considering how much the film does to honor its subject’s philosophy and artistic ambitions. Instead of telling us about Bowie, the film allows Bowie to tell us about himself, and does so by reaching into the vast archives of media history, including some largely unseen footage of his installation, photographic and painting work. It is the first film to officially be sanctioned by Bowie’s estate, and most of the footage is sourced from the roughly five million items Morgen was given access to. Moonage Daydream uses the unknown to its advantage, highlighting that whoever the “real Bowie” was in totality, pieces of him could be found everywhere. It’s the cinematic equivalent of Blackstar’s cover, a vast network of stars hidden in the dark.
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