Austin butler

In the old days of Hollywood, stars and starlets alike were anointed as “It” girls and men. Nobody was ever quite sure what “It” denoted – star quality, sex appeal, charisma, a willingness to sleep with studio executives – but when they were told they had “It,” their careers appeared made, for the present time at least. Today, however, with Marvel and superhero films largely making the idea of the movie star irrelevant, the concept of “It” is ever decreasing. I am sure that David Corenswet, this year’s Superman, is a lovely man, but I would struggle to recognize him if I passed him on the street without his Super-costume on. Tom Cruise and Brad Pitt aside, it seems as if the era of the old-school male leading man is past us now.

Jeff Nichols’s The Bikeriders is based on the book by photojournalist Danny Lyon, first published in 1968, about his years embedded with a lawless motorcycle gang in Chicago. Nichols (Take Shelter, Mud, Loving) has imposed a fictional narrative arc and while it’s bogus in some respects and the arc quite familiar to anyone acquainted with stories about male subcultures – the fatal flaw of loyalty etc – it is well-crafted, stylish, has some potent scenes and a fantastic cast. The film stars Tom Hardy, Austin Butler and Jodie Comer, who manages to wipe the floor with both of them.

The greatest show of the "new” TV era is probably Better Call Saul. It’s introspective and cynical and novelistic — and even the “good guys” aren't good guys; they’re just flawed rather than evil. Among those who’ve sold their souls, and others who never had them, our charming lead, Jimmy McGill is working to get his back, having pawned it off. It’s the best storytelling and characterization that the current style of TV can produce, and a triumph for the medium. Masters of the Air is a very different beast. It has the young rising talent of today — notably, Austin Butler and his Elvis voice, alongside Saltburn’s Barry Keoghan and the always excellent Callum Turner — and a bloated 2020s TV budget.

There is a strange rule in contemporary Hollywood that filmmakers ignore at their peril: biopics might be a popular dramatic form for directors, but they tend to be of little interest to audiences. In the past year alone, the likes of Napoleon, Ferrari, Maestro and Golda have all under-performed commercially, demonstrating that however accomplished the filmmaker (including the Oscar-nominated likes of Michael Mann, Ridley Scott and Bradley Cooper), it is nearly always a non-starter to attempt to persuade viewers to spend their $15 on watching someone’s life story for two hours at the cinema. Oppenheimer proved to be a rare exception — though that’s far from the only way in which Christopher Nolan is exceptional.

Elvis is Baz Luhrmann’s biopic of Elvis Presley and it’s cradle to grave but told at such a gallop you’ll be willing it to stay put even if it’s just for two minutes. You may even be begging: Baz, come on, just hold still. But no, we’re off again. I’ve had fever dreams that have been less delirious. But on the plus side, even if it’s never deep or enlightening, it has a fizzing energy, and because it doesn’t dwell on anything, we don’t dwell on fat, sad Elvis at the end. Which is a relief. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gp2BNHwbwvI Because it doesn’t dwell on anything, we don’t dwell on fat, sad Elvis at the end. Which is a relief The film opens as it means to go on. That is, flashily.