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The chameleon-like actor Kevin Spacey is best known for playing pyschopaths (in
Seven and
The Usual Suspects) and capturing a creepy mid-life crisis in
American Beauty--but surprisingly, playing crooner Bobby Darin, Spacey does some snappy dancing and top-notch singing.
Beyond the Sea puts Darin's life through a bit of a kaleidoscope: While singing Darin's most memorable hit, "Mack the Knife," Darin suddenly stops the show, revealing that he's not at a nightclub, but in the middle of a shooting a scene about his life as a nightclub performer. Why has he stopped? Because he's just seen himself as a young boy, peering from behind a curtain. Such self-conscious narrative twists recur throughout the movie, turning Darin's fight for fame and respect into a love story between his adult and childhood selves. Sandra Dee (Kate Bosworth,
Win a Date with Tad Hamilton!), a hugely popular movie star in her own right, was supposedly the love of Darin's life, but she never holds his attention as does his childhood self (played by newcomer William Ullrich). It's a striking metaphor for the narcissism that drives such success-hungry entertainers. But despite (or perhaps because of) the complexity of the telling, the events never grip your emotions; though Darin's life featured hits galore and a few soap opera twists, his story lacks the seductive charm of his nighclub show. Also featuring Bob Hoskins, John Goodman, Brenda Blethyn, and Greta Scacchi.
--Bret Fetzer
Kevin Spacey's wide-screen cinematic treatment of the fifties pop idol Bobby Darin is an exuberant but convoluted love letter. Taking his cues from Bob Fosse's "All That Jazz," Spacey creates a musical biography that's part fantasy (in the singing sequences) and part reality, but the movie never really jells. There's no getting around the fact that Spacey, at forty-five, can't play a baby-faced pop star, and the scenes of Darin's early years with his wife Sandra Dee (a pouty Kate Bosworth) don't come off. Still, there's a real razzle-dazzle to the movie, and the musical numbers, which are brilliantly arranged by John Wilson and sung by Spacey himself, turn out to be greatly entertaining. -Bruce Diones
Copyright © 2006
The New Yorker