EPiC, short for Elvis Presley in Concert, lives up to its name in extravagance, if not in scope. As a compilation of the grace, glory, and grandiosity that was Elvis, it is as perfect an encapsulation of the myth as you could imagine.
The problem is that it's very little beyond that, and I don't believe director Baz Luhrmann, who also directed by brilliant ELVIS biopic a few years earlier, is even interested in looking beyond the surface. For him, Elvis is more interesting as an idea, a mythic being from Mount Olympus, as unknowable as the moon and stars.
But Elvis was a person. He wasn't some infallible being sent from another universe, even if most of him was an invention. EPiC, to its credit, has the good intention of allowing the iconic musician to explain himself in his own words – unrestrained by time and managerial oversight.
It is more than a little ironic, then, that Luhrmann so heavily editorializes his hero. Just like The Colonel, Elvis' infamous puppet master, Luhrmann can't help but pull the strings to suit his own idea of who and what Elvis should be.
When Elvis performs, which is much of the film, it is a spectacle worth seeing on the big screen. Luhrmann's maximalism works best here, fully capturing the sensation and divinity of what it must have felt to see Elvis on stage. It isn't even meant to be a realistic reproduction.
Every bit of the original footage has been tampered with to some extent. But it the emotional truth, as much as a documentary can be. We know in our heart of hearts this feeling, because it is the same feeling we share when we see any beloved artist perform live.
Then, when Elvis speaks, it is a collection of interview snippets, behind-the-scenes footage, and the rare but revealing home video that has escaped the grasp of the foundations and companies that now control his eternal image. Luhrmann already explored this part of the mystery in his brilliant fictional portrait of the man.
In that, Elvis is seen as a cipher, a creation of fact and fiction told through the hazy memory of an egotistical, dying man. It forces us to question our part in a capitalist machine that effectively broke the spirit of a person, only to resurrect it into an everlasting jukebox with a hologram smile.
Here, Luhrmann does the same, but without the sense of irony and melancholy. Instead, Elvis speaks the words Luhrmann wants him to, and as with The Colonel, they're chosen for him. We never learn what Elvis thought about the rapidly changing world around him. There is no window to his soul. When asked about The American War in Vietnam or the Civil Rights Movement, Elvis just shrugs and grins, uncomfortable to say anything that would break the illusion. "I'm just an artist," he smiles.
But we see that he isn't just anything, and it's the great failure of this film that it chooses to ignore all of that. In brief moments, we see the wit and childish warmth of a man trying to reach out to friends. Watch as he fumbles with the expected niceties, or how he plays with his band in rehearsal. It is in those moments I felt closer to this figure who died almost a decade before my birth than ever before.
Sadly, these moments are fleeting and quickly removed to make way for spectacle. The circus act is impressive, there's no arguing that. Luhrmann is a master filmmaker of excess. Elvis knew how to entertain the room. But we never learn why, or even how. Only that he did, and that he'll keep doing so forever until time itself cease to exist.
In a way, it's tragic that Luhrmann's fascination and love only reinforces that. This is the most elaborately beautiful gilded cage if there ever was one.
