Rob Pilatus and Fabrice Morvan considered themselves dancers, who aspired to sing too, but they understood they needed more vocal training. They were fast friends, because of their mutual interests and shared experiences as racial minorities in the very-white West Germany. Originally, Morvan hailed from France, while Pilatus was the orphaned son of a U.S. serviceman, but both their accents troubled their record label when they hit it big.
Initially, “Milli Vanilli” was the brainchild of German producer Frank Farian, who recorded the music with trusted but unphotogenic studio musicians and then used Morvan and Pilatus as front men to market it. Obviously, his plan worked—maybe a little too well.
Eventually, Clive Davis’s Arista Records swooped in, luring the duo away from Farian. Verhoeven’s screenplay explicitly establishes the record company was fully aware of the duo’s limitations, but they continued promoting them anyway, because they were making so much money. Even though he never appears in the film, considerable shade gets cast on Davis.
Don’t worry, Milli Vanilli also enjoyed a lot of sex and drugs. Like every Behind-the-Music story, there is also tragedy. Mindful of the likely audience, Verhoeven shrewdly keeps the affair dishy, trashy, and self-consciously nostalgic. Yet, the film works on just those terms, because Elan Ben Ali and Tijan Njie play it scrupulously straight as Morvan and Pilatus. They tackle these roles like they are characters from classical tragedy, which maybe they sort of are.
Matthias Schweighofer is entertainingly sarcastic as their Svengali, Farian, who clearly had considerable talent—especially compared to his roster of artists. Bella Dayne also adds a decent, compassionate attitude as Farian’s righthand co-producer, Ingrid “Milli” Segieth, whom the duo were partially named after.
