Love & Mercy: Brian Wilson, His Music, and His Svengali

To celebrate the opening of his life story’s big screen treatment, Brian Wilson recorded a new rendition of the title song with a group of school children to benefit the music education nonprofit, Little Kids Rock. Happily, Wilson is now in a position to give back. It was not always so. This was not due to a lack of willingness, but more fundamental mental health issues and the unscrupulous psycho-therapist who swooped in to exploit him. Both Wilson’s struggle to re-establish control over his own life and his musical virtuosity are dramatized in Bill Pohlad’s Love & Mercy (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Unfortunately, reports that Wilson stayed in bed for two or three years were more or less true. He had very real (but treatable) mental health challenges, including depression and schizophrenia. Of course, that made it considerably easier for a charlatan like Dr. Eugene Landy to dominate every aspect of his existence. Utilizing a split time line, Pohlad cuts back a forth between the initially heady days of the Pet Sounds studio sessions and the tightly regimented Landy years. It is not hard to spot at least one of the root causes of Wilson’s depression. That would be his domineering and dismissive father Murry.

To its credit, L&M is not all about the Landy scandals and a pat triumph over adversity. The best scenes of the film—by far—follow Wilson recording Pet Sounds’ instrumental tracks with the Wrecking Crew session players. Frankly, it is cool to see those often uncredited veteran sideman get their due in a film besides their own wildly entertaining documentary. In a lovely little supporting performance as legendary drummer Hal Blaine, Johnny Sneed becomes a personable, drily witty Obi-Wan figure for Wilson. Clearly, Pohlad and screenwriters Oren Moverman and Michael A. Lerner get the significance of everyone involved in those sessions.

In a strange way, Paul Giamatti’s Landy is much like Vladimir Chertkov, the Svengali like historical figure he played in Michael Hoffman’s Tolstoy drama, The Last Station. Having had the practice, he can portray a sinister manipulator better than anyone. Both Paul Dano and John Cusack come across like emotionally stunted man-children as younger and older Wilson, respectively, but they are duly reflecting reality. Bill Camp also takes a decidedly villainous turn as Murry Wilson, but he stops well short of eye-rolling Mommie Dearest-Ossage County territory. As the spirited girlfriend determined to rescue Wilson, Elizabeth Banks also brings notable energy to an underwritten role, making many somewhat clichéd moments admirably watchable.

Frankly, the entire film is a good deal better than the tabloid-driven TV movie it might sound like. Not everyone in the Beach Boys’ world will appreciate it, most likely including Mike Love, who as played by Jake Abel, comes across as a real hit-craving jerkweed—but that’s his business. As a film about musicians and the debilitating effects of mental illness, it is quite smart and honestly rendered. Recommended for fans of Brian Wilson, the Wrecking Crew and Cusack (in his most presentable film in years), Love & Mercy opens this Friday (6/5) in New York, at the Chelsea Bowtie and the AMC Village 7. 

The Wrecking Crew: Trust Me, You’ve Heard Them Before

They never had a hard and fast membership, but their big sound was immediately recognizable, especially for the record producers who kept them constantly gigging in the Los Angeles studio scene throughout most of the 1960s and 1970s. If you played a number of studio sessions with Earl Palmer, Plas Johnson, Al Casey, Carol Kaye, Hal Blaine, Don Randi, and Tommy Tedesco then you were probably a member—and you could surely lay down a killer groove. Filmmaker Denny Tedesco pays tribute to his guitarist father and all his friends in the hugely entertaining documentary, The Wrecking Crew (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

The Wrecking Crew played with just about everyone, including the Beach Boys, the Byrds, the Monkees, Nat King Cole, Sonny & Cher, Frank Sinatra, Nancy Sinatra, Herb Alpert, and the Chipmunks. They were Phil Spector’s Wall of Sound. They were largely unknown to the record buying public, but at least one Wrecking Crew veteran made good as a solo act: Glen Campbell. Naturally, whenever Campbell returned to the studio, he made sure his old pals were the ones backing him. His road band always resented it, yet he was really being true to his roots. They powered six consecutive Record of the Year Grammy winners, but they rarely saw their names on record jackets. In many cases, they were the recording industry’s equivalent of a ghost writer. Still, it was a pretty good living while it lasted.

For obvious reasons, the musical licensing was an absolute nightmare that has delayed the film’s release for years. It is a truly decades-in-the-making project that Tommy Tedesco (1930-1997) sadly never lived to see completed. Yet, the film is better thought of as an upbeat celebration of the musicians and their music than a bittersweet elegy. In fact, it is often wildly funny. These cats (and bassist Carol Kaye) can tell a good story, particularly the wickedly droll Blaine, who shows a drummer’s perfect sense of timing with one zinger after another.

There is nostalgia in Tedesco’s doc, but there is an even greater sense of camaraderie. It is also gratifying to see these unsung heroes of pop music finally getting their due. Hard core jazz record collectors will especially enjoy hearing from Don Randi (who recorded some excellent sessions for Pacific Jazz) and Plas Johnson, who might be the most widely heard tenor saxophonist in the world. Seriously, you know that “Pink Panther Theme?” That was him.

Wrecking Crew will bring to mind films like Standing in the Shadow of Motown and Muscle Shoals, which also paid tribute to some of the under-appreciated artists who helped make so many beloved hit records. They are all very good films, but Wrecking Crew is far more fun. Worth the wait, it delivers a lot of laughter and generous helpings of dearly licensed grooviness. It is just a blast from start to finish—and audiences will want to hang through the credits because there is a stinger worth sticking around for. Highly recommended for anyone who has ever listened to music recorded in the latter half of the Twentieth Century, The Wrecking Crew opens this Friday (3/13) in New York, at the IFC Center.