Get on Up

**Spoiler Alert**

Director: Tate Taylor/Starring: Chadwick Boseman, Nelsan Ellis, Dan Ackroyd, Viola Davis, and Octavia Spencer

It's hard to imagine that James Brown, The Godfather of Soul, has never really been the subject of a noteworthy feature film--until now. Tate Taylor, director of The Help and producer Mick Jagger bring the legendary performer's life to the big screen and in doing so, they enlist the considerable talents of Chadwick Boseman (James Brown) and a fine supporting cast. Taylor manages to tell a compelling story while avoiding the cliches that often ensnare biopic narratives.

Eschewing chronology, Taylor's film begins with an incident from Brown's later life then leaps backward in time then forward, then back again without narrative entanglements.

We learn something of Brown's boyhood in the deep south of the 1940s', where the future performer and his mother (the exceptional Viola Davis) desperately cling to straws to survive in a decrepit shack that lacks even the luxury of windows. Though we see his mother playing with James in the woods, she also introduces him to the visceral realities that accompany deprivation. She persuades him that his physical hunger is just a spiritual one, as a basic necessity like nourishment is hardly a given in their world.

Unable to sustain a home with the frequent absence of her husband, James' mother leaves when her husband returns one day. As she recedes into the woods, the boy watches her walk away with tears in his eyes. If that isn't disturbing enough for the young boy, his father joins the military, forcing him to leave his son in the care of James' Aunt Honey (the always terrific Octavia Spencer), a Madame who runs a local brothel.

While James learns to procure for his Aunt Honey, he earns a dollar or two for every GI or john he directs to the brothel. In doing so he learns some self-reliance and earns the respect from the tough but compassionate Madame.

In scenes of his earlier life, not only do we see the brutal lash of poverty in the deep south but also, as we might expect, the racism that often blossoms violently. As we move forward and backward in time, we see how poverty and racism shape James' personality. In one scene, the young James removes the shoes from a lynching victim hanging from a tree and in another, we see black boys James' age forced to box one another blind-folded for the amusement of rich, white people at a party. And later, as an older James is arrested for stealing a suit; his wildly unjust 5 to 13 year sentence serves as a stark example of the capricious and draconian justice often meted out to blacks by the southern, white judicial system.

While in jail, the inmates are entertained by a group of visiting gospel singers, whom James finds moving, but an altercation with a fellow inmate lands him in the infirmary, where he makes the acquaintance of a singer named Bobby Byrd (Nelsan Ellis). The chance meeting will form the foundation of a lifelong friendship and musical collaboration; one with conflict and acrimony.

The two men form a gospel-inspired R&B group known as The Famous Flames. Their funky rhythms and crowd-rousing music draws the attention of an aspiring performer named Little Richard (Brandon Smith) at a small dance club. As Little Richard himself stands at the threshold of fame and stardom, the meeting is educational and inspirational for James. Little Richard encourages James to make a record which he can solicit to local DJs' and industry people. The advice proves invaluable.

While on the road, James and Bobby stop in a diner to have coffee and a donut--a luxury that taxes their meager resources. Unable to convince the waitress The Famous Flames are of any importance, James and Bobby sink into the booth when a white man they believe to be law enforcement enters the diner, inquiring about their whereabouts. When they hear the man mention recording, they eagerly approach him, learning he represents the prestigious label King Records.

Though success seems assured, it doesn't come without its costs, for the record company management tells James it is his voice and music in demand. As the management renders his band expendable, the news is naturally met with disappointment by the group. While some quit, a few remain--including Bobby--as they retain a strange but understandable allegiance to James.

As the embrace of fame and fortune welcomes James, we get a glimpse of his shrewd business acumen. Sitting with his manager Ben Bart (Dan Ackroyd) at a southern roadside food place, he boldly proposes they circumvent steep promoter fees by promoting themselves, utilizing DJ's in every city and by hiring locals to paste posters, thereby allowing the band and Bart to retain the earnings.

We also get a sense of James' natural ear for rhythm and songcraft during a hotel rehearsal in New Orleans. As the saxophonist Maceo Parker (Craig Robinson) struggles with the arrangement of a song, James suggests that every instrument in the band is a drum and if the song seems to be off in rhythm and beat, how it feels is of paramount importance. We can understand how he became The Godfather of Soul.

I came to Get on Up with few expectations but was impressed with the performances. That Boseman could duplicate Brown's moves and mannerisms as well as his sometimes unintelligible raspy voice is amazing enough but he also gives the audience a sense of his ferocious self-reliance and self-respect, both earned at considerable costs. It shouldn't have come as a surprise that Boseman could deliver a tour-de-force performance; he had already distinguished himself playing Jackie Robinson in 42.

Though it sometimes seems comically over-the-top when Brown refers to himself in the third person, much about Brown was over-the-top--like his extravagant brushes with the law and the violent episodes in his domestic life. The film manages to avoid the tabloidy aspects of his life without conferring sainthood on him. Instead, we get historical context; Brown insisting on playing to U.S. troops in Vietnam and being a voice of calm in the riotous aftermath of Martin Luther King's assassination.

But Boseman doesn't go it alone. Nelsan Ellis also gives an affecting performance as Bobby Byrd, a man blessed and cursed by his friendship and collaboration with Brown. Ellis captures the resentment and regret Byrd must have felt, sometimes being blanketed in Brown's shadow. It is particularly painful to watch Brown venting his rage on the band and Byrd, knowing how much the two men overcame to achieve success.

Viola Davis and Octavia Spencer make big impressions with little screentime. Davis shines in a scene where Brown's mother shows up unexpectedly backstage at the Apollo after years of absence, while Spencer's moment, where Aunt Honey first encounters the abandoned Brown, poignantly shows the woman's pragmatic compassion.

I would have liked to know more about how Brown's most famous songs were conceived and written but at least we get a semblance of his electrifying showmanship. We also get a sense of his political concerns in a scene where young blacks join Brown for the song Say it Loud, I'm Black and I'm Proud .

No biopic can ever really be a complete portrait but Get on Up satisfies our curiosity to know something of the man who seems well-known. Nothing we learn seems all that surprising--even the racism he encounters seems a given, considering his origins. But what emerges are his contributions to pop music; the trademark funk, the grooves, and his incomparable dance moves, and that's enough.