LBJ: The Early Years (1987)

This one is for my father, still in awe of President Johnson, whose inauguration he attended, and can never learn enough about him.  We may not always agree on what makes for the most interesting history, but I learned from him to keep trying because someday, I might just figure it out.

Lyndon Johnson is one of the more peculiar choices for a miniseries, and "LBJ: The Early Years" is a peculiar miniseries, though fascinating.  George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, Franklin Roosevelt, they make sense as they were larger-than-life legends who lives in extraordinary times (though admittedly, Lincoln's reputation may be a bit more mixed if natural causes killed him).  John Kennedy?  He's miniseries gold and we barely have to touch his politics.

Movie stars, kings and queens, captains of industry, war heroes, this is what we're used to in a miniseries.  Johnson was, beyond doubt, not only a remarkably astute politician, but also served the country when it was once again threatening to come apart at the seams, though this time less literally.  Still, what most people will remember about Johnson is taking the oath of office on an airplane with Jackie Kennedy in her bloody suit and then not being able to stop the war in Vietnam (to be fair, we can also credit Eisenhower, Kennedy, Nixon and Ford as the other Commanders-in-Chief who had their hands in the Southeast Asia pot, Johnson's was the most stuck inside).

Hell, even John Adams at least rubbed elbows with Washington, Jefferson, Franklin and a host of European bigwigs to earn two miniseries for his efforts.  Lyndon Johnson is certainly no Van Buren or H. Harrison, B. Harrison, Chester Arthur, Tyler, Taylor, Hayes or Coolidge, but then again no president after the invention of the camera, the moving picture, audio recordings or on-demand media consumption could be.  Is Lyndon Johnson deserving of miniseries attention that tends to adore melodrama and spectacle or is this just too damn weird an experiment?

Certainly the Lyndon Johnson we meet in 1934 is not dour, mumbling or angry, as always seemed to be the case while he was president.  No, indeed, as played by Randy Quaid, he's a whirl of excitement, figuring out the halls of power as a Congressional secretary, though he already has a friend in the legendary Sam Rayburn (played to irrepressible perfection by Pat Hingle).  Eager Lyndon tells Sam he's proposed to the daughter of a noted Texas mover and shaker, but he hasn't had an answer yet.  "It's hard putting words into other people's mouths," he gushes.  "Don't be so sure, Lyndon, I've been doing it for years," Rayburn replies.

Of course, we know who the said possible fiancee is, one of the most unequivocally beloved national figures in all of American history, Claudia Taylor.  Oh, wait, we should probably start calling her Lady Bird (especially since Patti LuPone starts chewing the scenery from the onset, and a Southern accent giving her the perfect opportunity to drop all those pesky consonants she's detested throughout her career).  Even soon-to-be-Papa-in-law Boss Taylor finds Lyndon exciting, especially when Lyndon declares that he wants to marry his daughter that day, a Saturday, when it's impossible to get a license, though Lyndon confesses he has a lot of strings to pull.

Still, Lady Bird is the voice of reason, a role she never relinquished.  She isn't exactly thrilled at her beau being interested in politics, saying, "since you do have so much drive and ability, it seems like a waste not to put it to use in a more respectable way."  He's proud of that fact, but when Lady Bird compares the situation of them hastily eloping to "Claudette Colbert as some madcap heiress running off with the chauffeur," Johnson slams on the breaks to complain about her snobbishness, especially when he will have them "in the thick of things...maybe even seeing history being made."  He's a confident daredevil, and the scene of their wedding is a hoot.  In the span of mere minutes, he's reminding a the minister about "special postal rates" he got him and since his friend didn't know Lady Bird's ring size, he brought all available rings from Sears.  Lady Bird tries to protest, Johnson speeds ahead of her, but ultimately, Lady Bird is in firm control.  When the proceedings grind to a halt because the minister is worried Lady Bird isn't exactly ready, she takes her time while everyone stands waiting and with a small smile and a flutter of the eyes, she agrees, the only force that could possibly stop Lyndon's tornado of a personality.

Meeting Lyndon's family is another jolt to proper Lady Bird.  Lyndon's mother warns her that she will have to share him with "many, many people."  Lady Bird remarks that, "Lyndon told me he had not settled on a career," but his steely mother replies, "Lyndon has always known his destiny.  Greatness is stamped on him like a mark from heaven.  I only hope that he has prepared you for your role."  That would give a girl pause, now wouldn't it?

The Johnson's hightail it to Washington, where they hit the Capitol before their home.  Lady Bird delights in watching Lyndon maneuver his Congressman, this office and just about everything else, until the Congressman's wife (Frances Conroy) jumps in to remind him he's "a common secretary."  Raising her pitch, she gets in a lot of digs he hopes his bride doesn't hear, the worst of which is "poor white trash."  Oh, and she has more news--he's being fired.  Other men might go home disgraces, but Lyndon pledges to go "so high, no one can ever look down on me again."

Temporarily defeated, grouchy Lyndon is back in Texas, where Lady Bird is happy with a quiet existence and hopefully a family.  "You can't say we ain't been tryin'" he snaps at his wife.

Three years of boredom and unhappiness come to an end with the best news possible: someone's death!  Well, not just anyone, a Congressman!  Lyndon dashes over Judge Wirtz (Barry Corbin), the area's big player, to announce he wants the seat.  It's not going to be so easy, because the Congressman's widow wants the seat and a lot of other men too.  "But I'm the smartest," Lyndon protests to doubt from Wirtz, "I'm the tallest."  Johnson is convinced that "the farmers in the country, they are my natural constituents," and they will vote for him.  He's quite impassioned about his "people," though Wirtz brings up another problem: Johnson needs $10k to "sit at the table."  "That's an awful lot of money," Lady Bird notes warily.

Okay, we'll pause here for a moment.  As "LBJ: The Early Years" is not a long miniseries, because, let's face it, few of our nation's leaders would be granted that much network time (HBO's "John Adams" benefitted from the luxury of paid subscribers). In roughly 30 minutes, we've seen just two things: Johnson's drive and Johnson's wife (although he treats them both the same).  This is the easy part.  Johnson is still wide-eyed and lacks cynicism.  He might as well be a middling Virginia planter or a country lawyer because miniseries versions of Washington and Lincoln also start off this way, to establish character.  But, Washington and Lincoln only became, at least on public record, even more single-minded in their zeal for fairness, honestly and the good of the country, so their character traits will only deepen.  What's fascinating about Johnson as a historical figure are the less savory aspects of his career.

In other words, can the schmaltz and move it along, because right now, this could be a movie about any politician.

As if this is directed by Preston Sturges, Lyndon and Lady Bird start stumping, beginning with a dusty series of shacks that can't even be called a town, where Lyndon's father lives.  When Lyndon worries that the Congressman's widow will win the seat, his father advises him, "she's an old woman.  If she knows there's gonna be a fight, she won't run.  Announce now before she does, she won't run."  Lyndon hops up onto the bed of a truck, his father summons the extras and Lyndon's candidacy is official.  Lyndon makes up a speech on the spot, pitting these poor people against the wealthy (from the East Coast, naturally).  One grubby man tells Lyndon it's not going to happen.  "That's horse manure," Lyndon retaliates, folksy and energetic, immediately connecting with the crowd.  He adds one detail to the end that would be a constant for the rest of his life, making the Mrs. known to all.  The crowd supplies the final detail, chanting his name with that of the beloved FDR.  Signs reading Roosevelt and Johnson make it seem as though they are running together, certainly not a bad thing during the Depression.

The cash problem is solved by a phone call to Lady Bird's father.

As predicted, since Lyndon got there first, the widow declines to run and we get a montage of speeches and newspaper headlines as Lyndon literally barnstorms (lots of poor towns) and Lady Bird realizes shaking hands wearing white gloves is not a good idea.  Lyndon pushes so hard he ends up with severe stomach trouble, but he never loses his colorful speech, as he instructs an assistant to hand out so many leaflets the people will be "wiping their asses with a picture of me."

Lyndon is about to make a big speech, but he's doubled over in pain.  He berates Lady Bird for not wearing enough lipstick, for her taste in clothing and for not actually speaking to the people, snarling that, "women vote too, you know."  Chalky white and barely able to stand up, Lyndon passes out before he can even utter a word.  When he wakes up in the hospital, Lady Bird gives him the news that he's now a Congressman.  "They did it, Bird, they came down from the hills for me," he gushes, referring to all those dirt farmers who were the backbone of his campaign.

Back to Washington, back to Sam Rayburn and back to wheeling and dealing, despite being a freshman Congressman with no actual power.  Judge Wirtz advises him to meet with a group of men with deep pockets, as "an effective politician has to be flexible."  Johnson works himself to the nub, expecting the same of his staff, stopping his frantic pace only when his father dies.  It turns out that Papa owed thousands of dollars, but his widow protests that it was only because he refused no one a financial favor.

It's here we get another big clue that Lyndon is changing.  After an argument with Lady Bird about getting out of politics, he's reminded by Judge Wirtz that he doesn't have to pay his father's bills.  In one sentence, Lyndon says he can't not repay the good people AND it would look bad politically for him to do so.  He can either use his money to pay off his father's debts or for a reelection campaign.  Judge Wirtz reminds him of the fat cats who still have the money he needs, and he gives in.

The Johnsons attend a Virginia party for swells where Lyndon, again castigating his wife for her lack of lipstick, demands that she mingle herself and do some charming.  Lyndon is introduced to Alice Glass (Morgan Brittany), a DC hostess who is as glamorous as Lady Bird is frumpy, or "looking like a hound dog caught in the briars," as her husband puts it.  Lyndon and Alice flirt over a game of pool.  It gets so obvious that even Lady Bird is afraid of it.  It takes Sam Rayburn to calm her down, assuring her that Lyndon loves her, though admitting it won't always be an easy life.

Flush with cash, Lyndon is able to live up to a campaign promise and provide electricity to his constituents, even if bringing Alice and Lady Bird to the celebration of it is probably not the best idea, especially since Lady Bird is pregnant (though her mother-in-law is put out by not knowing--"you must never hide anything from me," she admonishes).

There is a knock-down-drag-out battle between husband and wife because Lyndon wants to refine and redo her, which she refuses.  He says she's "gypped" him out of the perfect political wife by being dowdy and shy.  She only wants a stable home, so Johnson is being made over himself by Alice.  Naturally, and this is where we are reminded this is a miniseries, when one is happiest or most nonchalant, tragedy intervenes.  Lady Bird miscarries, and as Lyndon arrives at the hospital, a particularly angry Sam Rayburn bluntly tells him, "you let that woman go and you're a bigger fool than I thought you were."

By 1948, things have certainly changed!  At their big mansion, a campaign fundraiser for Lyndon's Senate run is in full swing.  Lady Bird is now wearing bright chic colors and effortlessly gliding through the guests in a charm assault.  It's here she conquers her last hurdle, public speaking, because Lyndon has not arrived yet and people are asking about him.  Very nervous when she walks up to the microphone, she's an instant hit when someone in the crowd asks where Lyndon is.  "That's what I'd like to know every night at dinner," she quips.  Getting into it, she's upstaged by an arriving helicopter which bears Lyndon and a megaphone.  The crowd loves it.  "Don't that just sound like the voice of God," a particularly dazzled woman wonders aloud.

There's an even bigger surprise when the Johnsons are asked for a family picture.  Both daughters are brought and Lyndon insists that the African American nanny be in the photo as well, as he considers her a member of the family.  Judge Wirtz is horrified, but the press sticks to politics.  The election is so close that it's thrown to the state legislature, apparently a gaggle of stereotypical yahoos who don't even remove their hats or chewing tobacco to be there.  Johnson is accused of "voting irregularities." During a break, Johnson and his opponent actually get into fisticuffs.

The vote is going to be close and each side need every delegate, including drunks that are found and forced to attend.  It's 28 to 28 and one abstention.  The abstainer is asked to vote and she says, "to hell with both of 'em," leaving it up to a drunk Johnson's people are trying desperately to get inside the hall. He votes for Lyndon, now Senator Lyndon Johnson from Texas.

Ever the hothead, when a Senate parking attendant tells him he can't park where he wants because those spots are for Senators with seniority, Lyndon brashly tells him to watch the car "while I go inside and get me some."

By 1955, he is in the same parking spot, and it has his name on it as he's the Majority Leader.  He's not shy about hitting on his secretary, but he also secretly pays an aide's mother's hospital bill.  As far as politics, he insists on censure of Joe McCarthy, though the White House refuses to take a stance.  This is where JFK makes his first appearance (Charles Frank).  Lyndon is crude, smokes as he eats and all but pimps out his secretary to Kennedy.  The two deal the old-fashioned way, trading a committee position for a vote on a bill, "an exercise in raw power," Kennedy says, before Johnson warns, "you better suck up and suck up good."  This is a man who owns the Senate and everyone in it.  He's a workaholic who manages a phone and listens to aides reading information, not to mention dealing with Lady Bird and the kids.

Ranting on the phone, Johnson has a heart attack.  He makes for a grouchy patient, except to his mother, who literally feeds him pudding with a spoon, much to his wife's annoyance.  "All of the Johnson men die young," he reminds Lady Bird on a walk about the property, announcing that he's resigning his seat and retiring.  He is full of "morbid talk and self-pity," as per his wife, finally breaking down, not just for herself, but for the citizens of the country.  She fumes so much that he retorts, "I'm gonna take you down a peg or two, woman."  "I can hardly wait," is her caustic but firm response.

It works and he heads back to the Senate, where the entire gang crowds to watch him re-emerge.  Will he be easier on them?  "What the hell are you all looking at? Did somebody die around here?  Stop standing around like some cows and let's pass some legislation," he bellows, to cheers and bravos from his 99 fellow Senators.  Nobody is more thrilled than Lady Bird.

Enter the Kennedys, en masse.  We've met JFK, but now Bobby (James F. Kelly) and Joe Sr. (Kevin McCarthy) show up.  Bobby refers to Johnson as a "cynical power-hungry hypocrite" and a "moral eunuch" as he's expressing his hatred.  John feels better about him, but the three can't figure out if he will run in 1960 or not.  Should he run as an opponent to John, Joe Sr. clucks, "then we'll show those cowboys what the Kennedys are made of."

Talk about your bizarre scenes, the one between Bobby Kennedy and a longtime Johnson housekeeper is a corker, though something of a misstep since the miniseries has never played it coy, but is brash, like its central character.  It's this scene where the creators want us to remember Johnson had a terrific record on Civil Rights.  Not only is she treated like a member of the family, she's consulted on politics and seems to know how the government runs better than Bobby, who snidely asks if Lyndon's Civil Rights stance is simply because he wants to be President.  "It's Congress that make the laws, the President just recommends them," she says matter-of-factly, cutting off Bobby at the knees.  When Lyndon enters, he hammers it in further.  "Rich men have servants, I have employees," he growls.  Okay, point taken, Johnson's position on Civil Rights is assured, at least according to this tale.

Continuing the miniseries' gleeful assault on the Kennedys, Bobby is then taken hunting by Lyndon and his cronies.  Bobby misses a deer on purpose, but knocks himself in the head with the gun's kickback.  Point taken.

Lyndon aims to ram the Civil Rights bill through Congress, no matter what.  Begging and pleading don't sway Lyndon, but one Senator asks, "since when did Texas start leading the nation in rights for Nigras?" Uh oh.  Lyndon slowly marches up to the man, grabs him by the lapels and relates a story with increasing anger and passion.  Once again, it's Sam Rayburn to the rescue, telling Lyndon to drop Civil Rights and work on his campaign for President, but Lyndon doesn't feel Kennedy is at all a threat, at least not until it's too late.  As the convention anoints JFK with the nomination, Lyndon is sanguine in front of everyone, but alone with Lady Bird, he reveals the truth, blaming himself for not following his father's advice of "seize the moment."  "Those damn Kennedys," he scowls to end the scene.

Lyndon has premonition that he will be offered the Vice Presidential on the ticket.  The Kennedy people can't believe they have done it and the Johnson people are aghast.  Everyone is convinced that Sam Rayburn will make sure Lyndon doesn't accept, and he does...until he's asked what will happen if Nixon becomes President, which changes his tune and he supports the idea.  Just then, Bobby shows up, forced to talk while Lyndon pees.  He's there to ask Lyndon to refuse the Veep slot that was offered to him, but now Lyndon is committed and refuses to step aside.

JFK and Lyndon should be playing nice in public, but Bobby decides to upstage Lyndon immediately. As the crowd chants, Bobby grabs his brother's hand and treats the moment like his own triumph, with Lyndon looking uncomfortable, but unable to do anything about it.

Once they win, Lyndon is completely marginalized (forced to wait in the outer office for John until Bobby comes out, ignores seeing him and tells his secretary to cancel the Vice President's meeting) or given the crap assignments John doesn't want, like greeting a delegation from Asia and looking utterly ridiculous.  In fact, Lady Bird has more to do with a beautification program that would become her hallmark.  He pours out his frustration to her, with such gems as "just 'cause I got an elephant hide, don't mean I can't feel pygmy darts."  Lady Bird urges Lyndon to try harder with Bobby, throwing a party where the two of them can be together while Lady Bird entertains the guests.

It was a lovely thought, but it doesn't work.  Lyndon launches into a tirade about what John should be doing, all of it good sense, but Bobby is unmoved, thinking Lyndon is just out for more power.  Lyndon denies it, saying he just wants to help and "you have nothing to fear from me," assuring Bobby he doesn't want to be President.  The end result is the two are further apart than ever.

Initially, Lyndon refuses to go to Texas with JFK, but realizes he's needed and agrees to go.  He declares himself "fed up" by how he's being treated by the administration.  He intends to tell JFK he will not run with him again in 1964.  He's self-pitying, so leave it to Lady Bird to remind her husband of all the amazing work he's done over 25 in public service.  And for a bit of goo, Lady Bird tells him how much he's done for her.  Nobody wants to see even pretend Lyndon and pretend Lady Bird making out on the bed.  By the end of the scene, Lyndon is actually content to get out of politics and his desire to "get to the top."  "The only thing I'll have left is you," he coos to his wife.  He confesses how much he needs her.

Even if history didn't tell us what was about to happen next, the rules of the miniseries would.  No one stays content and peaceful for long, especially after a lengthy speed that revels in such feelings.

We are spared a reenactment of the assassination, going right to the madness at the hospital.  Everyone waits, but when an aide comes in and refers to Lyndon as Mr. President, it's all clear.  Lyndon makes level-headed decisions, refusing to let the press be told until he's on Air Force One using its better communications systems, since half the cabinet is out of the country and decisions must be made.  Lyndon also insists on taking the oath of office before leaving Dallas because he does not want any of the decisions made to be in question.  He then insists the body and widow of his predecessor be on the plane.

When Lady Bird offers to help Jackie change her clothes, Jackie utters her most famous line, "I want the world to see what they've done."

As Lyndon is about to take the oath of office, Jackie comes in to stand next to him in one of the most famous moments in Presidential history as he becomes the 36th President of the United States.

"LBJ: The Early Years" is certainly brave, although considering we go all the way to 1963, just a decade before his death, I would say it's "LBJ: The Early and Middle Years."  That's brave about it is that the creators found enough story to stack up against such giants as Washington, Lincoln, Roosevelt or Kennedy.  It actually downplays his astounding Congressional record and focuses more on the man, and even stranger choice.

However, it all pays off, mainly because of the acting.  Randy Quaid is absolutely committed to his performance, his best by far.  He doesn't do a Johnson imitation, and he's not even made up to look like Johnson until the end, but he conveys Johnson's wild and erratic nature.  Patti LuPone, the very definition of bombast, takes it down many notches and is wonderful as Lady Bird.

History is always a basis for entertainment as long as it's done well.  This is done well.  Very well.

Elvis (1979)

Only a handful of years after Elvis Presley's death, director John Carpenter and star Kurt Russell gave TV "Elvis," their first of many collaborations together.  This is a very loving tribute to Elvis, apparently with the approval of his family, ending in 1969, rather than taking us to the bitter end.  We'll leave that for the 2005 "Elvis" (and we'll get there, I promise).  This one has Dick Clark as an executive producer, for crying out loud, so it's pretty gosh darn bubble gummy.  It often borders on laughable idol worship, but at the time, that made sense.  In 1979, biopics were still meant to evoke warm memories.  It would take Christina Crawford to shake-up the genre, but that's a few years in the future, so for now, settle in with a nice cup of cocoa, your favorite blanket and a cat or two.  Here is "Elvis" the way we wanted to remember him in 1979. 

Okay, okay, I know.  "Bj, that sounded too simpering for a cynic like you."  So, if you prefer, I'll put it this way: this version of Elvis is so whitewashed, it's as if his whole life is filmed with the Vaseline lens beloved by actresses of a certain age.  If you cant see the flaws, they aren't there.  Extrapolate the rest yourselves, my friends. 

It's 1969, the International Hotel in Las Vegas.  Elvis (Kurt Russell) is hiding out and there are death threats against him, though his father Vernon is handling that.  He also has faithful Priscilla (Season Hubley), in whom he confides his fears that he's gotten old and might not be able to perform like he used to.  As if Elvis isn't worried enough, TV news is there to scare him, asking aloud if he is still able to hack it.  Elvis can't do much about his personal feelings, but he he can shut off the TV...with a gunshot. 

Being a television piece about a real-life person, the prologue inevitably leads us back to the past, to 1945 when Elvis is just a boy strumming a guitar.  Elvis' takes flowers and candy to his stillborn twin brother's grave.  Local kids think he's a bu]it nuts, and he gets beaten up for it, but his mother Gladys (Shelley Winters, looking utterly ridiculous trying to hide her figure under a sweater and her hair under a wig), is very supportive.  She tells him that "they say when one twin dies, well, then, the other one grows up with all the strength and good sense of both," before the family sits on the porch and sings hymns, in full harmony.  It's the televised equivalent of cotton candy.

Teenage Elvis is awfully particular about his looks, primping in the school mirror while the other kids make fun of him, saying his hairdo makes him look "like a squirrel."  As they try to chop it off, he's saved by Red West (Robert Gray), who scares the pack off (I think it's because Robert looks like a student who has been forced to stay behind for about 25 years).  Elvis goes out under a tree and starts singing, which attracts a crowd of worshipful girls. 

"The future is in electricity," Elvis' father (Kurt's real-life father Bing Russell) says right before the housing authority arrives and tells the family they are being evicted for making too much money (roughly $70 a month).  "Ain't this family never gonna have no luck?" Shelley blubbers, literally puffing her face out to full volume to try to force tears to fall.  Elvis is determined to help the family with its financial troubles by singing.  Geez, maybe Mickey and Judy can help by putting on a show in the barn and singin' along to raise the money! 

Cute blond Bonnie (Melody Anderson) loves Elvis' talent and wants him to do the school variety show, but he says he's "chicken."  However, after Red's trumpet solo, just his sideburns could get a standing ovation.  He sings a ballad about a dead dog to the kids, with Bonnie gazing steadfastly and the rest of the girls jumping up and down at the song's end.  "They really liked me!" a shocked Elvis says before being sent out for an encore.  Elvis loves the applause and as he and Bonnie sit talking by a lazy river, Elvis confesses the adulation, Bonnie and even the wildflowers "are making my heart go kind of funny."  He says he wants to marry her and the two kiss in a very chaste fashion (more so as not to smear the incredible amount of make-up caked on both their faces).  Those wildflowers are hornier than these two.

After graduating, Elvis wants to sing, and his parents both support it.  Hell, even Bonnie supports him, "peculiar" though he dresses.  He hangs around music stores listening to black men singing in his spare time, waiting until he has the $4 it takes for Sun Records to let you record your own album.  Sitting in the waiting room, suspicious Marion (Ellen Travolta) keeps wanting to know which singer he sounds like, but of course we know he doesn't actually sound like anyone.  Sun Records founder Sam Philips (Charles Cyphers) isn't so sure, thinking Elvis' guitar sounds like a drum.  Oh, coincidentally, Sam needs a back-up singer who sounds black "to make some blues" and when Elvis is offered the gig, he's so excited, he forgets to hang up the phone on Marion, racing over as fast as he can.   Singing to Ronnie McDowell's vocals, Kurt's Elvis neither sounds nor looks black, but that's just it, isn't it?  Elvis was like no one else, blurring racial boundaries musically.  Except the movie isn't brave enough to bring up the racial issue in more than a hurried sentence. 

Elvis rushes off to the movies before his song is put on the radio for the first time, forcing his parents to chase him into the theater.  You see, Mrs. Presley isn't particularly quiet (maybe she was in real life, but Shelley Winters whispers like hail on aluminum siding), and Elvis has to miss the rest of the movie to avoid the "ssshhhh" sounds from the audience.

And with his song on the radio, Elvis is a small-time hit.  The girls at the little gigs he plays go wild over his sound, his look and of course his gyrations.  As film Elvises go, Kurt Russell is as good as they get.  Having worked with Elvis as a kid, he must have studied him, because he has the moves down pat.  In a full face of Max Factor (with an umbrella to protect it from the rain), Elvis, Red and the boys go off to Nashville to audition at The Grand Ole Opry.  At first, no one can believe this kid and his back-up goofs are the ones on the record, but the sound is undeniable once he starts up.  However, the Opry isn't interested and Elvis throws a (rather polite backstage) fit.  His effect on kids is hypnotic.  He sings and they go wild.  Hell, he curls his lip and they go wild.  Red has to pull him from the stage or the girls will tear him apart.  Just not at the Opry. 

After one gig, Elvis is punched out by a male who is not an admirer and the gang hits the gas going after him (with tricked up hillbilly music making the scene play like silent movie footage), Mrs. Presley waking up just as it's happening, knowing something is wrong (though Shelley's look could be read as gas).  During the chase, the car overheats and the guys almost lose their luggage and instruments as the car burns.  "Those guys out there, they are always mad at me," he tells Red, who reminds a still-naive Elvis that these punks are just jealous because their girlfriends react so strongly to him.  Elvis calls his mother, who relates her dream to him, just as it happened in real life, and then tells him Bonnie has found "another beau."  As the sun sets and the guys are stuck at a gas station, this is one of those scenes meant to evoke tears.  I'll be the heavy here: Bonnie wasn't waitin' around for Elvis forever.  She's a young lady with needs!  Okay, back to the purity of the fantasy... 

Enter the villain, or hero, or whatever people consider him from decade to decade, Col. Tom Parker (Pat Hingle).  Puffing on a stogie, he's convinced to watch Elvis perform and he certainly knows a cash cow when he sees one.  "Son, in 29 years of show business, I've never seen anybody do what you did tonight," he tells Elvis.  What does Elvis do with his new money?  He buys his mother a big fancy car.  "I don't even know how to drive!" she roars, looking like she's about to re-suffer her "Poseidon Adventure" heart attack.  He's making $2000 a week now, and he spends it all on his mother, with the car and jewels, not to mention wigs and make-up.

Col. Parker picks the very moment when Elvis his making his mother happiest to lower the boom that he's sold the Sun Records contract to RCA.  Sam and Marion are less upset than Elvis, because they stand to make a fortune, but Elvis feels loyal to the people who got him started.  No bitterness, just hands squeezed.  Come on, that's not even HALF believable!  Over at RCA, Elvis records "Heartbreak Hotel," but he has problems recording it and then collapses during a concert from exhaustion.  Hee refuses to rest because he's doing it all for his parents.  "I'm gonna be an actor in the movies," he tells his mother from a hospital bed.

He's not a natural in front of the camera, slouching and basically just being the hick he is.  His parents are there to support him, but he's more dazzled by actor Nick Adams, who has worked with his idol James Dean (or more, if you read some books).  "Mrs. Presley, the director can be replaced, Elvis can't," Col. Parker says when Mrs. Presley notes that the director is being tough on Elvis.  Was that a hint of sarcasm in "Elvis?"

But enough of that, it's time for the Ed Sullivan Show.  "Remember, above the waist," the men in the booth say as Elvis starts singing, but the audience goes hog wild.  This defining moment in 20th Century pop culture cannot ever be equalled by any imitator, and especially on a strangely cheap looking set, but Kurt's imitation holds very solidly and the time is kept to a minimum to avoid too much comparison. 

The media is rough on Elvis, calling him a "sausage" and saying his moves are vulgar, but he only wants the approval of his parents.  So, he buys them Graceland, where his mother feeds chickens on the front lawn.  "Mama decorated everything," he shows off, telling his parents that they can invite the whole Presley clan to live there.  But, there is a "price of fame," in that he has no privacy, so he has to buy out movie theaters or arcades for a whole night in order to just have fun with Natalie Wood and his posse. 

Mrs. Presley, lording it up in Graceland, thinks Elvis should retire, just settle down and be normal.  "He could open up one of those spare rib restaurants," she clucks after wondering if Elvis minds her weight gain.  Wait, whose dream are we living?  These two scenes together are supposed to show us that all is not perfect for Elvis Presley, but it's done so tamely that it still seems like an ideal way to live.  And Shelley just wants ribs, admit it.

Elvis colors his hair jet black for Christmas (or to go in the Army or whatever), but his focus is still on his mother, who is now sporting enough make-up for three actresses.  She doesn't know what to do with herself in her opulent surroundings and she is worried about the whole Army thing.  "It's peacetime," he tells her, then scooting off in a red silk shirt to downtown Memphis with his friends.  He watches his mother take a pill.  Uh oh.  That's never good.

In 1958, Elvis did indeed go into the Army (if you missed that biographical point, just watch "Bye Bye Birdie"), having his hair cut for real.  He tells Col. Parker that he's worried he'll lose his status by not working for two years.  "You are a phenomenon!" Col. Parker tells him.  Parker has it all figured it, having stocked up on Elvis movies and songs so his fans will never notice he's gone.  "I consider it my patriotic duty to keep you in the 90th percentile tax bracket," he cracks to Elvis.  Mrs. Presley moves to a trailer on base to cook for her boy, but she keeps having spells.  She can't seem to remember that Elvis has told her he's being sent to Germany.  The scary music swells up as Shelley swoons and is taken to the hospital, though all she can think of are the lights left on in the trailer.  The movie so worships Elvis' adoration of his mother (it's 1979, just about the last year guys were allowed to love their mothers), but Shelley's over-the-top performance is so difficult to digest it makes the relationship silly rather than touching.  She's in a hospital bed done up with a wig, lashes and make-up enough to hop out of bed and run for the Emmy podium just in case, though Shelley Winters' days of touching gold statuettes were loooooooong gone by this point.  Thankfully, after an hour and a half, we're done with Shelley as Mrs. Presley dies from hepatitis (not offense to Mrs. Presley, who I'm sure was a lovely woman, but if the character hadn't died, history might have needed some reinvention to bump off Shelley). 

Elvis goes off to Germany, where starts that karate chopping crap as graffiti on the wall says, "Elvis Uber Alles."  Mr. Presley wants to get married again, but Elvis is such a loyal son, he's okay with it.  He understands his father's loneliness.  Twenty seconds later, Priscilla walks in the room and Elvis is smitten.  Hell, she's the only person in his life with longer eye lashes than him!  Elvis goes over to introduce himself, as if Elvis needs introduction, and the two hit it off immediately.  He sits at the piano and plays for her, just for her.  We get a montage of "nothing exists but us" footage, driving through the hills, having a picnic, swapping daffy powdered sugar dialogue. 

Just because Shelley Winters has left the building doesn't mean she took all the kitsch with her.  At a beer hall in Germany, the polka band invites Elvis up to perform, "Tutti Frutti" of all things.  In his uniform, he can still do the moves, and the whole place, from the ancient extras done up to look like Von Trapp cast-offs to the ancient extras done up to look like beer hall furniture, claps along.  Oh, but I should mention it takes a black piano player to make it all possible.  Of course it does.

Elvis returns home from the Army to cry some more about his dead mother in the bedroom that hasn't been touched since she died.  Back in civilian clothes, which mean a lot of silk and bedazzled belts, Elvis tries to get a model airplane to work.  He goes to light a cigarette, and every member of his entourage holds up a lighter.  "Thank you very much," he says for the first time in the movie.  What any of this has to do with anything, I can't quite say.  We seem to be filling time before the next big event in Elvis' life. 

As he's playing the piano with all the cheer of an undertaker, Red asks him how he feels.  "I feel alone.  I feel like a prisoner," he complains.  "I'm sorry," Red says with half a smile and then leaves Elvis to return to his dirges.  Now we're going to extreme lengths to cover up Elvis' dark moods.  What would be so wrong with a little tiny hissy fit?  Instead, Elvis just plays the piano and croons, sounding like Perry Como on a really slow day.

Elvis calls Priscilla's father, a Captain in the Army, asking to let her come to Graceland.  They will be chaperoned.  Hell, even his grandmother (Meg Wyllie, who was playing old ladies even in 1979, nearly 25 years before her death in 2002) lives there.  Of course Elvis gets Priscilla, but only if she stays in school.  "Sometimes it's hard for me to think of you as a little girl," he tells her as he's dropping her off at Immaculate Conception.  "Then don't," she says, a little too knowingly for the kid she is. 

And get this one: in his next scene, performing on stage in one of his gold sequined get-ups, he's wearing a cross.  That's how pure and untouched he is.  His body is still moving in ways that make the girls faint, and at the end of a song, he rips off his tie and throws it to the ladies, who rip at each other for it.  Some little girl doesn't grab it fast enough, so he has her brought up to the stage, where he places the cross around her neck!  And the concert continues. 

Want to love Elvis even more?  He has nothing but hatred for Lee Harvey Oswald when he sees him on TV.  What's next, beatification?  Who didn't hate Lee Harvey Oswald?  We need a scene for that?

Priscilla, still just a teenager, glides down the stairs in a gorgeous outfit, one that covers her nearly from head to toe, but Elvis is transfixed.  None of the other party guests exist for them.  "You wish they wouldn't do that...stop everything when we come in?" he asks her.  He wants not to be special, "just go to Europe, be like a tourist and see the world."  It's yet another "I want to be free" speech, the umpteenth of the past thirty minutes, and Priscilla listens contently, asking only two questions.  The first comes near the onset of the quiet tirade, the Europe part, when she asks if he would take her with him.  Yes, of course, he just wants the rest of the world to go away.  And the second question?  "Do you like my hair?"  Does he ever!  He's ga-ga for it because...sit down for this one...it's the same color as his mother's.  This leads into more mama-lovin' and then he plants an open-mouthed kiss on Priscilla (but a tame open-mouthed kiss). 

Elvis and Priscilla get married, but loyal Red isn't invited to the ceremony, only the reception.  What the hell?  He's been with Elvis since high school.  Upstart crony Joe Espito (played by a young Joe Mantegna, whose name is misspelled in the credits) gets to go, so why not Red?  I don't even see Granny, though Mr. Presley is there.  Red is pissed as hell about it, so he waits until the whole gang is at...I hope you are still sitting...a roller skating rink to check Elvis against the wall and tel him how angry he is.  Elvis says he had no idea who was at the wedding, that Col. Parker arranged it all.

"Hold me," Priscilla inevitably says as they are happily hugging in the garden when he's told it's time to zoom off to Hollywood.  As he's grumbling his way through the shoot, Priscilla is at home practicing her ballet among the gilt-drenched surroundings.  Take your pick as to which is cheesier: Elvis complaining that the movies aren't fun anymore while getting a pie in the face, or Priscilla twirling around the living room. 

Neither scene has anything to do with the story because when Elvis returns from the shoot, it's Priscilla who gets to moan about being lonely.  She doesn't get any time with Elvis anymore.  Oh, right, the neglected wife bit.  That's in every movie about a successful man, so if you didn't expect it shame on you.  But, Elvis has a twist on it.  You see, he has to spend time with the guys for a reason.  "You see their wants.  I have to look beyond their wants and see their needs."  You can pause and read that again.  I rewound the movie to hear it again, but trust me, it doesn't make any more sense the second time.  If we were allowed to show anything but Elvis-as-The-Pope, we wouldn't need to invent drama.  Literally.  Elvis goes outside with a sandwich and in order to fire the whole gang, pretends one of the guys said something about him.  You can rewind that too, but it won't do you any good this time either.  Feeling bad a half-second later, Elvis offers the guy he fired a few hundred dollars.  Why did he fire them all?  "I don't know, I just did.  Well go get 'em all back," he tells an underling who was out of earshot during the trumped-up dissolution of Team Elvis.  In case you don't understand that the past for Elvis was better than the present, he ends this section by going into the garage and looking at the now-old car he bought for his mother with his first success.

Then he screens "Rebel Without a Cause," saying Dean's lines about not fitting in along with him, but Priscilla interrupts his cine-karaoke session to tell him she's pregnant.  Elvis is now into his ludicrous plumage phase, at home in satin shirts and rhinestone everything, but he's so darn happy, he, his friends and even Priscilla sing cheery songs around the piano.  Elvis spends a fortune on the baby that isn't even born yet, as both he and Priscilla agree that they want the baby to "have a normal life."  How'd that turn out for ya, Lisa Marie?

Two hours and fifteen minutes into the movie, Elvis gets angry enough to smash a lamp.  "What's happening to me?" he asks Priscilla.  The anger was about the remixing of his songs.  "It's my music.  It ain't theirs, it's mine," he whines.  Priscilla isn't much help, telling him to call Col. Parker, because Elvis' fears are beginning to run deeper, or at least less shallow.  "I don't want to be 40 and up on some stage singing 'Heartbreak Hotel,'" he tells her.  His crystal ball wasn't too good.  He would be up there at 40 singing it, but with a whole new bag of trick!  If he knew about the Liberace outfits, maybe he wouldn't be so scared.  He may have been drunk the whole time, but the public ate it up!

Priscilla gives birth while Elvis is in the yard doing karate moves.  Talking to his dead twin brother in the next scene, with a convenient storm raging outside, he stills feels "something is missing, you know?  Somewhere deep inside me, there's an empty place."  Quit the bitching!  You have a hot wife, a gorgeous baby and a great career.  I know, I've been asking for actual drama for over two hours, but now that we have it, it's unintelligible and, I might add, annoying.  He just seems like a spoiled child.

He wakes Priscilla up in the middle of the night to read her some passage from a philosopher who said the dead (his brother, his mother) aren't really dead.  "What are your running from?" she asks.  "Why did everything in my life happen the way it did...ain't no such thing as coincidence," he responds, not that it answers her question.  She tries to end the conversation in a very schoolmarmish manner, by telling him she would like to read the passage, at some time that isn't the middle of the night, before she is forced to understand it all. 

Hiding out in Graceland, afraid of his shadow, Elvis is upset when Priscilla asks to bring a friend to the house.  She wants her own friends.  Makes sense.  "I can't live in a bubble...I want to have my own friends, not hand-picked ones.  Having my own life will not do anything to us," she sagely tells him.  She's awfully smart, this Priscilla (which is proof that the real Priscilla approved this tripe).  The argument, like all of their others, doesn't actually GO anywhere.  It just happens, in a bubble, kind of like the life she's leading.  To either work out her frustrations or try to understand the life Elvis lives, she goes to the karate room and smacks around the bag a bit, just for a few moments before...before nothing happens.  We truly are just filling the movie with footage to meet the time requirement.

To that end, take a bathroom break while Elvis holds a jam session, complete with a black female quartet of back-up singers, more instruments on the soundtrack than are being played in the room and what seem like fits of apoplexy from Elvis, all in preparation for the Las Vegas gig.  I say send the show to Vegas as is, because the cornball factor is off the charts.  No, wait a minute, let's take it a step further...let's doll Elvis up in a velvet shirt and have him explain to Priscilla, who has just now been told about Vegas, about how much he needs his audience.  You mean the audience that he's ignored for nearly a decade?  "Nobody can mess with his music," he says.  Ah, so it's to protect the music, not really please the people?  Priscilla, of course, sees the lapse in common sense, and starts another fight.  She feels like another old lady, like her life is slipping by, but Elvis insists on the tour.  "I love you Elvis, but if anything happens to us, I can make it without you," strong girlfriend chirps to her man.  But, let's temper her threat with a big hug.  Another scene lost to syrup.

Elvis really only has one person to talk to: his wall.  Or, his brother as he insists on addressing the wall.  He wishes he could talk to his mother, go back in time, redo it all, blah, blah, blah.  "If I make it in Las Vegas.  If I can just get up on that stage and feel those people one more time, just one more time..." he whispers to the wall, I mean his brother, in another stalling moment of self-created drama.  Here's the problem about writing a movie about a problem-free Elvis: when the problems actually arise, you can't feel sorry for the man.  Live has been damn good and he's bitching and moaning for reasons that don't make sense.  If we saw the warts-and-all Elvis, we would know not only was he a very insecure person, but, by this point in his life, nippin' the bottle more than now and then. 

Back in 1969 in Vegas, we pick up where we left off: Elvis shooting the TV that had melodramatically suggested this was either "the beginning or the end of a great career."  Even The Beatles, they tell us, are passe.  But, Elvis decides to go on, tossing on a jumpsuit filled with shiny beads and buckles, defying the advice of his father and hangers-on that he does not go on.  He calls Lisa Marie, promising to "come home soon" and cries buckets as the "2001: A Space Odyssey" music cues up loudly on stage.  Pants flared, crotch barely contained, Elvis goes out and performs for the crowd.  Now, Kurt Russell in 1979 certainly looked a whole lot healthier and sexier than Elvis in 1969, but it's understandable that this fluff would keep the thin Elvis flame alive, but more noticeable is the audience.  Elvis performed in GIANT arenas in Las Vegas, but the set here is about as big as a junior high auditorium and it seems that all of Elvis' fans were 150 years old.  I would be willing to accept middle age, but old?  As in wheelchair-check-at-the-top-of-the-ramp old?  Come on!  We're simply repeating extras to save costs.  Look closely and you'll see some of those wacky Germans from the beer hall. 

Anyway, Elvis tears through two songs to a frantic audience and then as he goes into "Battle Hymn of the Republic," Kurt freezes.  I say Kurt, because it's not the film, but only Kurt, who has to stand in a frozen pose for a really uncomfortably long time as we get the also-inevitable montage of past highlights, as if we haven't been watching the movie since the beginning.  By the end, Kurt looks like he's going to pass out and I feel for him.  Why not just freeze the film?

It's over.  What happened to Priscilla?  She went on to make pots of gold selling Elvis memorabilia, I guess, but the movie gives us no hint.  What happened to Col. Parker?  He stopped showing up around 1958 and never reappeared (perhaps Pat Hingle got a better gig and bolted while he could.  Red?  Mr. Presley?  The movie just leaves us hanging.  It doesn't even give one of those "Elvis Presley died from..." title cards that biopics usually toss in before credits.  According to this movie, Elvis might actually still be performing on a stage in Vegas somewhere. 

I know that by blasting apart the holes in "Elvis," I've spilled the truth for legions that Elvis' life was more substantial than his beloved marshmallow.  I know that no Elvis Fan Club will be sending me birthday presents (and let's not even guess what the Shelley Winters Fan Club people must think of me) this year, but if you base your knowledge on Elvis on this miniseries, then go on believing he's still alive.  That belief is as much rooted in reality as this production.  I will admit that Kurt Russell gives one hell of a performance, a towering achievement in a movie that doesn't ask him to do anything but an imitation of The King.  I can also surmise that this movie is played on permanent loop in Priscilla's mansion, because she's actually the heroine somehow.  Other than that, I can only recommend any other Elvis film but this one, even one of Elvis' actual movies, which are a heady lot.  As I promised at the start, when we get to the 2005 version, things will have much improved (and by that, I mean honesty will surface).