Fun
Frisky
Nostalgic
Intense
Adventurous
Choked Up
Curious
Romantic
Weird
Released in 2014, Get on Up attempted to repeat the successes of the biopics Ray and Walk The Line, turning the story of a musical icon into box office gold and bag an award or two in the process. The film starred Chadwick Boseman as James Brown, the “Godfather of Soul,” whose career spanned six decades and left an indelible mark on R&B, rock n’ roll, soul, funk and hip hop. Directed by Tate Taylor (The Help, Ma), the film is now available for streaming on Netflix and stands as a testament to the late Boseman’s acting skills, as well as a reverent tribute to “Soul Brother #1.”
In telling the story of James Brown, Get on Up travels back and forth through time, revisiting pivotal moments that reveal his motivations, achievements and importance. It succeeds on counts one and two while falling short on count three but gets an A for effort. Explaining what makes music or a musician great is difficult to dramatize without succumbing to hyperbole, a common problem in many musical biopics. Get on Up does it best early on with Boseman’s casual one-liner, “Ya’ll cats might not own my records but you can bet your bottom dollar, every record you got got a piece of me in ‘em.”
Born in 1933, James Joseph Brown Jr. grew up in South Carolina and Georgia, enduring poverty, abuse and racism before powering through and becoming one the most important musicians and black celebrities of all time. Boseman often breaks the fourth wall, staring into the camera and repeating one of Brown’s maxims or merely offering up a knowing, regretful stare. Like any number of great artists or powerful people, Brown was an imperfect man who often took his anger out on those closest to him.
The film is bookended with Brown’s infamous 1988 car chase, which resulted in a two year prison bid. It’s one of many historical moments embellished for dramatic effect, not that there’s anything wrong with that. It’s a movie, not a documentary. After detours through Vietnam and Brown’s show-stopping performance on 1964’s T.A.M.I. Show, we see a young James living in rural poverty with his dysfunctional parents, portrayed by Academy Awards winner Viola Davis and Lennie James of Walking Dead fame. They’re part of an ensemble cast which also includes impressive performances from Craig Robinson as legendary saxophonist Maceo Parker, Brandon Mychal Smith as Little Richard and (the late) Nelsan Ellis as Brown’s musical foil and stand-in sibling Bobby Byrd.
The James Brown we meet has a laser focus on music and a prophetic belief in himself. Abandoned by his parents as a child and raised in a brothel, he ends up in jail as a teenager. There he meets Byrd, who’s visiting with his gospel group (in reality they met during a baseball game). In Brown, Byrd saw a natural talent and band leader and convinced his family to sponsor his parole. Brown repays Byrd by banging his sister, the first of many indignities he suffers during the course of the film. Brown re-fashions Byrd’s gospel group as The Famous Flames, then later reduces them to second billing at the urging of booking agent Ben Bart, played by Dan Aykroyd. The singer seems all too happy to step into the spotlight, saying, “I see where this thing is going…Hell, I knew it the day I was born.”
Over the course of the 1960s, Brown would prove himself a visionary talent and savvy businessman. Scenes meant to show how he coaxed his band into creating funk with the 1967 single “Cold Sweat” are somewhat cringe-inducing but the part where it’s so funky it makes a racist couple dance is a nice touch. His message of self-determination and black empowerment made him more than just a musician. He was a figurehead, able to quell riots and command the respect of Presidents.
Unfortunately, for all the incredible music he gave us and all the work he did for the Black community, James Brown was also an abusive bully. Over the course of the film we see him beat wives, berate his band, and treat Bobby Byrd like a doormat. His drug use is explained away as being the result of his son Teddy’s death in 1973, while his bad behavior is blamed on the lingering trauma from the horrors he endured as a child. What really happened is both worse and more complicated, however, the point of the film is to celebrate Brown not expose him at his worst.
When Boseman starred in Get on Up, he was fresh off his breakout performance as Jackie Robinson in 2013’s 42. It was his second film in a row playing a pivotal figure in African-American history. The fact that he was equally adept playing the taciturn Robinson as the explosive Brown speaks to his range as an actor. Boseman throws himself into the role, seeming to relish Brown’s swagger and authority and reportedly stayed in character while filming. It’s shameful his performance wasn’t nominated for an Academy Award at the time, something his nomination this year for Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom rectifies. As entertaining and jubilant as Get on Up is, one can’t watch it without feeling a sense of tragedy, knowing that both Boseman and Nelsan Ellis, who died in 2017, are no longer with us and still had so much more to contribute.
Benjamin H. Smith is a New York based writer, producer and musician. Follow him on Twitter:@BHSmithNYC.
