The Life and Death of Peter Sellers Reviews
The Life and Death of Peter Sellers is an admirable attempt to portray or depict Sellers, recreating key scenes from his film career alongside problems in his personal life. But despite the best efforts of director Stephen Hopkins and a fine performance by Geoffrey Rush, it never quite satisfies either emotionally or biographically. Whether due to the physical limits of the production or the inherent complexity of Sellers the enigma, in the end it does little more than scratch the surface.
On the plus side, Peter Sellers (as it shall hence be called) does a very good job of replicating the various period settings. There are all the usual batch of camera tricks, such as using green-screen to recreate streets, and the colours of the film have been manipulated to give the appearance of degraded stock. But on top of the usual whistles and bells, the film captures a number of moments in Sellers' life with such accuracy that it could pass off as a documentary. This is particularly true of the opening section where The Goon Show is recreated on stage, with all the riotousness and anarchy of the original broadcasts.
The film simply wouldn't work if we didn't believe in the performance of the lead actor, and in this respect Geoffrey Rush is ideal. Although he has the aid of an army of wigs and vast quantities of make-up, he never lets the artifice dominate his characterisation of Sellers or the various roles therein. Rush goes through the same physical transformations of Sellers, moving over the course of the film from podgy to fighting fit and finally ghostly and frail. Most of all, he mimics Sellers' vocal performances very accurately, going beyond impersonation in almost every instance.
But rather than just have Sellers playing the various characters from his films, Hopkins and Rush contrive to have Sellers playing most of the people around him as well. At key moments, the camera will go 'back stage' and we watch the same characters as played by Sellers. This self-reflexive tactic is unnervingly effective, because it reaches the very core of Sellers' character: he was only happy or honest when he was being other people. Seeing Sellers as Stanley Kubrick in the taxi, we get a more open insight to Sellers than we would ever get from the horses' mouth, and seeing him re-dub the scene of his wife leaving him conveys his desperate need to be loved at any cost.
The other performances manage to match Rush in terms of quality, even if they don't all get the screen time they deserve. Emily Watson is very good as Sellers' first wife Anne Hayes, who struggles with his cruel streak and his distance from their children. Watson resists the urge to overegg the emotional torment, so that we are convinced that she still loves him even when his behaviour is at its most outrageous. John Lithgow is having a ball as Blake Edwards; even if he is occasionally larger-than-life, he taps into Sellers' ability to produce hatred and admiration often simultaneously. And Miriam Margolyes is a good choice for Sellers' mother, who dominates his early life and instigates his early attempts to get into film.
On top of this, the film has a number of fantasy moments which are particularly touching. The best of these is the dream sequence in Sellers' head as he is being revived from his near-fatal heart attack. We see the various characters from his film career up to that point - Clare Quilty, Dr. Strangelove, Fred Kite etc. - gathering round his hospital bed, before Sellers rises up on a huge bomb and hits a button on his heart blowing them all up. It's a moment of brief assertion from Sellers, showing his determination to be taken seriously and not be defined or controlled by the other versions of himself on screen.
Unfortunately, the problems with Peter Sellers eventually outweigh all the aspects of it which are successful. First off, despite its solid production values and fantastical ambitions, it remains very televisual. Doubtless the involvement of HBO, both financially and creatively, came with the very best intentions, and had the film not been released theatrically than this would not have been a problem. But on the big screen, Peter Sellers feels too compact and limited to cut the mustard, and the backstage sequences only reinforce the feeling that the world we are seeing on screen doesn't extend very far beyond it.
Tied up with this televisual nature is the problem of content versus length. Even with two hours to play with, there is far too much in Sellers' eventful life to fit around the constraints of a feature film. But rather than opt to tell the story in small segments, as a TV miniseries or whole season of shows, Hopkins and his team are forced to cherry-pick what they deem to be the most well-known or important bits.
While the film therefore serves as a good introduction to both Sellers and his body of work, those more familiar with either will get frustrated by just how much has been omitted, and by how quickly the film gallops through his life. Sellers claimed that his time on The Goon Show was the happiest time of his life, and yet we only get about five or ten minutes of it, including Spike Milligan and Harry Secombe turning up briefly in later scenes. The film never touches on his relationship with The Beatles, or much of his film work in between Dr. Strangelove and the later Pink Panthers. Most annoyingly, there is nothing in it about his last two marriages, or the precise attitude he had towards his children.
Because the film moves at such a pace, we find it hard to connect with Sellers as a person. This could, of course, be argued as the intention of the film - that Sellers shifted between characters so quickly that you could never see the real him. But in order for the film to work even as an introduction, we have to have some means of connection beyond his display of talent - and there are only fleeting opportunities in which this is possible. As with Mr. Nice, Bernard Rose's biopic of Howard Marks, there is a sense of information being intentionally withheld to such an extent that our ability to empathise begins to wane.
Had the film been reconfigured for a TV series, we would have got a far greater insight into both Sellers and the various characters which filtered in and out of his life. When we are introduced to Maurice Woodruff, the fraudulent fortune teller played by Stephen Fry, we expect him to get a lot of screen time because of the level of influence he quickly comes to hold. Instead he only gets three scenes and dies off-screen without a second's acknowledgement, so that we never get a proper sense of how greatly Sellers depended on him.
The Life and Death of Peter Sellers is a film whose failure may not be entirely the fault of its creators. Certainly compared to Hopkins' previous offerings - Predator 2, A Nightmare on Elm Street 5 - it is an undeniable work of genius. The problem may be the real Peter Sellers was simply too complex a man to be convincingly summarised in two short hours. In which case, the film is proof of its own failure, functioning as a workable introduction but being found wanting everywhere else.
The feature adaptation of Roger Lewis' book about the actor best remembered as Inspector Clouseau in the Pink Panther movies.
There's no denying that Peter Sellers was a comic genius and apparently there was no denying that Peter Sellers was a total bastard. The line is slightly blurred in HBO's biopic about the troubled (and troubling) brilliant actor with a tour-de-force turn by Geoffrey Rush slipping into the frenetic and manic mind of a real original talent sadly curdled by his inner demons.
Sellers was a unique British performer who got his start in BBC radio and struggled for some time to make the transition to the silver screen but with a ego pampering mother (the always welcome Margolyes) he is given the extra boost to push himself in gaining an audition that would lead to a British Academy Award and eventually international acclaim with the classic Pink Panther films with his hilarious interpretation of the inept French Inspector Jacques Clouseau and an assortment of wonderful films including the iconoclastic Dr. Strangelove and his swan song Being There which would win him a posthumous Oscar nod.
But the path to global recognition for his gifts proved to be a rocky one from his first marriage to the beleaguered wife Anne (Watson acquits herself nicely here) to his affair with Sophia Loren (the tres sexy Aquino) to his whirlwind heady second marriage to UK starlet Britt Ekland (Theron in a breezy turn) that ultimately lead to Sellers divorcing both and sadly living alone despite fathering a pair of children who he tortured with his manic depressive modes and outbursts of scary violence in his self-doubts and insecurities.
Rush uncannily embodies the legendary character actor with some fun and at times truly poignant flourishes ? namely when he is attempting to find a 'voice' for a fourth character for Strangelove that leads him to a panic attack and near breakdown that is truly shattering to watch him stewing in his own juices of what an utter failure he found himself to be despite the accolades and adoration of the film world he eventually conquered. Rush also impersonates the people in Sellers' life in a gimmicky dramatic device the director Hopkins employs where the film is a film-within-a-film (i.e. a scene ends with his melancholic father turning to the camera and it is suddenly transformed into Rush). Otherwise it is handled with a nimble pace and some truly lovely period detail with a remarkable production design by Norman Garwood, Jill Taylor's costumes and Peter Levy's sleek cinematography are all aces.
Based on Roger Lewis' book of the same name, the screenplay by Christopher Markus and Stephen McFeely cuts to the meaty sections of Sellers' career with episodes between his favorite directors Blake Edwards and Stanley Kubrick (a jovial Lithgow and a sardonic Tucci, respectively) as well as his family life and the odd relationship he shared with them.
Sellers in real-life has inspired many comics of today, notably Mike Myers who worshiped him and paid a valentine of sorts in his inspired by Austin Powers films. It's a shame that most comedians need to suffer ? or cause suffering ? to get to their craft; what would they be without it makes one wonder.
Although this treads the well worn path of the tortured genius, it is injected with a sense of fun by Geoffrey Rush and the superb supporting cast.They generate a genuine emotional clout - you really feel how irritating it must have been to be around him once his comedy schtick wears thin and his eccentricites grate.Clever structuring gives a real sense of how he could only express himself through his characters and 'the film within a film' and shifting perspectives are well integrated.A bold attempt to reinvent a tired genre.
[font=Century Gothic]My main disappointment with "The Life and Death of Peter Sellers" is that the emphasis is much more on Sellers' personal life(well, at least his first two marriages...), than on the movies he made and his extraordinary talent. The film comes to life briefly when focusing on his movies inlcuding "The Pink Panther" and "Dr. Strangelove."(But why, oh why, bring up "Casino Royale?") I wish there had been more material on Sellers' working relationship with Blake Edwards. And I did like some of the surreal bits.[/font]
[font=Century Gothic]Geoffrey Rush is out of his league playing Sellers(but he did do an excellent Sellers impression in "Shine"). He does a very good Clouseau but is not adept at any of Sellers' other creations. I think Steve Coogan would have done a better job. And casting Charlize Theron as Britt Eklund is serious overkill. But Emily Watson and Stanley Tucci as Stanley Kubrick are both excellent.[/font]
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Crazy Insight into his world behind the cameras, was an ass he had to of been.
" Daddy come look, I fixed it! I added a racing stripe! "
I have a book about the history of the Muppets; I think it's where I heard this story. When the show was originally on the air, they would do three things. Number one, they would let the guest star decide how much input they wanted to have; most let the writers do their thing, and John Cleese all but wrote his own episode. Number two, even for those who didn't want much input, they would let them pick which Muppet they wanted most to appear with--usually, of course, Kermit or Piggy. (I think I would have liked a musical number with Rowlf.) And they would include a segment where the star was just whoever the star was. They laid all this out for Peter Sellers, when Peter Sellers was the guest star. And he told them he couldn't be himself. He could be Queen Victoria, if they needed him to be, but he couldn't be Peter Sellers. So they dressed him up as Queen Victoria. And they continued to have no real Peter Sellers.
Once upon a time, there was a real Peter Sellers (Geoffrey Rush). He had a radio show and a wife (Emily Watson) and kids (Geoge Sicco/James Bentley and Eliza Darby). He had a mother (Miriam Margolyes). He made a few of those British art house comedies that hardly anyone in America saw. And then one day, he met Stanley Kubrick (Stanley Tucci), and Stanley Kubrick cast him first as a minor character in [i]Lolita[/i] and then as everyone in [i]Doctor Strangelove[/i]. And so Stanley Kubrick made him a star--but who was the star, Peter Sellers or those characters? Peter Sellers lost the Oscar to Rex Harrison, which he shouldn't have done. Either way, though, Peter Sellers began to lose who he was. He left his wife. He married another one (Charlize Theron). They had a baby. She didn't like how he treated her and the baby, and so she left him. And then Peter Sellers became even more invisible and vanished into the characters.
I have to say that Geoffrey Rush did an amazing job in the role. It's hard to capture that energy and those characters--and the film gives him even more characters than Sellers himself portrayed, since he's constantly stepping into the lives of the people around him. Blake Edwards is played by John Lithgow, but Geoffrey Rush as Peter Sellers can play the role briefly to show us how Sellers perceived what was happening. Not only that, but he must convey thirty years' worth of Peter Sellers over the course of 122 minutes. It doesn't quite extend to the end of his life, choosing to end with Chance (he lost to Dustin Hoffman in [i]Kramer Vs. Kramer[/i], and Hoffman didn't think he should have), but that moment in the credits wherein Geoffrey Rush tells us we can't come into the trailer kind of sums up the end of Sellers. It's as though the door, which of course says Peter Sellers on it, is the inside of the man, where no one could go.
With very few exceptions, the attitude most of the other performers must show tends to be despair, regret, and/or frustration. Peg Sellers is bursting with pride over her brilliant son, but his very brilliance takes him away from her. This is a man who misses his seven-year-old's birthday, so he sends her a Triumph she won't be able to ride for another ten years. And so even Eliza Darby as Sarah must hit those notes. It's a wonderful present which is completely worthless to her. None of the other kids have one, but what on Earth would they do with it anyway? Charlize Theron must start as confused, move on to happy, then concerned, then frustrated and angry. Then again, we already know how talented she is. About the only person who gets to be satisfied through the whole thing is Stephen Fry as Maurice Woodruff, the psychic advisor. And even he's taking cash from Blake Edwards to convince Sellers that he really wants to play Inspector Clousseau again.
I didn't much care for [i]Being There[/i]. I thought it was rather pretentious, actually, and I disagree with its basic theme. However, the more you learn about Peter Sellers the man, the more right for the character he was. Take away the characters. Leave just the man. Only by the time he died, there wasn't a man. We are talking about someone who allowed his children, upon his death, to inherit just £800 each. And yes, all right, he was supposedly in the process of changing his will, but he allowed there to be a will wherein that happened. (If you follow the inheritance trail, not once does it trace back to the Sellers family.) The joke of [i]Being There[/i] is that, in any realistic sense of the term, Chance the Gardener wasn't. Or if he was, it was in a merely physical sense. You projected your own view onto Chance; that was the point of the character. He became famous because he let you believe what you wanted to and think a wise man agreed with you. There was no Chance Gardner; there was no Peter Sellers.