Director Tate Taylor faced a daunting task in conveying the complexities of James Brown’s story.
It’s not just a question of illustrating the influence of Brown’s music, his unfaltering determination, and the impact that his charismatic, unstoppable and sexual stage presence had on audiences largely unused to powerful black performers; Taylor’s challenge also involved addressing that Brown was a deeply unpleasant person who was domineering, paranoid and violent. How does one explain a man who only seems to show his soul on stage?
The answer is you can’t, at least not easily. But Taylor can’t help trying, courtesy of some hackneyed flashbacks to Brown’s difficult childhood.
The mythical rags-to-riches element feels simplistic and unnecessary in an adult life filled with character-defining moments.
The film jumps chronologically from Brown’s arrest in 1988 to his early singing career with the Famous Flames, and his performance at the potentially riotous tribute to Martin Luther King in 1968 – all interspersed with ineffective interludes of Brown (Chadwick Boseman) addressing the camera.
It’s Brown’s electrifying music and Boseman’s compelling performance that unites this fitfully successful film, that’s as convulsive and mercurial as the star himself – just not as compelling. While Boseman perfectly captures Brown’s strut, swagger and ruthless determination across the years, Taylor sanitises the more nettlesome chapters of his story. While Brown’s nasty temper and the betrayal of his best friend Bobby Byrd (Nelsan Ellis, terrific) is neatly accounted for, the singer’s addiction, domestic violence, jail time and questionable political affiliations are whitewashed – if not ignored.
The stage performances are incredible, as Boseman brilliantly summons Brown’s raw spirit.
But for a film about defying convention, challenging audiences and injecting life and funk into art, Taylor’s film stays disappointingly on-beat.

IN CINEMAS NOVEMBER 21.