Film Review: The King

At one point during The King, director Eugene Jarecki turns to crew member Wayne Gerster and asks him if he knows what their film is about. “I don’t know what the hell you’re doing,” Gerster tells Jarecki. “And I’m not sure you know what you’re doing, that’s what’s scary. The rise and fall of Elvis as the rise and fall of America?”

It’s a good guess – and even the clumsiness of the delivery evokes the somewhat clunky nature of this flawed-but-intriguing cinematic essay. Jarecki travels across America in Elvis’ 1963 Rolls Royce Phantom V, with interviewees and musicians sitting in the back, sharing thoughts, tunes and awkward lipsyncs. En route, Jarecki uses Elvis as a symbol for the American Dream – a dream that has only been accessible to a very limited few, and was always dependent on life being a nightmare for many.

What elevates Jarecki’s film above a naively ambitious student project is his access to experts, musicians and, eh, Ashton Kutcher, who all provide insight into the capitalism, corruption and racism that America is built on – with Elvis as a narrative motif.

Elvis’ unprecedented success appropriating the music of black artists becomes the starting point for a discussion of America’s racism. Presley’s misguided desire to act and his subsequent entrapment in a vice-like Hollywood contract evokes Western culture’s obsession with fame and stardom. The singer’s short-lived stint in the army represents the cultural cynicism and political division that the Cold War provoked. And footage documenting Elvis’ descent into addiction and ill-health is juxtaposed with montages of Trump – a country hitting the self-destruct button, again and again.

Some of this is haunting, and much feels like it’s desperately grasping at straws, as subjects like Scientology and the deregulation of Wall Street are mentioned and immediately discarded. Jarecki’s road-trip never reaches answers or a destination, but it’s a curiously diverting ride.

3/5