There's something a little more than ironic, not to mention ever so slightly disrespectful, about Elvis Presley's somewhat legendary affection for peanut butter and banana and, sometimes, bacon sandwiches still popping up every now and then in conversations about him.
More mash on that momentito.
Hannah Bonner is a poetry editor, author and literary critic whose work has appeared, among other here and theres, in the Cleveland Review of Books and Los Angeles Review of Books
Interestingly, she lives in Iowa. Which I mention only by way of observing that time and technology have made it unnecessary to reside in Rome in order to do what Romans do.
And, truth be told, I mention THAT only by way of indulging my enjoyment of showing off how alliterative I can be if that's my mood of the moment.
You might call that self-indulgent. I would counter with "witty and urbane".
Let's meet in the middle and call it whimsical.
And, admittedly, off point.
Meanwhile, let's rejoin Hannah Bonner, already in progress.
Iowa's respected reviewer of others' visions and verses has published, online, an analysis of Sofia Coppola's 2023 film of Priscilla Presley's 1985 memoir entitled, with nary a word wasted, "Elvis and Me"
Coppola carries on the tradition of word economy, the film entitled...
"Priscilla".
Credit where due, neither Ms. Beaulieu Presley nor Ms. Coppola can be accused of verbosity with titles that irrefutably cut to the chase. At the same time, it occurs that Francis Ford's once maligned actress turned respected film maker daughter took either a risk, of sorts, or a leap of faith, so to speak, in naming the film as she did, given that while 'Priscilla' is oh so most familiar and heart embedded in the lifetime members of the Elvis Aaron Association of Adoration, it's not exactly a household name, let alone a "brand" that can count on big sales from the git go. In the tradition of, say, "Cher"....or "Ringo"...or...for the youngers in our studio audience..."Adele".
Or for the even youngers in our studio audience....
"Taylor".
Bonner's review/critique/analysis is admittedly articulate. At the same time, what she articulates is less an overview of the content of the film than a review of the methodology Coppola employs to present it.
An excerpt:
Coppola’s acute focus on clothes, makeup, hair, and period specific props distills both the potency of Elvis and Priscilla’s passion, as well as Elvis’s predisposition to violent outbursts and popping Dexedrine. After exiting the theater, I don’t meditate on Elvis’s drug addiction or the sexual politics of women in the 1960s, but I do long for a pink sweater set, a Polaroid camera, or a red Corvair. William Carlos Williams wrote, “no idea but in things.” Beautiful things are Coppola’s métier. The audience is ultimately left with a very pretty film that is as diaphanous and insubstantial as a chiffon scarf.
Coppola’s oeuvre post-Lost in Translation (2003) recurrently poses the same problem for spectators: how to contend with these films that are exquisite to look at but decidedly devoid of emotional substance, political intervention, or formal innovation?
Put less verbosely, Bonner offers that what Coppola is offering is a relatively empty box covered in an eye catching wrapping.
In fairness, the term "empty box" is arguably an exaggeration. A life as 'star studded' and 'ill-fated' as the life of 'the King' can hardly be correctly labeled as empty.
And Bonner's take on the movie makes a significant number of points.
From this seat in the balcony, though, an essential, if not key, point is either overlooked...or dismissed entirely.
That point being that the box is far from empty. But what's in the box? Well, no one wants to blaspheme a legend, let alone an icon. But if the hard truth must be spoken, then let it be spoken here.
It comes in the form of two words.
Old.
News.
And before the passionately loyal villagers of the sacred Graceland adorn themselves with their cherished gold "TCB" medallions, lift their eternally flaming torches and hit the streets in search of he who betrays the King (or, surely more practically, hits the Google in search of this writer's IP address to have it seized), grant me a few moments of "hear me out."
It's certain that that there is little, if any thing, in the way of Elvis facts, stats and/or minutiae that those most passionate of loyal villagers don't already know. And, understandably, hold near and dear to their hearts.
And given the tonnage of articles, books (both scholarly and "tell-all"), documentaries and motion pictures (both scholarly and "wow, is that really Forrest Gump playing the Colonel?") that have been published, produced and presented since the mid 1950's (not to mention the tidal wave since his death in 1977...and, what seems to many, the tsunami that has come washing ashore in the last three to five years), it's not outlandish or even gently unreasonable to offer that even the most everyday, average fan of the timeless tunesmith from Tupelo very possibly knows more about him than they ever imagined they might need, or even want, to know.
All of that taken into consideration, indulge me a fair to middlin' metaphor.
If, for whatever reason, you were faced with having to gift that special someone in your life, come Christmas morning, with the same gift you gave them last year...and the year before that...and the year before that....you would, of course, be faced with only one way to make that gift "special".
Wrap it differently.
For those who need a metaphor "Cliff Notes"....
Everything there is to know about Elvis, Priscilla, Lisa Marie, Col. Tom, Gladys, Vernon, Jesse Garon and/or the cast of thousands residing in the hard drive folder labled "Presley" is that gift that keeps on giving...and continues to be given.
That folder...is, at any given time, the latest article, book, documentary and/or motion picture.
And the wrapping?
That's the 'take', 'angle', 'style', even 'spin'.
Scholarly or 'wow'.
And, at this writing, Priscilla Presley's 1988 memoir gifted to the motion picture audience by Sofia Coppola's 2023 film interpretation.
Reviewed/critiqued/analyzed by Hannah Bonner.
Who, tactfully, gently, even lovingly, points out a perspective that, in another context, Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young sang in their 1970 album title track, "Deja Vu".
"we have all been here before / we have all been here before"
Which leaves us with a noticeable stack of 'maybe's.
Maybe it's worth seriously considering that there is nothing seriously lacking in "Priscilla".
Maybe it's just that there's nothing new, let alone revelatory, in the story...or the telling of it.
Maybe it's possible, even likely, that faced with trying to tell a story that has been told and re-told and re-told and....you get the idea....that Sofia Coppola, if only sub-consciously, went to her "go-to" style of presentation resulting, inevitably, in a film "exquisite"...but..."decidedly devoid of emotional substance, political intervention, or formal innovation"
Maybe it's time to think about the fact that
Elvis died in 1977 and that was, at this writing, forty six years ago
and, doing the math, that means that he has been gone four years longer
than the entire time he lived on this Earth.
Maybe it's time to realize that it's entirely possible that the lack of bing, bang, boom, pizzazz or any other zip and zing adjective that comes to mind is simply, respectfully...even poignantly....a symptom of "Elvis fatigue".
It's not that we don't love a delicious treat.
It's just that we've had one served to us every couple of days.
For as long as we can remember.
A very special treat, as a matter of fact.
A peanut butter and banana and, sometimes, bacon sandwich.
Known in books and recipe collections the world over as....
The Elvis.
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