★★★☆
“If you’re gonna tell a story, come with some attitude, man.”
That’s the opening statement from a film in which Don Cheadle writes, directs, produces and stars as Miles Davis. You could say the man practises what he preaches. Wish he’d thought of a better title while he was at it.
During a period of silence and inactivity, Miles is festering in isolation, barely picking up his trumpet. When a presumptuous journalist, Dave Brill (Ewan McGregor), arrives to write the story that will herald Davis’ comeback, it sparks a series of events that sees the pair thrust into confrontation with record labels, criminal elements, and the weight of Miles’ legacy.
Much like the modal jazz for which Davis is known, Cheadle’s story is freewheeling and wild. The biography dives back and forward between three different periods of time with refreshing nonchalance, always keeping firmly focused on the man and his music.
It’s doubtlessly a vehicle for Cheadle’s formidable talents – in all roles, he excels, but as Davis, he glowers with remarkable malice. This is Miles the gangster more than Miles the muso – a drug-addled, gun-toting pugilist who flaunts his reputation the way a bent cop flaunts his badge. What impresses most is that the Davis estate signed off on the film despite its often degradingly honest representations of the man behind the myth.
The lens is framed around Miles and his relationships with two key figures: Brill, an easy role for McGregor; and Davis’ estranged wife and muse, Frances Taylor (Emayatzy Corinealdi). As musician and reporter build rapport across the film, they develop an ease in each others’ presence, which sadly is not afforded to Corinealdi – her role is more set dressing than character. Fortunately, the actress brings power and sincerity to the short time she has on screen; her aura permeates the film.
When embracing chaos, the freeform structure is at its peak. Car chases, gunfights and drunken brawls emerging wholly unexpected keep the tempo up. There’s always a new jazz aesthetic to introduce and keep us grounded in Davis’ world, including compositions by the overachieving Cheadle himself. Is that him playing the trumpet in that scene? Goddamn, yes it is.
That said, there’s something unsatisfying to the conclusion. Davis’ immortality overlooks his brutality to Taylor, and the coda lacks consequence for the violent antics of the film’s climax. Most biopics suffer from this same symptom: they are crippled by devotion to the mythos of their subject.
Reflecting the soul of the music in the film’s construction, Cheadle surpasses expectations with a thrilling take on a genre great, overflowing with attitude.
Miles Aheadis in cinemas now.
