It is sad when the most intriguing parts of a film are the vintage cars and hotel carpeting.
It's a shame the makers of this film ever invoked the name of David Bowie. It wasn't required by the script, and at the top of the film it is disclaimed as "mostly fiction."
Johnny Flynn as David Jones/Bowie presents an image I don't associate with Bowie: childish, kind of stupid, lacking direction or drive. We take a really long road trip with him and his road manager, and his flashbacks and daydreams add up to nothing much. I feel for Flynn. I think his role is poorly written and misdirected.
Mark Maron does a fine job as Oberman, Bowie's road manager. Perhaps the story would have been interesting told from hisp erspective -- what he saw and heard. Instead, the film tells about things it doesn't seem to know much about. It's mostly surface.
The parade of anecdotes lead nowhere, several music writers pass through to little effect.
Jena Malone delivers, but her wig is bad and distracting... and what happened to the big bump in her dress? I guess we'll never know. Nothing unites her character while pregnant with the slender post-birth iteration.
This film does not excel at complete ideas.
