Behind the Candelabra

The New York music critic, Lewis Funke, described Liberace’s piano playing as ‘sentimental as possible…all showmanship topped by whipped cream and cherries.’ To the critics and discerning musical audiences, Liberace was little short of the Anti-Christ – a sort of talented André Rieu. But like Rieu, Liberace was unfazed by the vitriol that came his way. He gave a large swathe of the public – mainly blue rinse women of a certain age – exactly what they wanted, made no apology for it, and profited handsomely. Famously he responded that, upset at the criticism, ‘I cried all the way to the bank.’ He later amended this to say he went on to buy the bank.

More serious for him was any implied suggestion that he might be ‘a fruit’ as homosexuals were then often disparagingly called.

In 1959, Cassandra in the British Daily Mirror, described Liberace as being “…the summit of sex – the pinnacle of masculine, feminine, and neuter. Everything that he, she, and it can ever want…a deadly, winking, sniggering, snuggling, chromium-plated, scent-impregnated, luminous, quivering, giggling, fruit-flavoured, mincing, ice-covered heap of mother love.” Liberace sued for the implication and won the case, perjuring himself in the London High Court by denying his sexuality.

It seems incredible now that anyone could have been in doubt as to Liberace’s sexuality. Times were different then and by the mores of that era, Liberace had to ensure that his loyal fan base was deceived. Were the truth to have emerged, his career would have been ruined and he liable for criminal prosecution.

 Behind the Candelabra, as the title suggests, looks at Liberace’s rather seedy and debauched private life from the 1970s when he was in his late 50s. His career had long since peaked but he could still command massive fees and audiences for his Las Vegas shows full of chintz, glitz and glamour.

The film follows a standard, slightly old-fashioned, biopic formula not so different from The Glenn Miller Story of nearly sixty years hence. It details Liberace’s relationship with a much younger man who he inveigles into his life as chauffeur, secretary, companion and lover, eventually and inevitably boring of him and moving onto someone new and younger.

Neither of the main protagonists, Liberace (Michael Douglas) or his young lover Scott Thorson (Matt Damon), present as sympathetic figures – Liberace is portrayed as a manipulative ogre, petulant and spoilt in a manner unique to someone to whom nobody ever says no. Thorson is a chancer and user, happy to live a useless, lazy lifestyle as the toy-boy of a wealthy golden daddy, stealing from him as his drug habit spirals out of control.

What raises the film above the ordinary is an ensemble cast whose acting and delivery without exception is supreme. Michael Douglas gives a pitch perfect portrayal as the ageing lothario. In the few scenes showing Liberace performing, he radiates the man’s stage presence and charisma, contrasting his far from edifying off-stage persona. Douglas’s miming of piano playing is also good though not always well synchronised. It is unfortunate that the film was not released to theatres in the United States, showing only on television, thus precluding Douglas from receiving an Oscar nomination which would be well deserved.

Matt Damon, although far older than Scott Thorson at the time of his relationship, matches Douglas nicely as he moves from youthful naïvety to embittered and worthless gigolo. I’ve been less than kind about Damon’s acting in the past when he did little more than recite lines. But he now seems incapable of putting in anything other than a strong showing.

Though the film concentrates on Douglas and Damon, there is still plenty of opportunity for great cameos from a few well known faces. Dan Ackroyd has fun as Liberace’s manager; the veteran Debbie Reynolds likewise as the devoted mother. Funnier still is Rob Lowe as plastic surgeon to the stars, Dr Jack Startz. Lowe’s face is pinched, taut and lifeless resembling an Afghan Hound, personifying the specious vanity in trying to hold back the years.

If Steven Soderbergh is to be believed, this is his last film after a 25 year career as a director. Should it be that he has lost the passion and has nothing more to contribute, then so be it. But I hope that proves not to be the case. Soderbergh has made some great films since his debut with Sex, Lies and Videotape; earlier this year his thriller Side Effects was a fine example of that genre. Let’s hope he has a nice sabbatical and returns refreshed. Hollywood can ill afford to lose his talent.

3.5 stars

Tim Meade