When piano-playing Vegas sensation and all round American entertainer Liberace (Michael Douglas) finds that his new live-in lover, Scott Thorson (Matt Damon), is bisexual, he responds by saying, “Good for you – I wish I could be that flexible.” For these sort of snappy camp comebacks alone, of which the first half of the film contains plenty, Behind the Candelabra is enjoyable enough. What really makes the film, however, is the performances of its two leads.
Director Soderbergh lays out a familiar Hollywood tale, that of the wide-eyed ingénue (although gay bar-cruising Thorson is hardly an innocent) who’s swept into a decadent monied realm that almost destroys him, warping his character into the realms of the grotesque – as well as, via plastic surgery, his features. Eventually, of course, comeuppance arrives. The nether world that swallows Thorson is Liberace’s hidden life in the late Seventies and early Eighties. Carefully represented to the media as a heterosexual man by his manager Seymour Heller (admirably underplayed by Dan Ackroyd), behind closed doors Liberace lives in an ultra-kitsch wonderland of little pet dogs, rhinestones and a revolving carousel of young “assistants” (as well as his wonderfully fruity, none-gayer “houseboy” Carlucci, a notable turn by Bruce Ramsay).
Dr Startz is a fantastic cameo by Rob Lowe, his face stretched into an immobile cosmetic surgery nightmare mask
Michael Douglas, from the moment he appears, his wide brown eyes aglow with a creepy, childlike eagerness, completely makes the viewer forget the tedious era when he was the saggy-arsed thriller hero du jour. Over the last decade he’s shown real acting chops but with this film he steps it up a level. Right down to the voice, he captures something of the essence of Liberace. Selfish and manipulative, he is not a sympathetic character but, eventually, when he removes his wig early on, or in the shocking parting scene with Thorson, a pathetic vulnerability rises to the fore. Douglas has never in his career so submersed himself in a character and disappeared.
Matching him pace for pace is Matt Damon, whose Thorson begins as a “blond Adonis”, visibly physically bloats out on the good life, and then starts on a downhill slope of drug-assisted slimming and plastic surgery, the latter to make him look more like Liberace. In this he is assisted by Dr Startz, a fantastic cameo by Rob Lowe, his face stretched into an immobile cosmetic surgery nightmare mask, the camera lingering on him just that tiny moment too long for a smart pinch of extra comedy .
What makes the film good rather than great is that, at two hours long, it overstays its welcome. Primarily this slacking off of interest is due to the section that deals with Thorson’s decent into addiction, confusion and self-hatred. While it’s undoubtedly what happened, it’s told in a way that’s recognizable from too many other films (Boogie Nights, Blow, Goodfellas and so on). Nevertheless, Behind the Candelabra is worthy Oscar bait, and the performances of Douglas and Damon would merit seeing if the film was only a tenth as good.
Overleaf: watch the trailer for Behind the Candelabra
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