Whose Lives Are They Anyway? The Biopic as Contemporary Film Genre (review)

Just what is a biopic and why has its status as a genre been dismissed? Dennis Bingham's comprehensive 432-page study Whose Lives Are They Anyway? attempts to answer these questions through a detailed reading of biopics of the twentieth century. Drawing on previous scholarship, contemporary film theory, and ideas of the modern, Bingham provides an analysis divided between the historical and theoretical. Addressing matters of genre, gender, and form, he considers the mainstream and independent movies that present biographical stories. Whether it is Lawrence of Arabia, Malcolm X, or Erin Brockovich, Bingham highlights the elements of the biopic that make it a compelling movie genre formerly dismissed, if not overlooked, because of its clichés.

Bingham clearly has an agenda: to overcome misconceptions of the biopic and the resistance of film studies to recognize it as a valid genre with its own conventions and history. He seeks to show the value of the form: that it is not only vital but essential in any discussion of film and equal in importance to the musical, western, or film noir. In a clear and convincing style, he addresses the issues that have impeded reception of the form at the same time he praises what the genre both reveals and conceals. What he wants readers to accept is that "the heart of the biopic is the urge to dramatize actuality" and that such an act does not undermine the validity of the biographical story (10). Late in his study he explains that the most "misunderstood aspect of the biopic, after its mistaken conflation with documentary history, may be that it leads us to identify with people who strive to identify themselves—as artists, as writers, as statesmen" (378). This useful summation suggests some of the pros and cons of the genre, but Bingham goes further, suggesting that the construction of such films is, in fact, a reflection of the very desires if not goals of the culture. Our times encourage individual ambition, and we want films that reflect such achievement.

In clear and jargon-free language, supported by useful infusions of theory, he explores the unique problems of telling lives convincingly in film. Drawing partly from George F. Custen's important 1992 study Bio/Pics: How Hollywood Constructed Public History (New Brunswick: Rutgers UP, 1992), Bingham expands Custen's argument and illustrations by showing how the biopic mimics historical fiction while confronting the problems of actuality and representation. Of particular importance is the constant subversion of the genre by biopics of the last two decades, which consciously and reflexively challenge the patterns and conventions of earlier works.

Bingham does not overlook the history of the form and the role of the studios. He clearly shows that the biopic is a category that has been associated from early days with the Hollywood studio era when biographies were among their staples, most notably with MGM, Warner Brothers, and Twentieth Century Fox. But almost from the start, the form was thought to be pedestrian and false. Such films falsified reality, substituting escapism for history, notable even in one of the earliest films, Adolph Zukor's 1912 presentation of Sarah Bernhardt as Queen Elizabeth.

The revival of the biopic occurred in the eighties, Bingham believes, while the seventies were its low ebb. One of the reasons for the revival was the shift of the biopic from the producer to the director, the auteur. Raging Bull, The Last Emperor, Tucker, and Malcolm X confirmed that the biopic had become the director's genre. The uniqueness of each film derived from the director's vision: Scorsese, Bertolucci, Coppola, Spike Lee. Bingham also notes that in the list of 100 greatest American films released by the American Film Institute in 1998, the only film from the 1990s to make it to the top ten was a biopic: Shindler's List. But re-issued in 2007, the list included three biographies among the top ten: Raging Bull (four), Lawrence...