I CAN’T THINK of a better summation of Nowhere Boy than the one David Thomson (whose new edition of A Biographical Dictionary of Film just arrived) gave Eyes Wide Shut: “Everyone wants to see this film—until they see it.” Nowhere Boy commences with the famous mutant G chord from the song “A Hard Day’s Night” before getting wrapped up into John Lennon’s 16th year in suburban Liverpool. John (Aaron Johnson) has a cozy life with his chummy uncle and his Aunt Mimi (Kristin-Scott Thomas). When the former dies, Mimi becomes severe and cold.
That’s when John’s estranged mother, Julia (Anne-Marie Duff), reappears. The young mother, a flirt and a primper, introduces John to Elvis and other rock & rollers and gives him his first lesson on a banjo. Headmasters try to cane the wickedness out of Lennon, but he becomes a truant anyway, haunting the local woods and boosting 45 RPM records from the stores.
Director Sam Taylor-Wood runs with the dichotomy. On wonders if a parallel biopic, with some of the other Beatles, would have been more dynamic. What’s here is the fight over Lennon’s soul between the ice-cold Mimi and mother Julia, with her colored nails. Julia’s behavior to her son is what they nowadays call “inappropriate,” which gives Lennon’s story an interesting angle: Was being raised by women key to his success? However, Duff gives the impression generally made by stage actors in lead film roles. They seem like sprinters capable of five or 10 vivid minutes before the repetition begins.
Nowhere Boy is more like a Hamlet in which the young prince has a stern aunt instead of an uncle. Luckily, the art direction begins to take over, and we can zone out over that. Julia’s house looks like a vintage toy shop where even the wallpaper deserves a title credit. Meanwhile Lennon meets the small, fragile Paul McCartney (Thomas Sangster) for the beginning of a conflict-laden friendship. Johnson is handsome but clearly without the Adonis quality of the real man. David Morrissey exhibits a Jack Palance-worthy heaviness as Julie’s live-in, though the performance never builds to anything more than some scowls.
The keenest disappointment is the dialogue. Here is none of the play of words one hears in Terence Davies films about that particular place and time. One quick exception is a passing comment from a Blackpool tea shop waitress turning down a fancy request, “You’ve confused us with Buckingham Palace, luv; it’s easily done.” Nowhere Boy has neither the music of Liverpool speech nor the Beatles music itself. Inevitably, Lennon’s therapy session in musical form, “Mother,” is the wrap-up. The movie agrees with him, shaking a finger at pretty, disorderly Julia.
(R; 98 min.)
