Joyce Glasser reviews Midas Man (October 30, 2024) Cert 12, 112 mins. PRIME VIDEO
Paul McCartney is quoted at the end of this Brian Epstein biopic saying, ‘If anyone was the fifth Beatle, it was Brian.’ That quote is actually a gross understatement, and the reason why a biopic (this falling on the 90th anniversary of his birth) is overdue. An understatement because Epstein, though not himself musical, was so much more than a fifth Beatle. He was a hit-maker and brilliant promoter and manager (of Cilla Black, Jerry and the Pacemakers and Billy J. Kramer and the Dakotas) without whom we might never have heard of The Beatles.
It’s a shame, then, that Midas Man is not the definitive biopic Epstein needs and deserves. Director Joe Stephenson’s film is absorbing, well-paced and never boring. That’s already an achievement since he is limited by a superficial script from Brigit Grant and restricted by a budget that did not allow any significant Beatle songs.
If McCartney’s description of Epstein as the fifth Beatle was not the whole picture, neither was John Lennon’s suggestion that Epstein’s 1964 autobiography should be entitled “Queer Jew”. (In the end, it was titled A Cellarful of Noise, a line that appears in Petula Clark’s hit song, I Know a Place.)
To its credit, Midas Man manages to devote almost equal time to Epstein the workaholic manager, Epstein the furtive, tortured homosexual at a time when homosexuality was still illegal, and Epstein the troubled son of Harry (Eddie Marsan) a blinkered, conservative father and understanding mother, Queenie (Emily Watson, endearing) in a close-knit, financially secure Jewish family.
Ultimately, as the film shows, Epstein cannot reconcile these three facets of his being, and a pharmacy of pills fails as a long-term solution. In nearly seven thrilling years (1961-1967), Epstein goes from being a successful retailer in his father’s store to a self-made millionaire in the cutthroat, mercurial music business; to a pill popping deal maker, consumed by loneliness, angst and guilt. What seems to drive him is a dedication to his clients, and an uncompromising work and business ethnic.
The beginning is 1959 when 25 year-old Liverpudlian Brian Epstein (a convincing Jacob-Fortune Lloyd) persuades Harry to expand the music department in the family furniture store. Even inveterate Harry sees that under Brian’s management, the store, with “its promise to get any disc from anywhere within five days,” is a success.
When an order comes through for a record traced to Hamburg, Germany, Brian is stuck. His loyal assistant Alistair (Milo Parker) tells him it’s not worth pursuing, but Brian knows the key to the business is what the customers want, not what the store has. He finds out that the group from Hamburg is actually a band from Liverpool and by another coincidence, they are performing at the Cavern Club.
At the Cavern Club Epstein meets a coat-check girl who will also receive the Midas touch: Priscilla White, better known as Cilla Black.
Brian’s reaction to the band is like that of Colonel Tom Parker upon seeing Elvis Presley for the first time (and there the comparison ends). He is listening to the music, sure, but what impresses him is the rapturous reaction of the young female audience.
The filmmakers do a good job casting the Beatles (Blake Richardson as Paul, Jonah Lees as John, Leo Harvey Elledge as George, and Campbell Wallace as Ringo) and ensuring that they never dominate the film.
The scruffy, flippant friends’ first meetings with this well-dressed, upper middle-class businessman with a posh accent from their own city is both humorous and irreverent. But the joking stops when Epstein tells them, with the confidence of Midas himself, that while their current promoter, Allan Williams (an excellent Eddy Izzard) took them to Hamburg, he will take them to New York. Epstein admits that the boys are his first clients but promises to take care of them and work hard for them – for 25%.
And we see how Epstein earns it. In hindsight it is unbelievable that none of the record labels are interested. The head of Decca Records, who knows Epstein as the biggest retail record seller in the country, tells him, ‘you’re wasting your time.’
Finally, when the Beatles are having second thoughts, Epstein visits George Martin (Charlie Palmer Rothwell), head of EMI’s minor Parlophone label. Martin recognises what Epstein does. He makes a few technical suggestions that impress the band, then, privately, offers Epstein a deal provided that Peter Best (Adam Lawrence) is replaced. It’s a deal that marks the end of an era and the start of a phenomenon.
It’s a shame that George Martin (more deservedly called the Fifth Beatle) appears only once in the film. He was the musical counterpart of Epstein, a colossal record producer who was a team with Epstein in churning out Mersey sound hits in the 1960s and continuing to influence the Beatles’ – and many other albums almost until his death in 2016.
Epstein’s private life was less successful. Desperate to escape the dangerous one-night stands on street corners, he seizes a chance on a stable relationship with wannabe American actor John ‘Tex’ Ellington (Ed Speleers) who he meets in a hotel bar. We never learn whether the relationship was one of mutual convenience or based on any kind of love. Did Tex feel abandoned and belittled by a partner out of his league in every way or was he no more than a hustler?
While Stephenson, and the credible Fortune-Lloyd (who captures the essence of Epstein) make us feel Epstein’s exhaustion, and increasing dependency on drugs, the film doesn’t dig deep enough to give us the measure of the man. Instead of revelatory soliloquys, we get a tacky, sporadic narration where Fortune-Lloyd’s Epstein turns to the camera to tell us what we are seeing.