The film furthermore attempts as honest an account as possible of Nilsson’s post-strings-and-standards decline, and its judicious use of late-’70s and ’80s album tracks constructs an admirably revisionist case for his later releases (though, curiously, his final record Flash Harry, never issued in the U.S., is ignored entirely despite featuring a persuasive return to form). And every tale of drunken hubris—my favorite involves Nilsson and John Lennon mercilessly heckling a Smothers Brothers concert—is balanced by proof of his continuing inner sweetness, an attribute exercised most indelibly toward his third wife, Una. But while the glut of conjecture confirms Nilsson’s two-fisted cognac-and-tobacco reputation, we feel ourselves futilely circling the perimeter of his pain and confusion without fully grasping its nuance. Without the eyewitness of bosom buddy Ringo (who declined to participate), we may never know what was flashing with fury underneath that tweed urban cap; words from Yoko Ono, whom Lennon abandoned during the “Lost Weekend” that resulted in Nilsson’s gloriously scorched-voice misfire Pussy Cats, seem little more than tangentially relevant. Close friend Richard Perry, whose iron jew-fro’d production methods allowed Nilsson to achieve his most quintessential moments (the playfully one-chord “Coconut” and the blithe, anthemic “The Lottery Song”) provides the frankest perspective, and he still harbors disbelief over their abrupt parting.
It’s perhaps the most appropriate tribute to Nilsson’s wily, ineffable nature that the documentary should ultimately fail to capture his essence, but the linear structure is too consciously at odds with his kaleidoscopic output and unpredictable demeanor; the movie would rather blinkingly dismiss Nilsson’s behavior as “just Harry” with a sigh and an eye roll than dare to synchronize its rhythm with his challenging personality. Even the irritatingly twee title—a reference to his biggest hit, a rollicking cover of Fred Neil’s “Everybody’s Talkin’” that was memorably featured in Midnight Cowboy—misses the core of Nilsson’s old-fashioned funny bone; cheekily passive-aggressive and unwaveringly brutal at the same time, Nilsson could compare the earth to a woman who deserved to be randily seduced (“The Most Beautiful World in the World”). These errata make Who Is Harry Nilsson an adequate if off-the-mark and overlong introduction for casual fans, but they’re likely to alienate rabid devotees who’ve already heard all the early acetates via invaluable blog-shrines like For the Love of Harry. It almost makes one wish for a fictionalized version of the Nilsson story; a proper showcase for these immortal tunes would have to be, like Harry, unhinged, deliquescent, and fatally flawed.
Posted from: https://www.slantmagazine.com/film/who-is-harry-nilsson-and-why-is-everybody-talkin-about-him/
