Girl You Know It's True

In 1988 and 1989, one of the most popular singers in the UK charts was Australian pop ingenue Kylie Minogue. She was never my thing, but many of my peers adored her, and in April 1990 I was surprised to hear one of them, who had been a devoted fan, ranting about how awful she was. When I asked what had changed, she said that she’d been to see her live and realised that she couldn’t sing at all. The rest of those present at the time laughed, not without sympathy, but because we were amused by the fact that a record company which should have known better had given way to an obviously over-produced kid who had demanded the right to perform live on tour. That was seven months before the lip-syncing scandal that would end the career of another popular pop act, and a consistent chart-topper in the US, Milli Vanilli.

Taking its name from a song whose title prompted people to raise eyebrows at the time, Simon Verhoeven’s comedic yet poignant biopic makes a good case for the contention that the German band’s only real mistake was honesty. Stopping just short of making any explicit accusations about other bands, it makes it pretty clear that they were, at worst, just an extreme case of what the industry at the time revolved around: manufactured pop. To be a successful pop product in an intensely competitive market takes a number of things: a willingness to work hard, compliance, songwriting talent, musical or vocal talent, the ability to dance, good looks and charisma. It’s rare to find all those things in one package, so if one finds most of them, the temptation to route around what’s missing is understandable. As Rob Pilatus (Tijan Njie) and Fab Morvan (Elan Ben Ali) keep reassuring each other, the business is about performance, and they are only giving the public what it wants.

Narrated by the fictionalised Rob and Fab themselves, the film pay lip service to standard biopic conventions, skimming briefly through childhood (where Rob feels out of place as the only Black kid in a white German family and neighbourhood) and taking in their first meeting at a dance audition (where Fab confesses that he left Paris to be somewhere where his appearance would stand out more) before charging at pace into the main story. This involves their fateful meeting with record producer Frank Farian (Matthias Schweighöfer), the man behind the ‘discovery’ of Boney M (there is a brief nod to accusations that he bent the rules in creating their sound, too). Out of their element in a country house where he feeds them potato soup, they are, like dozens of ambitious young things before them, quickly talked into signing a record contract which they don’t fully understand. Everything else flows from there.

Frank is, he says, looking not for musicians but for stars – and he has found them. So has Verhoeven, who should be congratulated on his casting. Njie and Ali embrace their roles with gusto. They have great chemistry and are impressive in their ability to capture the physicality of Rob and Fab – whose dance skills were fully deserving of the praise they got – as well as their easygoing charisma. Njie has the more difficult task of convincing as a hopeless would-be singer, prompting the suggestion by my viewing companion, fellow Eye For Film writer Max Crawford, that it would have been funnier if he had been dubbed over by somebody who couldn’t sing. There is a nice acknowledgement of the layered artificiality of the whole thing at the end, but one hopes that these two – who also have impressive comic timing and convince as actors – will go far on the strength of their work here.

The film would make for stressful viewing if it were focused wholly on impending disaster. Fortunately Verheoeven recognises this, and his light comedy – with a very European flavour that one hopes Americans will get – elevates the mood. So does the pop duo’s sense of fun, as they reckon they should enjoy themselves as much as they can whilst the opportunity lasts. Cocaine fuelled pool parties with groupies, cruising around Hollywood in a Ferrari and dressing up in ever more outré designer gear are par for the course, but there are some endearing touches, such as Fab’s first encounter with a hotel mini-bar and their mutual love of sushi. Lest all this distract too much from the plot, it is interwoven with scenes showing the frantic efforts of their production companies to keep them out of trouble. Watching this struggle is so entertaining that it might take you a second to recognise the other side of it – the continual covering-up for their obviously artificial act, which the same people will go on to deny having any knowledge of, essentially hanging them out to dry.

The film doesn’t always get period details right – nobody said ‘awesome’ in 1990 – but it is seasoned with great tunes from the era, so watching a film about a fake band won’t leave you feeling musically deprived. The dramatic elements are also well handled, contrasting Fab’s phone calls to his loving but cynical mother, who doesn’t even know what MTV is, with Ron’s experiences of family rejection, longing to connect and increasing dependence on their bond. The slow downward spiral of Rob’s mental health is all too clear if you’re paying attention, yet it’s also easy to see how others miss it, surrounded by constant distractions.

Verhoeven’s direction is impressive in the context of these different moods and the visual chaos created by much of the subject matter. There are some really nice scene transitions and a slick look to the Hollywood scenes which contrasts with the soft warmth of those set in the German countryside and with a suddenly rougher look when the dream ultimately collapses. It’s nice to see this level of care going into a film which could easily have got by on subject matter alone. More than just the Milli Vanilli story, this is a well constructed piece of cinema and a pleasure to watch.