Born in the rural South in 1933 and abandoned by his parents (Davis and James), James (Boseman) is raised by Aunt Honey (Spencer) in her brothel. In prison at 16 for stealing a suit, he meets visiting gospel musician Bobby Byrd (Ellis), who takes him in on his release. They form The Famous Flames, recording hits through the 1950s and 60s. Then shooting-star James goes solo in the 70s, but things fall apart for the usual reasons: money and drugs, plus guns. In the 1990s, he manages to pull himself together for a comeback.

The film ricochets around Brown's life without narrative flow; the movie is a series of scenes that create a general impression of Brown's fiery presence and razor-sharp genius. As the audience works to slot each element into some sort of chronology, there are quite a few major gaps in the story. This is a cinematic celebration of an icon, not a detailed narrative about him. But this means that it's impossible to get a sense of how his life developed.

Boseman is terrific, playing Brown over a span of 40 years with an extraordinary sense of physicality (and very good make-up). He's better looking than Brown, which helps add a blast of charisma. He's also the only thread that holds the film together, and the emotional core is Brown's relationship with Byrd, a strongly resonant performance by Ellis that captures a mixture of admiration, loyalty, frustration and jealousy.

Taylor takes an ambitious directing approach, with lots of artful flourishes that help build some thematic tension. But the Butterworths' script never quite cracks the surface, portraying Brown's troubled past as something that's almost irrelevant to the high-flying star he became. Aside from one stylised toe-tapping church scene, there's no sense of where Brown found inspiration. His genius was so singular that this feels like an odd omission. But maybe that's the point: there's never been anyone like him.

themes, language, violence, sexuality, drugs

3.Nov.14