A Journey Through Elvis and the Power of Fandom
Watching Baz Luhrmann’s new movie, EPiC: Elvis Presley in Concert, I found myself reflecting on the complex relationship between my heroes and the values they represent. While Elvis’s music is undeniably iconic, not all of his lyrics align with modern sensibilities. For instance, A Little Less Conversation features a catchy tune but presents a rather outdated perspective on relationships, suggesting that a romantic partner should stop offering opinions and instead remove her clothing. In my experience, this line of reasoning is unlikely to lead to a successful outcome.
Similarly, Suspicious Minds raises questions about the sincerity of its lyrics. The song seems to imply that if Elvis is as innocent as he claims, why is he so anxious about his late-night activities? It makes sense that his partner would be suspicious. Then there’s Always on My Mind, which suggests that mistreating a loved one is acceptable as long as occasional thoughts are spared. This kind of sentiment feels deeply problematic.
I’m glad that Kissin’ Cousins wasn’t included in the film, with its somewhat inappropriate lyrics: “She’s a distant cousin, but she’s not too distant with me.” These lines highlight how some of Elvis’s earlier work may not stand up to contemporary scrutiny.
Despite these observations, watching EPiC left me emotional. The film is a mesmerizing compilation of rehearsals and performances, skillfully intercut with Elvis’s own interviews and stage chatter. By the end, I was properly sobbing. When asked what was wrong, I struggled to explain. Suddenly, I was 12 years old again, and Elvis was my protector in what felt like a harsh world.
This emotional response was different from my reaction to Baz’s previous film, Elvis. In that drama, the focus was heavily on the Colonel, played by Tom Hanks. I found it strange that the Colonel was given such prominence, much like making a John Farnham film and focusing on Glenn Wheatley. This time, however, the film centered on Elvis and his musicians, which added to the overall pleasure.
One of the highlights was seeing how much the musicians admired Elvis. Guitarists, drummers, and backup singers often glanced at him with admiration, reminding me of how important he was to me during my formative years.
Teenage fandom is often mocked, from the Bay City Rollers to today’s pop stars. The mania surrounding fandom is frequently seen as delusional—why plaster your bedroom walls with posters or write your hero’s name on your schoolbag? Why scratch their name into your ruler with a compass?
Six decades later, TV networks still show footage of screaming teenage girls greeting The Beatles at Sydney Airport, highlighting how crazy they were. They do the same with Taylor Swift’s fans. However, I believe this misses the point entirely.
The years between childhood and adulthood can be challenging. You’re trying to find your identity, and life at home or school can be difficult. The world can feel full of bullies. You need a club to call your own, some form of armor to protect you from the world. Sometimes, it’s a sports team, an interest in anime, gaming, or fantasy fiction. And sometimes, it’s a singer.
For me, it was Elvis. As a newsagent’s son, I ran an after-school newsstand near the front door of the local shopping centre. It was the only newsstand in the world to stock a big stack of The Daily Mirror, a big stack of The Sun, a middling stack of the Australian Women’s Weekly, and two copies of Elvis Presley Monthly. They never sold, as you might expect, but I was making a point about what I thought was important in the world.
I also had access to every leftover magazine and newspaper, stacked ready for disposal, their front covers or titles sliced off to receive a credit from the publisher. I’d attack them with scissors, clipping out any mention of my hero, Clag-pasting them all into a scrapbook. No mention was too small: the five lines in the TV guide, noting that Viva Las Vegas was the midday movie on Channel Seven, would be clipped, annotated, and filed.
I’m sure anyone who saw my scrapbook thought I was an idiot. I was certainly behind the times: this was the era of David Bowie and Michael Jackson. Elvis’s years as a teenage heartthrob were long gone.
Drying my tears after EPiC, I’m convinced I wasn’t an idiot. I needed a club and I found one. Elvis saved me, which is why I’ll never mock the teenagers screaming their affection for Taylor Swift, Billie Eilish, or Bad Bunny. It’s the enthusiasm for life that matters—the guileless, crazy-brave expression of passion—rather than the individual towards whom that passion is directed.
They are a suit of armour that allows you to go into the world, despite all the perils and pressures of teenage life—and to do so with an open heart. And who wants to mock that?
As Elvis himself might have put it: “Don’t be cruel to a heart that’s true.”
