Underrated Biopics That Deserve A Spot In The History Books

Few Hollywood collaborations have been as fruitful as the one between Tim Burton and Johnny Depp. From the 1980s into the 2000s, they each brought something unique out of the other. In Ed Wood, for example, their extraordinary creative partnership brought out the unique vision and life of Ed Wood, a cult filmmaker whose own artistic vision was, in its own way, as strange as Burton’s. In Depp’s capable hands, Wood - sometimes seen as one of the worst director’s in American film history - becomes more than just a caricature or a failed filmmaker. Instead, he is the epitome of American optimism, always willing to try something new in his pursuit of cinematic artistry and the success that always seemed to elude him. The film also explores his friendship with Bela Lugosi and, in this sense, is something of an expression of Burton’s own friendship with Depp.

Infamous for saying starving peasants should “eat cake” (even though she said no such thing), Marie Antoinette has exerted a pull on the imagination since her execution. In Sofia Coppola’s film of the same name, in which she is portrayed by Kirsten Dunst, she emerges as a young woman doing her best to find her way in the ornate and bewildering French court. When, at last, she ascends the throne, she at last finds a measure of happiness, only for it to come crumbling down around her in the violence of the French Revolution. The film is a stylistic delight – though its jarring musical choices perplexed some viewers – and Dunst brings out both the vulnerability and the inner strength of one of France’s most famous queens. Like all good biopics, it allows the modern viewer to gain a more sympathetic understanding of this much-maligned monarch and the tremendous pressures she faced.

Andy Kaufman had a comedic genius all his own, and it would take a formidable acting talent to capture his complex persona. Fortunately, Man on the Moon found exactly that talent. The film starred Jim Carrey at the height of his own career and comedic powers. In many ways, the film is a traditional biopic, with the familiar story beats one expects of the genre. It is, in fact, Carrey’s performance that helps to elevate it above the crowd of similar films. Thanks to Carrey's signature expressive face – and his ability to capture so many of Kaufman’s notable mannerisms and behaviors – this is the type of film designed to make the viewer feel as if they are actually watching the real man rather than someone playing a role.

The 1930s was a particularly rich decade for the biopic, as Hollywood discovered how lucrative it could be to dramatize the lives of famous people. There are few American presidents more renowned and beloved than Abraham Lincoln, portrayed by a very young Henry Fonda in this film. It focuses in particular on the first case he tried, in which he used an almanac to prove the real culprit in a murder. Fonda’s performance is definitely the film’s highlight, as he brings out Lincoln's fiery intensity and his steadfast belief in justice. Just as importantly, however, John Ford’s inspired direction imbues the film with a Western aesthetic, which helps solidify the viewer’s sense of witnessing a true hero of the American frontier.

Throughout his career, Tom Hardy has won widespread and deserved praise for his ability to lose himself in a variety of roles. He has, moreover, proved very skilled at appearing in films that explore conventions of masculinity. In Bronson, for example, he plays the notorious Michael Gordon Peterson, better known as Charles Bronson, who came to be seen as one of the most violent criminals in the UK. There’s no doubt Bronson is bolstered by Hardy’s performance, and he excels at bringing out the brutal violence for which the title character has become so famous. What’s more, the film declines to provide viewers with any sort of redemption narrative for its character or explanation for his actions. He is, when all is said and done, an evil man capable of brutal acts, nothing more and nothing less.

Few French singers have become quite as famous as Edith Piaf, whose signature song, “La Vie en Rose,” not only provides the title to her biopic but has also elevated her into immortality. In this film, she is portrayed by Marion Cotillard, in a performance widely lauded both at the time and since. She brings a fierce authenticity to her depiction, and her physical similarity to Piaf makes her delivery even more evocative. The film is like a tapestry, weaving together the extraordinary strands of this virtuoso’s life story. In fact, La Vie en Rose allows the viewer to appreciate how joy and tragedy were often simultaneously in the singer’s life, which only makes her musical accomplishments even more luminescent.

The musical biopic has long been one of the most popular and successful subgenres of the form. There is, it seems, something particularly fascinating about watching creative genius at work. In Bird, for example, the viewer gains insight into the musical skills of Charlie “Bird” Parker, who died tragically early at the age of 34. His early death allows the film to explore his life in full, from his childhood onward, and it is anchored by Forest Whitaker’s powerful performance as Parker. Furthermore, director Clint Eastwood brings his practiced hand to bear, and he achieves the remarkable feat of making the viewer feel as if they are truly immersed in Parker’s world, bearing witness to his extraordinary life as it unfolds.

The mark of any successful biopic is its ability to fictionalize not for the sake of changing history but, instead, to help bring out something profound about its subject. This is a task The Hurricane accomplishes with remarkable skill. Starring Denzel Washington as Rubin “The Hurricane” Carter, a boxer wrongfully convicted of three murders and sent to prison, the film also focuses on his time in prison and his eventual release thanks to the efforts of a Brooklyn teenager. Ultimately, despite the film's liberties with the facts, it is Washington’s searing performance that elevates the film to truly great status. He allows the viewer to understand the rage seething beneath Carter’s surface, even as he also demonstrates the fundamental nobility of spirit which allows him to not entirely lose himself to the darkness.

American culture has long had a fascination with outlaws, and a particular glamor has long attached itself to Jesse James. In fact, his death at the hands of Robert Ford has been dramatized many times, most notably in The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford. Anchored by powerful, dynamic performances from Brad Pitt and Casey Affleck, it is a Western which, in true genre fashion, explores the fraught, quasi-erotic relationship between the two men of the title. In particular, it is an examination of America’s fascination with celebrity and the toxic, and deadly, forms such obsession can take. The film’s epic scope and running time grants it a weighty gravitas not always seen in the biopic.

The comedic style of Lenny Bruce was one designed to be abrasive and harsh. In fact, he was infamous for pushing the boundaries of what could and couldn’t be said in comedy. This biopic, directed by none other than the great Bob Fosse (known for both his choreography and for directing the film version of Cabaret) is a stylish and exquisitely framed telling of Bruce’s life. As is so often the case, however, it’s the casting that is the film's true strength. Dustin Hoffman not only looks like Bruce, he seems to inhabit him. As a result, he brings out the fierce energy of this extraordinary comedic talent. The film’s structure also has shades of Citizen Kane in it, as it pieces together his life from those who knew him.

Though the Western is often seen as the quintessential American genre, a number of other national cinemas have also taken up the form. True History of the Kelly Gang, for example, is a strong example of the Australian Western, focusing on Ned Kelly, a famous outlaw and bushranger, one of the last of his kind. Unsurprisingly, the film is something of a lament for the circumstances which led Kelly to become the man he was, a notorious wandering robber who was especially noted for his fatal encounters with police. However, in keeping with the tradition of the Western, it is also an exploration of masculinity, colonialism, and the ways in which colonialism can distort and blight the lives of colonizers and colonized alike. Its dreamlike atmosphere, as well as the rich performance from George MacKay (for whom the film is something of a star vehicle), lends it further emotional appeal.

Though a comic book author’s life might not seem like it would make for a compelling biopic, this is exactly the case with American Splendor, a biopic focusing on the life of comic book writer Harvey Pekar. American Splendor, which is the title of Pekar’s most notable creation, is remarkable for the ease with which it combines live action drama, animation, and documentary. Perhaps most extraordinarily, Pekar himself even appears in the film, discussing in part what it is like to see himself portrayed in a film. There’s no question, though, the extent to which Paul Giamatti’s performance helps to anchor the entire project. As is so often the case with Giamatti, he manages to tease the extraordinary pathos out of an everyman character.

Few biopic subjects are quite as contradictory as Chopper Read, who is widely regarded as one of Australia’s most notorious and violent criminals - who has also become a widely read author. He is, in short, a study in contradictions; rather than trying to resolve all of these into a coherent whole, Chopper leans into the madness. In large part, the film succeeds because of the performance of Eric Bana who, even at this very early point in his career, showed the qualities that would make him a star. It is his strangely charismatic performance that helps to elevate the film and, while it doesn’t provide many, or any, explanations as to why Chopper behaves the way he does, this is actually a good thing.

Few inventors have achieved quite the level of fame as Nikola Tesla. It would take a very rare cinematic talent to capture his essence, but this is just what happens in the film that bears his name, in which he is portrayed by Ethan Hawke. Ironically, though he is the center of the film, Tesla sometimes fades into the background - but this, it seems, is partially the point, given the extent to which Tesla has long been overshadowed by his contemporary and competitor, Thomas Edison. Fortunately, Hawke’s talents as an actor allow him to overcome some of the vagaries inherent in the script and, even if the film doesn’t really answer the question of who Tesla was, Hawke’s performance at least makes him someone the viewer feels as if they know.

Emily Dickinson has proved to be a very prominent figure in popular culture, and in large part this seems to stem from her reclusive nature during her lifetime. One of the more exemplary offerings was Wild Nights with Emily, which stars Molly Shannon as the poet. It is remarkable in part because of its willingness to show Dickinson’s long romantic relationship with a woman, Susan. Though she is best-known for her comedic roles – and while she brings much of this to bear in her portrayal of Dickinson – Shannon also injects a real human warmth into her portrayal of this most enigmatic of literary figures. As a result, Dickinson becomes a warm, flesh-and-blood person, with all of the complexity and messiness this entails.

Throughout his decades-long career, Bob Dylan has been something of a chameleon, always keeping a part of himself out of reach of the public. The film I’m Not There, directed by auteur Todd Haynes, ably captures this ephemeral nature of one of modern music’s most famous figures. In order to capture Dylan’s chimerical nature, several different actors portray him, including Cate Blanchett, Heath Ledger, and Christian Bale. Furthermore, it is told in a non-linear style, which further highlights the ultimate unknowability of its central subjects. While many biopics try to nail down their subject, I’m Not There opts instead to keep the real Dylan steadfastly out of view, and therein lies its brilliance.

One of the more extraordinary aspects of the biopic as a form is its ability to showcase the difference, sometimes quite remarkable, between an artist and their work. This dynamic is very much at play in Mr. Turner, which focuses on the painter J.M.W. Turner, who was famous both in his own time and subsequently for his evocative landscape paintings. In Timothy Spall’s capable hands, he emerges as a very flawed and irascible individual, even as he is capable of creating truly breathtaking works of art. What truly allows the film to stand out, however, is the extent to which it understands the ability of film to capture the magic of art itself, and it achieves what few films can: show the magic involved in creation.

Many of the greatest biopics – even those which have managed to fly under the radar – employ a non-linear style to capture something new and fascinating about their subjects. This is the case with Mishima: A Life in Four Chapters, which explores the life and work of the Japanese writer Yukio Mishima. Though it sometimes struggles to capture the full complexity of its subject and his fascinating life, it does succeed as a film, thanks not only to Paul Schrader’s direction but also the score, which was written by Philip Glass. It’s a sharp and brilliant, searing film, made all the more so by its enigmatic structure. More than anything else, Mishima manages to capture the author’s obsession with the mingling of death and desire.

Though many biopics, particularly those that achieve mainstream success, prefer to depict their subject’s life in a roughly linear fashion, some of the most exciting and novel offerings in the genre do something different and, as a result, manage to come closer to capturing the essence of their subject than more traditional fare. Thirty Two Short Films About Glenn Gould, for example, does exactly what its title suggests, giving viewers 32 segments of various types, all of which add to a remarkable understanding of its subject, the pianist Glenn Gould. Gould was, and is, widely regarded as one of the most technically proficient pianists of the 20th century, and Thirty Two Short Films manages to allow the viewer to inhabit his own strange and delightful artistic frame of mind. It ultimately becomes a film greater than the sum of its parts.

Derek Jarman was one of the most visionary filmmakers of his time, using the moving image to pose questions about the role of queer people in history. This is especially true of Caravaggio, his biopic about the painter of the same name. As usual with much of Jarman’s work, the film is told in his unique fashion. It largely eschews authenticity in favor of simple aesthetic beauty which, given its subject, seems appropriate. The center of the film is Caravaggio’s erotic desire for both the street fighter Ranuccio (Sean Bean) and Lena (Tilda Swinton), and their dynamic is at once sensual, violent, and beautiful. Indeed, it is precisely the film’s attention to the painterliness of the image which helps elevate it to the ranks of the great biopics.

Carlos is a rather strange film, and it actually exists in two forms: the longer, television serial and the shorter, more streamlined mainstream film version. Both, however, seek to shed light on the terrorist Ilich Ramírez Sánchez, known as Carlos the Jackal. Though it would have been easy for the film to lean into either a hagiographic or demonizing strategy, it opts instead for the more difficult, and rewarding, task of seeing the man beneath the mask. It is aided in this by the performance of Édgar Ramírez, who has a certain powerful, arrogant charisma that allows him to inhabit this particular individual’s mindset.