Film Review: Belushi (2020)
In the nearly 40 years since his death, a lot has been written and filmed about the life and death of comedian John Belushi, much of it cursory or exploitative. It’s easy to pigeonhole talents like Belushi as “troubled” or “tortured,” but, while not wholly inaccurate, these labels only scratch the surface. As is often the case when celebrities are given the “Biography” treatment, the truth about what lies inside their minds and hearts can only be speculated. These conjectures form myths, which in turn form legends. These legends then become the “shocking true story,” and any semblance of the human being behind them is washed away in a sea of oft-repeated half-truths.
Belushi only sometimes wanders into this territory. Much of what director R.J. Cutler reveals isn’t particularly revelatory or difficult to track down in other works, but he presents it in a way that better suits the comedian’s many highs and lows. Using audio recordings made for a 2005 biographical book about Belushi (written by Tanner Colby and Belushi’s widow, Judith Belushi Pisano) and some clever animated reenactments, Cutler navigates a tumultuous life and career with warmth and admiration, while maintaining a critical eye of his subject’s life choices. Tales of excess are recounted by those who knew the comedian best but are offset by deeply personal observations about his rarely seen side. As his friends and family reminisce, their regret and fondness show in equal parts, signaling that, even after all these years, Belushi’s death still stings.
What is most surprising about Belushi is its inclusion of personal letters written from John to his wife, Judith. These poetic letters (read by Bill Hader) are a haunting and intriguing look into Belushi’s inner world. Powerfully mournful, Belushi’s words express at times deep sadness and despondency, but also a joyful and optimistic lust for life. His insightful prose, made melancholic because we know how the story ends, offers more about the man behind the legend than twenty exposés could ever hope to, and elevates Belushi above its familiar chronology.
What’s missing is a look at the science behind Belushi’s self-destructive behavior. It’s easy to slap the over-used “he couldn’t handle his own fame” moniker on him and call it a day, but as with other talents who’ve died young (Kurt Cobain, Chris Farley, etc.), the mental or psychological conditions behind their behavior is often glossed over or dismissed. Simply labeling someone a drug addict is easy and a cop-out. Open and frank discussions about mental illness are much harder and uncomfortable, but those are the conversations that need to happen. Destigmatization is essential if we ever want to understand and help people who are clearly crying out and hurting. John Belushi died in 1982. Robin Williams died in 2014. Has anything changed in that time?
Unsurprisingly, Belushi glosses over the actor’s interest in punk rock, and skips the infamous “Fear on Saturday Night Live” incident altogether. However, the footage of him sitting in on drums with the Dead Boys is very nearly worth the price of admission alone – for an old punk like me anyway. Morbidly, I was expecting a grim retelling of Belushi’s final days, but was thankful when those details were left out. Belushi, as we know, is predestined to end in death and tragedy, but it works better as a celebration of life. The sorrow that hangs over it is overcome by the generosity of fond remembrances and the many beautiful and revealing words written on a notebook page.
