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Baz Luhrmann will make you fall in love with Elvis Presley
Elvis Presley in Las Vegas in Aug. 1970.
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“You are my favorite customer,” Baz Luhrmann tells me on a recent Zoom call from the sunny Chateau Marmont in Hollywood. The director is on a worldwide blitz to promote his new film, EPiC: Elvis Presley in Concert — which opens wide this week — and he says this, not to flatter me, but because I’ve just called his film a miracle.
See, I’ve never cared a lick about Elvis Presley, who would have turned 91 in January, had he not died in 1977 at the age of 42. Never had an inkling to listen to his music, never seen any of his films, never been interested in researching his life or work. For this millennial, Presley was a fossilized, mummified relic from prehistory — like a woolly mammoth stuck in the La Brea Tar Pits — and I was mostly indifferent about seeing 1970s concert footage when I sat down for an early IMAX screening of EPiC.
By the end of its rollicking, exhilarating 90 minutes, I turned to my wife and said, “I think I’m in love with Elvis Presley.”
“I’m not trying to sell Elvis,” Luhrmann clarifies. “But I do think that the most gratifying thing is when someone like you has the experience you’ve had.”
Elvis made much more of an imprint on a young Luhrmann; he watched the King’s movies while growing up in New South Wales, Australia in the 1960s, and he stepped to 1972’s “Burning Love” as a young ballroom dancer. But then, like so many others, he left Elvis behind. As a teenager, “I was more Bowie and, you know, new wave and Elton and all those kinds of musical icons,” he says. “I became a big opera buff.”
Luhrmann only returned to the King when he decided to make a movie that would take a sweeping look at America in the 1950s, ’60s, and ’70s — which became his 2022 dramatized feature, Elvis, starring Austin Butler. That film, told in the bedazzled, kaleidoscopic style that Luhrmann is famous for, cast Presley as a tragic figure; it was framed and narrated by Presley’s notorious manager, Colonel Tom Parker, portrayed by a conniving and heavily made-up Tom Hanks. The dark clouds of business exploitation, the perils of fame, and an early demise hang over the singer’s heady rise and fall.
It was a divisive movie. Some praised Butler’s transformative performance and the director’s ravishing style; others experienced it as a nauseating 2.5-hour trailer. Reviewing it for Fresh Air, Justin Chang said that “Luhrmann’s flair for spectacle tends to overwhelm his basic story sense,” and found the framing device around Col. Parker (and Hanks’ “uncharacteristically grating” acting) to be a fatal flaw.
Personally, I thought it was the greatest thing Luhrmann had ever made, a perfect match between subject and filmmaker. It reminded me of Oliver Stone’s breathless, Shakespearean tragedy about Richard Nixon (1995’s Nixon), itself an underrated masterpiece. Yet somehow, even for me, it failed to light a fire of interest in Presley himself — and by design, I now realize after seeing EPiC, it omitted at least one major aspect of Elvis’ appeal: the man was charmingly, endearingly funny.
As seen in Luhrmann’s new documentary, on stage, in the midst of a serious song, Elvis will pull a face, or ad lib a line about his suit being too tight to get on his knees, or sing for a while with a bra (which has been flung from the audience) draped over his head. He’s constantly laughing and ribbing and keeping his musicians, and himself, entertained. If Elvis was a tragedy, EPiC is a romantic comedy — and Presley’s seduction of us, the audience, is utterly irresistible.
Unearthing old concert footage
It was in the process of making Elvis that Luhrmann discovered dozens of long-rumored concert footage tapes in a Kansas salt mine, where Warner Bros. stores some of their film archives. Working with Peter Jackson’s team at the post-production facility Park Road Post, who did the miraculous restoration of Beatles rehearsal footage for Jackson’s 2021 Disney+ series, Get Back, they burnished 50-plus hours of 55-year-old celluloid into an eye-popping sheen with enough visual fidelity to fill an IMAX screen. In doing so, they resurrected a woolly mammoth. The film — which is a creative amalgamation of takes from rehearsals and concerts that span from 1970 to 1972 — places the viewer so close to the action that we can viscerally feel the thumping of the bass and almost sense that we’ll get flecked with the sweat dripping off Presley’s face.
This footage was originally shot for the 1970 concert film Elvis: That’s The Way It Is, and its 1972 sequel, Elvis on Tour, which explains why these concerts were shot like a Hollywood feature: wide shots on anamorphic 35mm and with giant, ultra-bright Klieg lights — which, Luhrmann explains, “are really disturbing. So [Elvis] was very apologetic to the audience, because the audience felt a bit more self conscious than they would have been at a normal show. They were actually making a movie, they weren’t just shooting a concert.”
Luhrmann chose to leave in many shots where camera operators can be seen running around with their 16mm cameras for close-ups, “like they’re in the Vietnam War trying to get the best angles,” because we live in an era where we’re used to seeing cameras everywhere and Luhrmann felt none of the original directors’ concern about breaking the illusion. Those extreme close-ups, which were achieved by operators doing math and manually pulling focus, allow us to see even the pores on Presley’s skin — now projected onto a screen the size of two buildings.
The sweat that comes out of those pores is practically a character in the film. Luhrmann marvels at how much Presley gave in every single rehearsal and every single concert performance. Beyond the fact that “he must have superhuman strength,” Luhrmann says, “He becomes the music. He doesn’t mark stuff. He just becomes the music, and then no one knows what he’s going to do. The band do not know what he’s going to do, so they have to keep their eyes on him all the time. They don’t know how many rounds he’s going to do in ‘Suspicious Minds.’ You know, he conducts them with his entire being — and that’s what makes him unique.”
Elvis Presley in Las Vegas in Aug. 1970.
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It’s not the only thing. The revivified concerts in EPiC are a potent argument that Elvis wasn’t just a superior live performer to the Beatles (who supplanted him as the kings of pop culture in the 1960s), but possibly the greatest live performer of all time. His sensual, magmatic charisma on stage, the way he conducts the large band and choir, the control he has over that godlike gospel voice, and the sorcerer’s power he has to hold an entire audience in the palm of his hands (and often to kiss many of its women on the lips) all come across with stunning, electrifying urgency.
Shaking off the rust and building a “dreamscape”
The fact that, on top of it all, he is effortlessly funny and goofy is, in Luhrmann’s mind, essential to the magic of Elvis. While researching for Elvis, he came to appreciate how insecure Presley was as a kid — growing up as the only white boy in a poor Black neighborhood, and seeing his father thrown into jail for passing a bad check. “Inside, he felt very less-than,” says Luhrmann, “but he grows up into a physical Greek god. I mean, we’ve forgotten how beautiful he was. You see it in the movie; he is a beautiful looking human being. And then he moves. And he doesn’t learn dance steps — he just manifests that movement. And then he’s got the voice of Orpheus, and he can take a song like ‘Bridge Over Troubled Water’ and make it into a gospel power ballad.
“So he’s like a spiritual being. And I think he’s imposing. So the goofiness, the humor is about disarming people, making them get past the image — like he says — and see the man. That’s my own theory.”
Elvis has often been second-classed in the annals of American music because he didn’t write his own songs, but Luhrmann insists that interpretation is its own invaluable art form. “Orpheus interpreted the music as well,” the director says.
In this way — as in their shared maximalist, cape-and-rhinestones style — Luhrmann and Elvis are a match made in Graceland. Whether he’s remixing Shakespeare as a ’90s punk music video in Romeo + Juliet or adding hip-hop beats to The Great Gatsby, Luhrmann is an artist who loves to take what was vibrantly, shockingly new in another century and make it so again.
Elvis Presley in Las Vegas in Aug. 1970.
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Luhrmann says he likes to take classic work and “shake off the rust and go, Well, when it was written, it wasn’t classical. When it was created, it was pop, it was modern, it was in the moment. That’s what I try and do.”
To that end, he conceived EPiC as “an imagined concert,” liberally building sequences from various nights, sometimes inserting rehearsal takes into a stage performance (ecstatically so in the song “Polk Salad Annie”), and adding new musical layers to some of the songs. Working with his music producer, Jamieson Shaw, he backed the King’s vocals on “Oh Happy Day” with a new recording of a Black gospel choir in Nashville. “So that’s an imaginative leap,” says Luhrmann. “It’s kind of a dreamscape.”
On some tracks, like “Burning Love,” new string arrangements give the live performances extra verve and cinematic depth. Luhrmann and his music team also radically remixed multiple Elvis songs into a new number, “A Change of Reality,” which has the King repeatedly asking “Do you miss me?” over a buzzing bass line and a syncopated beat.
I didn’t miss Elvis before I saw EPiC — but after seeing the film twice now, I truly do.
Online prediction market platforms allow people to place bets on wide-ranging subjects such as sports, finance, politics and currents events.
Photo Illustration by Scott Olson/Getty Images
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Photo Illustration by Scott Olson/Getty Images
The rise of prediction markets means you can now bet on just about anything, right from your phone. Apps like Kalshi and Polymarket have grown exponentially in President Trump’s second term, as his administration has rolled back regulations designed to keep the industry in check. Billions of dollars have flooded in, and users are placing bets on everything from whether it will rain in Seattle today to whether the US will take over control of Greenland. Who’s winning big on these apps? And who is losing? NPR correspondent Bobby Allyn joins The Sunday Story to explain how these markets came to be and where they are going.
This episode was produced by Andrew Mambo. It was edited by Liana Simstrom and Brett Neely. Fact-checking by Barclay Walsh and Susie Cummings. It was engineered by Robert Rodriguez.
We’d love to hear from you. Send us an email at TheSundayStory@npr.org.
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Now you can pair your big show with dinner and a more intimate listening experience. The Hollywood Palladium, an Art Deco music venue graced by performers like Frank Sinatra, Richard Pryor, Jimi Hendrix, Lady Gaga and Jay-Z since 1940, has debuted a swanky lounge known as Vinyl Room.
Inspired by 1970s Japanese high-fidelity (hi-fi for short) listening rooms and operated by entertainment company Live Nation, it’s a space where concertgoers can have dinner, grab drinks and catch a vinyl DJ set before, during or after their ticketed event in the same venue.
With a name like Vinyl Room, you can expect to see vinyl records everywhere.
“You’re in [for] a whole night of music,” says Geni Lincoln, president of the California region for Live Nation, adding that her team put “so much thought” into the sound and design of the space, which was in development for more than two years.
“I’ve been coming to the Palladium since I was a teenager, so it’s really special to see,” she says.
Entering Vinyl Room feels like you’re stepping into a secret speakeasy for music lovers, one with iconic music memorabilia, a thoughtful food menu and premium sound quality. Want to check it out? Here are five things to know.
Everything inside of Vinyl Room is inspired by the sounds and the musicians who’ve played at the Hollywood Palladium since 1940.
1. Vinyl Room is exclusively open to members and concertgoers with an upgraded ticket
Vinyl Room is open only on Hollywood Palladium show nights, starting 90 minutes before doors open, and remains open one hour after the concert. Admission is limited to concertgoers who purchase a ticket upgrade, which starts at $35. Early reservations are recommended.
Vinyl Room also offers annual membership packages, which start at $2,000 and come with various benefits such as complimentary guest passes to Vinyl Room, access to an exclusive menu, valet parking, table reservations inside the lounge, a dedicated private entry, complimentary coat check and concert ticket credits.
Tip Dunn, also known as DJ tenSpeed, played records during opening night at Vinyl Room at the Hollywood Palladium.
2. Hi-fi is having a moment in Los Angeles — and Vinyl Room delivers on sound quality
From Common Wave Hi-Fi in Boyle Heights to Slow Jamz Gallery in the Arts District and Gold Line bar in Highland Park, hi-fi — a 1950s term used to describe the high-quality reproduction of sound — venues and experiences have been slowly popping up around L.A. over the last few years. Vinyl Room joins a short list of places where audiophiles can go to listen to music on hi-fi equipment, which many argue is the best way to experience it.
Much like the Hollywood Palladium, which is known for its top-tier sound, Vinyl Room also makes sound a priority. The lounge utilizes hi-fi sound equipment including Master Sounds Clarity-M speakers to ensure that the records sound as crisp as possible. Live DJs spin records on a set of turntables, which helps to create a richer and more analog sound that is closer to the original track than compressed versions such as MP3s.
Ruthie Embry, vice president of architecture and design at Live Nation, says the records and other memorabilia inside the space “connects you directly to the venue’s history the second you walk in the door.”
3. All of the decor ties back to music and the Hollywood Palladium’s rich history
With a name like Vinyl Room, you can expect to see vinyls everywhere. Records line most of the walls and shelves, drinks are served on vinyl-shaped coasters and tables and light fixtures are designed to the theme. There’s even vinyl wallpaper in the photo booth. In one corner of the lounge, you can dig through records under a neon sign that reads, “But have you heard it on vinyl?”
Ruthie Embry, vice president of architecture and design at Live Nation, says the records and other memorabilia inside the space “connects you directly to the venue’s history the second you walk in the door.”
Some standout items include a Red Hot Chili Peppers show flier, a Hollywood Palladium postcard signed by late musician and host Lawrence Welk and a photo of late singers Bonnie Baker and Orrin Tucker at the venue. Even the bathroom creates a memorable photo moment: The stalls are filled with photos of musicians and an “on air” studio sign lights up when a stall is occupied.
Vinyl Room’s menu, created by Chef Ryan DeRieux, is inspired by Asian flavors and includes items like the “Vinyl Roll,” which is made with spicy tuna.
4. Don’t worry about dinner plans before or after the show. Vinyl Room has got you covered
Eliminating the need to find a pre- or post-show restaurant, Vinyl Room has a full Asian-inspired menu created by Chef Ryan DeRieux.
Think sushi tots (like crispy tuna but with tater tots instead of rice), tuna poke nachos, chili crunch chicken wings and shiitake tempura burgers. There’s also a mouth-watering 10-ounce American wagyu skirt steak served with shishito peppers, pickles and charred carrots. For dessert, try the taiyaki, a popular fish-shaped Japanese street food, which is served with a delicious passion fruit cream that I wanted to take to go because I liked it so much.
Signature cocktails at Vinyl Room, inspired by popular songs, include the Superfly, Escape (if you like piña coladas) and Smoke on the Water.
5. The craft cocktails aren’t just delicious — they each have a story
Vinyl Room’s old-fashioned is made with Nikka Yoichi whisky, which is made in Japan.
The cocktail program, developed by third-generation bartender Sean Kenyon, is inspired by the songs created by musicians who’ve graced the Hollywood Palladium stage. A nod to the 1970s, the Superfly is a fizzy, citrus-forward play on Curtis Mayfield’s 1972 track and is made with Roku Gin and yuzu and sencha syrup. Other signature drinks include the rum-based Escape (if you like piña coladas) with coconut oolong syrup, pineapple juice and miso, and the tart yet sweet Smoke on the Water, which is reminiscent of Deep Purple’s 1972 song. The bar also offers an espresso martini (called the MT Joy), a signature old-fashioned (made with Nikka Yoichi whisky) and a Japanese whiskey highball (made with Hibiki Harmony whisky). The bar offers a number of non-alcoholic options as well.
A screenshot from George Mélière’s Gugusse et l’Automate. The pioneering French filmmaker’s 1897 short, which likely features the first known depiction of a robot on film, was thought lost until it was found among a box of old reels that had belonged to a family in Michigan and restored by the Library of Congress.
The Frisbee Collection/Library of Congress
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The Frisbee Collection/Library of Congress
The Library of Congress has found and restored a long-lost silent film by Georges Méliès.
The famed 19th century French filmmaker is best known for his groundbreaking 1902 science fiction adventure masterpiece Le Voyage dans la Lune (A Trip to the Moon).
The 45-second-long, one-reel short Gugusse et l’Automate – Gugusse and the Automaton – was made nearly 130 years ago. But the subject matter still feels timely. The film, which can be viewed on the Library of Congress’ website, depicts a child-sized robot clown who grows to the size of an adult and then attacks a human clown with a stick. The human then decimates the machine with a hammer.
In an Instagram post, Library of Congress moving image curator Jason Evans Groth said the film represents, “probably the first instance of a robot ever captured in a moving image.” (The word “robot” didn’t appear until 1921, when Czech dramatist Karel Čapek coined it in his science fiction play R.U.R..)
“Today, many of us are worried about AI and robots,” said archivist and filmmaker Rick Prelinger, in an email to NPR. “Well, people were thinking about robots in 1897. Very little is new.”
A long journey
Groth said the film arrived in a box last September from a donor in Michigan, Bill McFarland. “Bill’s great grandfather, William Frisbee, was a person who loved technology,” Groth said. “And in the late 19th century, must have bought a projector and a bunch of films and decided to drive them around in his buggy to share them with folks in Pennsylvania, Ohio, New York.”
McFarland didn’t know what was on the 10 rusty reels he dropped off at the Library of Congress’ National Audio-Visual Conservation Center in Culpeper, Va. A Library article about the discovery describes the battered, pre-World War I artifacts as having been, “shuttled around from basements to barns to garages,” and that they, “could no longer be safely run through a projector,” owing to their delicate condition. “The nitrate film stock had crumbled to bits on some; other strips were stuck together,” the article said. It was a lab technician in Michigan who suggested McFarland contact the Library of Congress.
“The moment we set our eyes on this box of film, we knew it was something special,” said George Willeman, who heads up the Library’s nitrate film vault, in the article.
Willeman’s team carefully inspected the trove of footage, which also contained another well-known Méliès film, Nouvelles Luttes extravagantes (The Fat and Lean Wrestling Match) and parts of The Burning Stable, an early Thomas Edison work. With the help of an external expert, they identified the reel as having been created by Méliès because it features a star painted on a pedestal in the center of the screen – the logo for Méliès Star Film Company.
A pioneering filmmaker
Méliès was one of the great pioneers of cinema. The scene in which a rocket lands playfully in the eye of Méliès’ anthropomorphic moon in Le Voyage dans la Lune is one of the most famous moments in cinematic history. And he helped to popularize such special effects as multiple exposures and time-lapse photography.
This moment from George Méliès’ Le Voyage dans la Lune (A Trip to the Moon) is considered to be one of the most famous in cinematic history.
George Méliès/Public Domain
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George Méliès/Public Domain
Presumed lost until the Library of Congress’s discovery, Gugusse et L’Automate loomed large in the imaginations of science fiction and early cinema buffs for more than a century. In their 1977 book Things to Come: An Illustrated History of the Science Fiction Film, authors Douglas Menville and R. Reginald described Gugusse as possibly being, “the first true SF [science fiction] film.”
“While it may seem that no more discoveries remain to be made, that’s not the case,” said Prelinger of the work’s reappearance. “Here’s a genuine discovery from the early days of film that no one anticipated.”
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