Two-Part Harmony

     "Either I'm too sensitive, or else I'm gettin' soft."
-- Bob Dylan

LOVE & MERCY (A-minus) - We're not fans of biopics (or melodrama in general), but you can't be in better hands than Oren Moverman when it comes to examining a complicated life.

Moverman penned "I'm Not There," the epic kaleidoscope psycho-biography of Bob Dylan (as played by four actors and spanning two centuries), and here he explores the brain and psyche of Brian Wilson, the musical genius behind the Beach Boys. He and first-time director Bill Pohlad assemble a fearsome foursome of leading actors, only two of which portray Wilson.

Paul Dano is fantastic as Wilson at his mid-1960s peak, unveiling the "Pet Sounds" album and "Good Vibrations" before melting down during his obsessive production of his would-be masterpiece, the shelved "Smile," which would have been his "Sgt. Pepper." The film toggles between that heady era and the 1980s, when Wilson -- now played by a perfectly jangled John Cusack -- fell into the dictatorial clutches of quack psychologist Eugene Landy (a giddy, bewigged Paul Giamatti). Salvation comes in the form of Cadillac saleswoman Melinda Ledbetter (a perfect Elizabeth Banks), who falls in love with him and rescues him from Landy's beachfront prison.

Pohlad -- along with Moverman and co-writer Michael A. Lerner, as well as sound collagist Atticus Ross (Trent Reznor's collaborator on "The Social Network" and "The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo") -- starts with the premise of Wilson hearing voices in his head and follows those voices as they drive Wilson to not only musical greatness but also, eventually, a mental breakdown.

The film starts out in darkness and a melange of words and music, and it turns out we are in Wilson's ear. Thanks to Dano, the viewer gets to experience his disorientation as he morphs into a studio maestro. Wilson guides journeymen musicians through his lush, off-kilter arrangements. In fact, this is one of the best movies I've ever seen at portraying the art of creating music. There is pure joy in seeing rough demos get painstakingly workshopped and then flourish into memorable songs. You need not be a fan of the Beach Boys -- just of pop in general -- to fall for this tale.

There is less music in Cusack's scenes, but when he dabbles at the piano, it can be magical. When he plays a snippet for Melinda and tells her it was what he heard in his head the moment he met her -- and that it can't be recorded because it's already gone -- I swooned along with her.

This isn't without its minor flaws. The band conflict and the brutishness of the Wilson brothers' abusive, controlling father bring unwanted Movie of the Week elements here, but Pohlad keeps them at bay. There's also a bit of a sag in the second half as the film huffs a bit toward a full two-hour running time.

But Dano and Cusack, acting along parallel tracks, craft a moving portrait, just a sliver of the mental anguish Brian Wilson was tormented by. Dano's performance is rather broad, while Cusack utilizes subtle tics and sad, imploring eyes to great effect. When we see the real Wilson, now an old man, croon the title track over the credits, we have a new appreciation for his art.

BONUS TRACK
The title song: