Accuracy of Perception — Remembered Abuse in Coppola’s Priscilla
If 2022 belonged to Baz Luhrmann’s riveting Elvis, 2023 brought fellow film-maker Sofia Coppola’s response through the ruminative, at-times-deeply-uncomfortable Priscilla.
Based on Priscilla Presley’s 1985 memoir, Elvis and Me, Priscilla shows the audience a different, lesser-known side of the King. As several critics point out, it’s not easy viewing for Elvis fans, with the film highlighting disturbing aspects of Elvis and Priscilla’s marriage, such as the 10-year age gap, and the King’s controlling, unhinged personality.
As such, it’s no surprise that the movie has drawn quite a bit of backlash from music lovers and historians alike. Publications like The Guardian have gone to great length, interviewing several ‘Elvis experts’ to ascertain whether or not Coppola’s Priscilla can be deemed accurate.
Movie buffs the world over turned off the TV wondering, can it be true? Could the King of Rock’n’Roll, so revered and well-loved across the decades, be a man so disturbed and manipulative?
It’s worth pondering. After all, knowing that your favorite love songs were sung with a 14-year-old girl in mind might change your perspective of them.
While half the reviews you’ll find online seek to discreetly undermine Coppola’s biopic, the other half is intent on settling, once and for all, which movie is more accurate — Elvis or Priscilla?
Reading through them, I kept wondering… what does it matter? After all, Sofia Coppola’s new film is based on Priscilla Presley’s own autobiography, in which (presumably) she describes her own recollection of her love story with Elvis. As such, there can be no true talk of ‘accuracy’, not where personal perception is involved… can there?
Certainly, some facts, like the age difference between them, remain non-negotiable. But that was only one small aspect of what seems to have bothered viewers. Many were upset by the portrayal of a hero as a potentially manipulative and cruel partner, and turned to various magazines and news outlets, to see these claims disproved.
Except, how can The Guardian or Collider or anyone really come along and say no, what Priscilla described is wrong?
In recounting old lovers, are we beholden to accuracy or personal truth?
Most of us have no qualms about qualifying an old partner as a jerk when chatting with friends. We don’t suddenly stop mid-sentence, worried our friends might possess empiric evidence that no, Joe was actually not a jerk. Nor do our friends, for the most part, assume that was Joe’s whole personality.
It’s usually understood that the term “jerk” is used to describe Joe in terms of our personal recollection of him, and with regard solely to our shared experiences with him.
It’s quite possible that Joe was a jerk to us, while also being a thoughtful son to his mother, or a helpful neighbour, or dedicated teacher. And when discussing Joe, we allow ourselves to disregard these other aspects of his persona because they were not pertinent to our experience. We did not know Joe as a neighbour, teacher or son.
“Can I say this?”
While “jerk” rolls easily off the tongue, some people have tremendous trouble talking about a hurtful relationship.
Sometimes, it can be incredibly hard to describe an old partner as manipulative, cruel, abusive, etc. It’s often the case with victims of abusive relationships to sort of stop mid-sentence and think…am I allowed to say that? Can I call them these things, really?
It often seems mean to call someone, presumably someone we loved, “abusive” or “manipulative”. “Jerk” works more smoothly, though even there, many people will cringe inwardly, thinking that wasn’t all their partner was.
The problem is, humans are these incredibly multi-faceted, nuanced creatures, so much so that merely using one word to describe them can seem reductive and unfair.
But what’s fair got to do with it? In describing a partner or an ex, we often forget that we’re not describing them in their role as teacher or neighbor or whatever else they may be to society. We are merely asked to remember them, in regards to us. And so, as long as we’re true to our personal experiences and memories with them, the term “unfair” doesn’t apply.
It’s like giving someone a piece of chocolate, and asking them to describe it. Then, when they say it’s bitter, you counter and say uh-huh, it’s actually really sweet.
The chocolate may be sweet to others, but that shouldn’t stop you from acknowledging that to you, it tastes bitter.
So to me, seeing all these people clamouring for the “supreme truth” about Elvis seems a bit absurd. We’re talking about one woman’s recollection of her former husband. As such, it’s really only Priscilla Presley (no Elvis experts, no historians, no die-hard fans) who can speak to the accuracy of these statements.
If to her, that was an accurate remembrance of Elvis, that’s all you need to know because Coppola’s movie doesn’t claim to be the “supreme truth”. It’s just one side of the story. Which is all any of us can hope to have in a romantic relationship.
It’s not what you were. It’s what you were to me.
So much suffering in our romantic relationships stems from our inherent goodness as human beings, which is an interesting paradox to consider. After all, say Joe was a jerk to you, but now you feel bad about saying that. That’s because you’re a good person. You wouldn’t think twice about labelling Joe a “jerk” if you yourself were a bad person or a narcissist involved solely with your own story. But the fact that you question this statement, that even now, you worry about being unfair to Joe shows an inherent goodness in your nature.
Sadly, due to this kind default, people will often lie or minimize the suffering they’ve endured. The emotional equivalent of applying powder over that bruise, just so that society won’t think your partner (or ex) is a bad person.
There’s a strong urge to shake your head and say “sure, they hurt me, or behaved poorly, but it’s okay. It’s between us”. Obviously, that shouldn’t mean broadcasting every petty fight you have, but when it comes to getting hurt, you should always feel safe and free to speak out.
When someone hurts you, you owe it to yourself (and perhaps, on some level, to the world) to speak your truth out loud. To say yes, this person caused me a great deal of suffering.
Suffering is not questionable, nor should it require proof.
At least, not outside of legal settings.
In our inane kind nature, we become concerned, we start thinking that if we say,
This person was cruel.
We’re condemning them. That when their life ends, and some great otherworldly being judges them, the word “cruel” will be stamped across their forehead, and it will all be our fault.
Except that’s not for you to decide or judge. All you need to ascertain is whether someone hurt you, and was cruel to you. Whether or not, in the grand scheme of their own existence, their unkindness outweighs their good aspects is not for you to judge. It might not be for anyone to judge, but it’s certainly not yours. So dare to speak your truth, because maybe somebody did hurt you, and because only by acknowledging that, do you get to walk away eventually.
The confirmation bias against famous monsters — why are we so attached to our favorite celebs?
Obviously, Elvis is no regular ex. And thus, when someone comes along and labels Elvis as abusive or controlling, it’s as if they’re calling us bad people by association.
We often become concerned and caught up in celeb dramas, famous people divorcing, and other such scandals. To the reasonable mind, such involvement can appear inexplicable. After all, what difference does it make?
Does Elvis being a manipulative husband make Jailhouse Rock worse? It doesn’t. But it does make us worse, because we are someone who has already considered and judged Elvis (and Jailhouse Rock), and deemed him good.
Based on some tunes, and a few snippets of trivia, sure. But to us, our judgment stands. So it’s natural that, if we like Elvis, we’ll seek productions like Luhrmann’s Elvis, which paints the King as troubled, but overall a victim of his manager, the Colonel. If we hold that opinion, we’ll also dismiss movies like Coppola’s, as going against something we believe in, and inherently, against us.
Spoiler Alert: Sofia Coppola probably doesn’t know you. She probably has no opinion as to whether you’re a right-thinking person or not. As such, Priscilla isn’t directed at you. It’s not trying to say something about you, just about an experience of a young woman some sixty years ago. Who are we to argue?
Overall, the world would be in a much happier place with a little less confirmation bias, and a bit more of an open-mind.
Personally, I preferred Priscilla, strictly cinematically. I’ll always take Sofia Coppola over Baz Luhrmann, but that’s just personal preference…
What do you think?
Thank you for reading. I recently released the second book in a fantasy trilogy. So chances are I’ll be talking about writing, among many other scatter-brained subjects on here. If that sounds like something you might enjoy, why not subscribe? It’s free.
