(Book)Mark my words (and, remember, you heard it here first…ish):
Wild Rose won’t shepherd her to the promised land, but Jessie Buckley will be nominated for an Academy Award in the next five years.
More importantly: Jesse. A Broadway musical. Please. Or off-Broadway. Or off-off. Or regional. Or overseas. Or any place where there’s live theatre. I’m begging you. Do it for the good of the world (and me).
It’s old hat (as is much of Wild Rose) for this brand of musical “biopic” to suggest (as Wild Rose does) that musicians need the stage to survive; much of the personal drama in the likes of Bohemian Rhapsody and Rocketman stem from this dilemma. A majority of these flicks tell us this sentiment simply, straightforwardly, and often explicitly; some even show AND tell, albeit baldy and unconvincingly; but Jessie Buckley makes us feel it, which complicates our response to the push-pull of her family and career. Usually, we side with the former — fans can wait; children can’t — but Buckley so-palpably embodies the life-giving energy performing bestows upon her character that she convinces us, though she’s responsible for the life she gave, perhaps nothing else can give her life.
By the by, what’s up with the recent preponderance of these “rags” (sometimes literal, sometimes figurative, sometimes both) to musical-stardom-riches stories on the big screen? In the last 9 months: A Star is Born, Vox Lux, Her Smell, Teen Spirit, and now Wild Rose.