Most people probably know Nico (born Christa Päffgen) through her vocals on The Velvet Underground’s self-title first album. But the German-born singer and one-time Andy Warhol muse only spent a year with the band. She was a solo act for over two decades after that. Of course, a fan of the singer would already know that. They’d also probably guess from the title of Susanna Nicchiarelli’s new film about the singer, Nico, 1988 that it has to do with her death. The film is, unsurprisingly, a little sad and perhaps not the easiest watch for those who aren’t already fans, but it’s essential viewing for anybody who is.
Nicchiarelli’s storytelling is impressionistic and moody, coming into sharpest focus during the concert scenes. Largely, that’s thanks to Trine Dyrholm’s uncanny performance as the titular singer. Dyholm re-recorded all of the songs for the film, but there are moments during the performances where it feels like she’s channeling Nico.
Nowhere is that more thrillingly portrayed than in recreation of a secret performance in Prague. Because the then-Czechoslovakia was still part of the Eastern Bloc, Nico and the band can’t bring drugs across the border and as a result, this is the first time we see Nico perform sober. Undampened, her strange presence is nothing short of mesmerizing and Dyrholm becomes a rock goddess who embodies female creativity and anger. It’s the film’s best scene and the rest of the film can’t quite live up to it.
Though Nicchiarelli mostly follows Nico’s repeated refrain that she’d rather focus on her solo career than her comparatively brief time with the Velvet Underground, she can’t entirely avoid the subject. Mostly, we see that time in Nico’s life via archival footage—blurry yet colorful montages of New York City with brief glimpses of Andy Warhol. The more important views of the past, though, come thanks to recreations of moments Nico and her son Ari shared.
As a final title card suggests before the credits roll, the real-life Ari likely had some input on the film and other than the knowledge that the artist’s death is eminent, Nico’s attempt to get clean is linked as a step in rebuilding her relationship with her son is the only thing that gives the film a narrative thrust. It roughly goes chronologically, from Ari’s birth, through his adoption by his father’s (French actor Alain Delon) parents, to his suicidal depression while touring with his mother during her last years. However, there are so many other plot threads pulling focus that it’s hard to say what Nicchiarelli wanted to achieve. Are we seeing a woman grapple with the way she sacrificed motherhood for a career or are we watching a son grapple with his mother’s absence? It’s both on some level, but neither one feels like it’s fully explored.
Perhaps because Nicchiarelli’s film is clearly inspired by the real-life Ari’s own experience, it feels almost too personal to be suitable for the average viewer. There’s not enough traditional exposition or linear storytelling to tell the unanointed who Nico is in the pop culture pantheon. You need at least a cursory knowledge of Nico’s history to appreciate the artist’s outlook on life and fame in her final years. Rather, the film is for the fanatic, the person who knows all the facts, but wants to know what it was actually like to be in the presence of such a singular and tortured artist. For those viewers, Nico, 1988 is like traveling back in time and seeing a god reincarnated.
Rating: 6.5/10
