The 8 Essential Movie Performances Of David Bowie

“Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence” (1983)
One of Bowie’s greatest performances despite, or probably because of being one of the most atypical, in Nagisa Oshima‘s (“In The Realm Of The Senses“) moving POW film, he brings all his innate charisma to bear on the character of Celliers, a New Zealand Major imprisoned by the Japanese during World War II. And that charisma is needed to sell the knottiest, and most delicate aspect of the story: the unspoken, unsanctioned attraction that Celliers’ opposite number (played by Ryuchi Sakamoto, who also composed the film’s remarkable score) feels for Celliers, that so clashes with his bushido code of honor. With that semi-sadistic relationship echoed in less homoerotic terms by the less subtle but no less unexpected kinship that springs up between Takeshi Kitano‘s boorish sergeant and Tom Conti‘s decent, humane Lieutenant Colonel, the film is a remarkably clever and rather underappreciated examination of the human cost of war in one of the most inhuman places on earth. But it also demonstrates how a life honestly lived, even for a few months or a few moments, is worth more than decades of self-deceit — an authenticity that seems so very much a part of the real Bowie’s real-world legacy.

“The Last Temptation of Christ” (1988)
Bowie didn’t work with American directors all that often, but if you’re going to choose one U.S. auteur to grace with your presence, might as well be Martin Scorsese. Somewhat bizarrely cast as Pontius Pilate in Scorsese’s deeply personal, highly controversial retelling of Christ’s final days, in the context of this highly singular, visionary film from Scorsese, his casting seems like a particular masterstroke. Imbuing Pilate with a soft-spoken, almost rueful politician’s pragmatism, he has one scene with Willem Dafoe‘s Jesus which is as subtle and silky and clever as anything Bowie ever did onscreen. And in it, he kills God. Patiently, regretfully explaining to Christ the political exigencies that make his execution necessary, Bowie’s Pilate is portrayed not as the craven, villainous character of popular lore, but as something much more implacable and immovable: a bureaucrat with no ideology save the maintenance of the status quo. There are a lot of ways in which Scorsese’s envisioning of the Christ story is bravely experimental and contemporary-feeling — and not all of them are wholly successful (Harvey Keitel’s accent is still a sticking point). But Bowie’s counterintuitive casting (if anyone’s an “alien” here, surely it’s Jesus?), albeit in a relatively small role, is inspired and gives unexpected texture and substance to the clash of ideologies and political philosophies between the two men.

“The Man Who Fell To Earth” (1976)
For something so influential, David Bowie’s pansexual alien persona of Ziggy Stardust was relatively short-lived and had come and gone before he was cast as an alien in his first starring role. In fact, his characterization of Thomas Jerome Newton in this indulgent but sporadically fascinating Nicholas Roeg oddity was based more on Bowie’s next incarnation as the Thin White Duke. And with Bowie himself admitting this period saw his drug habit at its worst and that the emotionless, hollow Ubermensch Duke became “an ogre” to him, you have some idea of the attraction and the repulsion that the character, and Roeg’s capitalism-critiquing film, represent. A fragmentary, often incoherent meditation on the alienation of modern life and the methods by which we numb ourselves to real connection, the film is sometimes dazzling and sometimes an utter bore, but Bowie is never less than mesmerizing as the alien descending into all-too-human depravity and vice. A cult classic almost the second it opened, it feels like now that Bowie’s song has been sung through to its end, this is definitely one of the films that future generations will look to to explain his legacy — and with as little luck as any of us have had. “The Man Who Fell To Earth” will continue to defy straightforward comprehension, partly because of Roeg, but partly because however many times you may revisit it, at its core there is maybe the quintessential Bowie performance, and it is a perfect enigma.

One aspect of Bowie’s persona that doesn’t perhaps come out enough in the above selection is his playfulness, and his sense of humor. But of course, this is the guy who showed up for a minute cameo, as himself, in Ben Stiller‘s “Zoolander,” hosting the “walk-off,” to say nothing of his “Chubby Little Loser” episode of Ricky Gervais‘ “Extras,” his mind-fuckery role as Phillip Jeffries, one of Cole’s Blue Rose agents in “Twin Peaks: Fire, Walk With Me,” his voice work in an episode of “Spongebob Squarepants,” in amongst a clutch of other film and TV roles, big and small that devotees will want to search out.

And lastly, though we kind of don’t want to hit publish on this because that will make it all real, there are so many beautiful, meaningful Bowie-inflected clips we could leave you with because obviously, his filmic legacy extends far, far beyond just the films he appeared in. And even all the documentaries, interviews, chat show appearances, and music videos he appeared in pale beside his 452 listed IMDB soundtrack credits, from the songs he wrote for the 1969 experimental short “Love You Till Tuesday” in which he also appeared, to the (rather on-the-nose) use of “Starman” in this year’s Best Picture contender “The Martian.”

But, to play us out, here are the two clips that occurred to us immediately — maybe the two greatest movie uses of “Modern Love,” from Leos Carax‘s “Mauvais Sang” and from Noah Baumbach‘s “Frances Ha.” The first is complicated and a little disquieting, the second simply joyful and celebratory, and somehow it’s the perfect song for both.

And if, after all that, you’re still feeling utterly bereft, we’ve found that this tweet, which was originally posted the day before Bowie’s death, actually does help a bit. If you’re ever sad, just remember the world is 4.543 billion years old and you somehow managed to exist at the same time as David Bowie.