So the world just got a bit smaller and less wonderful, and the stars look very different today. David Bowie’s passing is an incalculable loss to the world of music, but it is also a heavy blow to the movie world. His legacy as an actor may be dwarfed by that of his era-defining, decades-spanning music career, but that says less about the former than simply proving the near-planetary size and scale of the latter. Because as an actor too, Bowie had a unique screen presence, and he chose his roles so selectively and with such idiosyncratic, yet strangely consistent taste, that almost incidentally to the main narrative of his extraordinary life, he amassed an enviable onscreen filmography. Even in films that were not wholly worthy of his contributions, his contributions were invariably worthy of attention. And many of even those roles that were critically derided at the time, now feel like they come into focus as glints off a life of artistry as complex and multifaceted as a precision-cut diamond.
His film career was as individual and eclectic as you could hope, but running through almost every role and every performance, certainly the strongest ones, like a steady chord of impossibly long sustain, was a common note of the purest, cleanest intelligence. Oftentimes, it was an intelligence so piercing and singular as to feel almost alien: there is an otherworldly quality to the best of his roles that may not always be writ as large as it was with, say, his Ziggy Stardust persona, but it’s there. But thinking about Bowie, which is really all any of us have been able to do since we heard the crushing news today, something comes home to us in full force: his unmistakable intelligence, fine-boned and razor-sharp as it was, was always cut with such warmth and such compassion, with such a desire to comfort and communicate through art. And as much as it felt like he hovered somewhere three feet above the sidewalks that most of us trudge around on, it was a peculiar kind of loving understanding that seemed to inform that lofty perspective. In fact, maybe Bowie was not an alien at all; it’s just that we don’t know what else to call it when we encounter someone so profoundly, deeply, extraordinarily human.
Here are eight films of his you might want to seek out again as you mourn the passing of one of the most towering and deeply beloved figures of modern culture. Rest in peace, you who meant so very much, to so very many of us.
“Absolute Beginners” (1986)
“Now, my kids will watch anything, but they couldn’t watch this. Nor could their friends. I don’t think I’ve ever seen worse acting in a major British film… That song, in my opinion, was the only good feature of the whole film.” So wrote Jake Eberts, whose company Goldcrest Films financed, and was sunk by, Julien Temple’s 1950s-set musical “Absolute Beginners.” And by ‘that song,’ he means Bowie’s theme of the same name, obviously. Eberts isn’t entirely wrong — the film is a gigantic folly, one that didn’t just destroy Goldcrest, but came close to crippling the British film industry as a whole. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t fascinating, and Bowie’s performance as well as his song, are one of the movie’s major redeeming features. Temple takes Colin MacInnes’ memoir of the birth of the teen in London’s Soho in the 1950s and gives it an expressionistic, none-more-80s music video veneer, a cross between Alan Parker, Busby Berkeley and amateur dramatics. It’s a hot mess, dramatically and aesthetically, but it’s entirely fascinating for it, and Bowie has enormous fun as the near-satanic ad executive who takes lead Colin under his wing. Not enough of the star’s film appearances let him flex his musical muscles, but both the title track and his lizardly seductive “That’s Motivation,” atop a giant typewriter, are heads and shoulders above the rest of the movie.
“The Hunger” (1983)
Tony Scott‘s feature debut is characteristic of the late director’s eye for a lavish visual (especially if it involved billowing curtains), but not of his soon-to-be-trademark kinetic pacing. Actually, the rhythm of his vampire love triangle is languorous to the point of labored, but the cast, including Catherine Deneuve, Bowie and Susan Sarandon, and the off-the-charts coolness factor, just about keep you there. Plus, while such a thing could conceivably feel old-hat in these vamp-saturated times, it’s key to remember that that was one of the first contemporary takes on the genre and Bowie’s inherent modernity (his 200 year-old vampire is even introduced during a performance of gothic art-rock outfit Bauhaus) certainly contributes to that. As does his essential agelessness, if that doesn’t feel like too cruel a thing to bring up right now; his vampire John suffers the horrific fate of remaining untouched by time for a couple of centuries, before suddenly and rapidly aging, without being able to die. It is certainly one of the most tragic of parts that Bowie would ever play and he seems so ideally suited to the part of the beautiful, amoral immortal, that it’s a bit of a shame he is sidelined as it progresses. Though that does allow the film’s most memorable scene — the lesbian sex scene between Sarandon and Deneuve — to take place, and it does keep Bowie more or less blameless in the confusing compromise that is the messy, reworked ending.