Whenever I try to conjure the zeitgeist of America during the time of Teddy Roosevelt, (a favorite pastime among US history buffs), it is this guy's beguiling, sad yet jaunty music that I hear and not Sousa's bombast. In other words, Joplin was a certified genius and certainly deserved better from Motown than this cheap, tinny, Universal back lot production with the Hollywood Hills in the background of shots purporting to be Sedalia Missouri, which was relatively flat last time I checked, and snow so fake it looks like director Jeremy Kagan sent a gopher out to a party store on Lankershim Ave with orders to scour the Yuletide aisle.
Perhaps the film's biggest sin, though, is its relative dearth of attention to ragtime music which Joplin is acknowledged to have fathered. Not only, as a previous reviewer noted, are none of Joplin's compositions played all the way through but in the key scene when Joplin's friend and sometimes creative collaborator, Louis Chauvin, is dying, (of the same syphillis that would kill Joplin), what music do they choose to honor him with?...the blues! Which Joplin had absolutely nothing to do with birthing! I'll be kind to Kagan here and pin the blame for this story abomination on scenarist Christopher Knopf.
So, a not very satisfying life story of the King of Ragtime. I will say, however, that Billy Dee Williams delivers one of his better acting jobs in the title role, managing to capture the aura of melancholy, warmth and formality that comes through in Joplin's music. Clifton Davis is also quite good as Chauvin. With his less disciplined, more fun loving persona he is a nice contrast with Williams' seriousness. Acting beyond these two is fairly "meh" with the most unusual and unwelcome sight of Art Carney kind of phoning it in as music publisher and Joplin patron/friend/ adversary, John Stark. Although, considering that Carney is given a lot of the script's stiff, declamatory "Can't you see what a genius we have here!" dialogue, maybe it's Knopf on the horn. C plus.
