Elton John's Life in the Spotlight: A Journey of Triumphs and Regrets

Ah, the film *Elton John: Never Too Late*, co-directed by the wonderfully supportive David Furnish, feels a tad like a lavish birthday cake that looks spectacular from the outside but offers a flavor that's inexplicably bland. It’s a delightful romp through the archive of one of music’s most flamboyant icons, yet one can’t shake the notion that it’s missing a certain intimacy—like a postcard from a close friend written with a formal pen, rather than a warm, handwritten letter filled with anecdotes and secrets.

If you yearn to revisit the halcyon days of the '70s—when Elton churned out an astounding 13 albums in just five years and topped the *Billboard* charts more times than you can count—you’ll find this documentary a veritable treasure trove of sparkling concert footage, heartfelt interview snippets, and photographs that capture both the electric persona on stage and the more subdued man behind the curtain. For fans, it’s a feast… but oh, the present-day narrative that runs parallel feels like parsley on the plate—barely there and unappetizing.

Picture this: a bittersweet farewell concert at Dodger Stadium, where Elton bids adieu to fifty years of North American tours. It’s a full-circle moment, mirroring that legendary '75 show where he dazzled 110,000 adoring fans in a sequined uniform that would make even Liberace blush. Directors R.J. Cutler and Furnish weave in audio tapes from a series of conversations with music critic Alexis Petridis, who was alongside Elton during the creation of his memoir, aptly titled *Me* (as if you could forget whose life we’re discussing!). The chats, amiable yet superficial, boast an air of cautious camaraderie, with no hard-hitting questions to ruffle those dazzling feathers.

Throughout *Never Too Late*, we skip along the “Farewell Yellow Brick Road” tour, where bold pink text marks the countdown to that Los Angeles concert like an impatient clock. Yet, alas, we feel no mounting excitement, just a series of clips showing Elton patting his band on the back, video calling his two young sons (adorable moments guaranteed to melt the hardest hearts), and championing new talent on his *Rocket Hour* radio show. It’s all quite heartwarming, but the access seems as guarded as a bank vault—never enough to pry open the deeper desires and sorrows festering within this legend.

Elton’s well-trodden path—a notorious journey from addiction and heartbreak to redemption and family—is lovingly revisited yet feels almost too familiar. His recollections about his unhappy childhood, his early talent, and adventures as a burgeoning star are enough to make one empathize, yet they barely skim the surface. If only he were willing to burrow beneath the glitz to unearth something more substantive rather than skate across the ice in his sequined roller skates.

But oh, the nostalgic sparkle when he recounts his serendipitous meeting with lyricist Bernie Taupin! Like an unexpected spritz of lemon on an otherwise flat soda, their magical collaboration is illuminated through amusing anecdotes and glittering classic tunes that defined an era. The sheer abundance of chart-toppers from those years could make any music lover dizzy—“Your Song,” “Crocodile Rock,” “Rocket Man”—the list is as endless as the man’s shimmering wardrobe.

Yet, with every bead of sequined input, one notices the absence of a critical lens. It’s splendid to witness Elton’s outrageous costumes—a riotous expression of creativity and a dramatic rebellion against his subdued upbringing. Nevertheless, a nod from a cultural critic could have transformed those flamboyant ensembles into a rich tapestry of meaning regarding identity and sexuality—a reflection of struggles still echoing loudly today.

On that note, while it’s charming to see Elton’s journey, tucked as it is amidst the glimmer and glam, it seems ironically sterile at times, neglecting a cultural discussion ripe for exploration. Perhaps a seasoned voice could have added depth, peppering the narrative with insights about the pendulum swing from the vibrant 60s pop to 70s rock—after all, a superstar’s life story doesn’t only belong to them, but to the context that shaped it.

As the film goes on, one can’t help but notice the misses—the brief brush over of Elton’s past marriage, the questions left unasked, and the feelings left unexpressed. Spare me the doom and gloom of high-profile failures mixed with glitzy victories! What about the evolution of a gay man in the limelight, shackled by a life that danced just outside the edges of true freedom? The film hints at the societal implications of his partially unveiled self yet misses that savory opportunity to serve the