The night Baz Luhrmann premiered his film Elvis at the Cannes Film Festival, all eyes were on Priscilla Presley. She had turned 77 the day before, and in the 45 years since her former husband’s death, she’d suffered many cartoonish caricatures and lame imitations of the man she loved.
But that night, as the credits rolled, she cried. Luhrmann was relieved; after all, Presley’s blessing wasn’t something the director took for granted. “I really mean this with great respect, because now we’re like family,” he says, “but she got a little bit vocal about her doubts.
She said, ‘I don’t know, this film could be crazy. Baz can be wackadoo. And how can this skinny kid play Elvis?’” The “kid” she referred to was Austin Butler.
And her concern was understandable. How could she trust anyone to depict the man she loved; the tortured and brilliant artist who changed music history?
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