From its very first moment, in which we see a small group of people enter a garage, which has posters and photographs of many counterculture icons plastered across every inch of the walls, we know that The Rose is going to be a challenging film, precisely because in this group of people, the one person we don’t see is the titular character herself, Mary “The Rose” Foster, the person we came to see, which is an accurate assessment of her entire career. While this scene is entirely wordless, we know exactly what has happened, which is only supported by the scene that follows immediately, whereby an aeroplane descends on a runway, out of it staggering The Rose herself, her smile wide and her eyes concealed behind dark sunglasses – she falls down the last few steps in a moment that is framed as being comedic, as she lifts herself up and walks to her frustrated manager. I laughed at this scene, since it’s a fantastic introduction to the character and what she represents – however, I revisited that moment immediately after finishing the film to see if it retains the same tone, with the added burden of knowing exactly what transpires over the course of the film. This initially lighthearted moment was in actuality one of the darkest scenes in the film, rather than a sequence designed to be entertaining, which is exactly the attitude that director Mark Rydell and screenwriters Bo Goldman and Bill Kerby seemed to be approaching when making this film, playing on the audience’s emotions in a way where a single scene can be viewed differently depending on how much we can anticipate what is about to transpire over the course of the succeeding two hours – and there are countless moments in this film that play very similarly to this, which is why it is so effortlessly easy to view The Rose as one of the landmark achievements of the 1970s, a film that is simultaneously bleak and compassionate, exploring the rise and fall of someone whose entire existence centred on being in the public eye, only to have her own personal battles be the cause of her demise. It’s a haunting but beautiful film that touches on many complex themes, and features some of the most efficient, captivating filmmakers

It is certainly not any secret that The Rose was inspired by the life and career (and tragic loss) of Janis Joplin, whose star burned bright but briefly, her untimely death in the early 1970s being one of the most sobering moments in the history of the music industry, since they lost one of their most important artists. It is clear that the film was written to initially be a quasi-biopic of Joplin, eventually changing enough of the storyline and the character’s background to not be directly related to her life, but rather inspired by some of its broader moments, which are shown with compassion and precision by the director and writers, who spend a lot of time crafting these characters to feel meaningful. The film takes some inspiration from the life of Joplin, as well as the legions of other musicians and artists that struggled throughout their careers (some of them dying young, others managing to recover and live beyond the expectations placed on those who engage in such wild, reckless lifestyles), and focuses on one theme in particular – fame. Despite being viewed as the ultimate ambition for a huge portion of the world’s population, fame and fortune have been shown to be far more destructive a force than many would be willing to acknowledge. It seems that everyone wants to have those fifteen minutes of fame, but once they achieve that, they almost instantly want to regress back into obscurity, fading into the masses in the hopes of leading an ordinary life. The Rose focuses on the main character’s troubled relationship with her stardom – despite being vehement in her desire to take some time off to be out of the spotlight, she feeds on the applause and cheers of her adoring fans, almost craving their approval and admiration, which causes her to be in a constant state of self-doubt, struggling to come to terms with the fact that you are either a beloved star, or a washed-up sellout who used to be famous – but once you have moved into the public eye, you will always be known, and it is merely a matter of trying to determine whether your legacy will be positive or negative. It’s a challenging concept, but it’s one that is so beautifully constructed.

There was a moment in the late 1960s and early 1970s when the British Invasion became so prominent, entire film genres from across the pond were replicated, in the hopes of mirroring the success that made the European arthouse so intriguing. The Rose is certainly far from the by-the-numbers drama that we may have expected from American films that tackle the subject of fame – if anything, the original choice to offer the film to Ken Russell (whose entire career was about his refusal to adhere to conventions, even when he wasn’t actively trying to be unorthodox with his choices) shows how the film was aiming to be the perfect collision between the two very broad styles that went into its composition. Considering the film was liberated from the burden of having to explicitly follow the trajectory of Joplin’s life, Rydell and his cohorts were able to be more creative with the execution of the story, and rather than a cradle-to-grave exploration of a singer’s life, they instead choose to focus on the last part of it, the final few weeks in her life as she navigates complex emotions and perilous psychological issues, which gradually amount to form a terrifying depiction of her descent into a state of complete depression and delusion, a combination that has brought as much pain and suffering as it has entirely destroyed lives. The director draws on the school of kitchen sink realism, another British export (and something that had formed the foundation for the current New Hollywood era, as well as a new wave of American independent filmmaking), where the most bold emotions are presented to us in the most vivid detail, and where the entire story is propelled not by spectacle or elaborate conjecture done for the sake of entertainment, but rather to capture an authentic and meaningful portrait of the past, as represented through the eyes of someone who experienced many different challenges. It’s a harrowing film, and those expecting a happy ending, or any kind of positive emotional catharsis, will likely be taken by surprise, since there is a level of pessimism and melancholy that propels this film and makes it such a powerful and profound existential portrait of a woman on the verge of a complete breakdown, one formed from her own difficult relationship with being in the public eye, leading to a tragic crescendo that is undeniably harsh, but also incredibly moving.

Regardless of the plot detail that each individual viewer selects as the standout, it’s undeniable that the primary reason to watch The Rose, and the reason behind its success, is all due to the work being done by the incredible Bette Midler. Not a newcomer by any means (already having been bestowed with the title of The Divine Miss M), and a cultural icon in her own right based on her singing career, it seemed only appropriate that her cinematic breakthrough would be an immediate landmark in her career. The Rose was the first leading role she had ever had in a film, but yet she somehow acts as if she is a seasoned veteran, someone who is so effortlessly comfortable in front of the camera, we struggle to come to terms with the fact that she was still technically a novice when it came to acting. It may help that she was portraying a musician, since she had been playing this role in her own life for years, meaning that there was very little that needed to be done to give her the swagger and attitude to convincingly play someone who could sell out an entire stadium – most likely because Midler herself was used to such scenarios. However, the fact that there is some iota of experience in her performance does not mean that Midler is in any way not doing exceptional work – she may not have been the epitome of morality and good-natured, conservative values, but the character of The Rose would be a challenge even for her, since she had to take on a role that was defined by her layers, each one needing to be well-defined in the film’s continued pursuit to look beneath the veneer of this character, understanding her origins and the roots of her erratic behaviour, which is actually concealing a very tragic life filled with insecurity and trauma. Midler is a revelation – she has given many unforgettable performances in subsequent years, but yet what she is doing here feels so earnest and complex, almost as if she is actively trying to reinvent herself through this character. Smaller roles from Alan Bates and Frederic Forrest help supplement her performance, as does a particularly sinister appearance by the usually genial Harry Dean Stanton, whose character may only appear on screen for a few minutes, but serves to be a catalyst for much of the film’s action, which ultimately leads to a harrowing depiction of the journey between the past and present that this character is gradually undertaking.

However, as much as we are predisposed to looking at The Rose as a portrait of the main character, there is a deeper meaning here that requires us to look beneath the surface, understanding not only the people that The Rose pays tribute to, but the era that she represents. This film is as much about the decline of a world-renowned musician as it is a story about the American Dream, as viewed through the eyes of someone who saw the darkest side of it. Coming at the tail-end of the 1970s, the film was made at a time when the country (and the world as a whole) was undergoing enormous change – the Vietnam War had been over for nearly half a decade, but the wounds were still prominent. There were numerous other conflicts, both domestically and internationally, and the social, political and economic status of America was constantly shifting. It was a difficult time to exist, especially if you were of a deviant identity – and a hard-drinking, drug-addicted bisexual female rockstar with a foul mouth and a complete disregard for authority was the embodiment of everything that the authorities viewed as being counterintuitive of the direction the country was going. Considering when it was made, there isn’t much optimism or hopeful joy that comes about, since the general perception was that the world was irrecoverably changed, and everyone was simply more cynical than usual. This allowed The Rose to make some striking comments on the socio-cultural status of the country and its people – there is not a single character in this film that could ever be described as being particularly happy, and Rydell is painting quite a stark portrait of the era and its people, who may not have entirely given up hope, but certainly seem to be teetering on the edge of complete despair. It’s a harrowing film that uses a lot of its time to investigate these issues, and it gradually makes its position extremely clear, as well as the fact that it is not a film built on any form of comfort, but rather a profound sense of despair, which is reworked into a deeply disturbing but achingly beautiful manifesto on a particular time in the past, and the people who defined it.

The Rose is a truly powerful film – a journeyman director like Rydell may not inspire too much confidence (although he is a very solid filmmaker, and many of his projects are worthwhile due to his precise and meaningful direction), but working with a strong script and a group of performers who are tasked with bringing these characters to life was certainly more than enough to warrant our attention, and he manages to hold it consistently in the process, which is quite impressive. The film is undeniably quite disturbing – it has its humorous moments, but it is mostly quite sad, with the most appropriate description being that the film takes the form of an operatic tragedy, the melodramatic and heartbreaking tale of a woman whose entire body and psyche gradually deteriorates as she is overcome by challenges, which become more difficult for her to overcome over time, leading to a tragic demise that is made even more harrowing by the fact that it happens in front of her adoring supporters. The film is an exceptionally complex work, and many of its fascinating ideas emerge through the atmosphere and overall tone, as well as the subject matter that is being explored, which serves to be a powerful indictment on issues surrounding identity (covering aspects as broad as sexual identity, the queer community and feminism), combined with a very traditional parable about the dangers of addiction, and how it can lead to the downfall of even the most promising of talents. In no uncertain terms, The Rose is a masterful and very important film, and its immense heartfulness, and sincere attention to detail, make it one of the most striking dramas of its era. The combination of extraordinary music (most of it featuring Midler’s otherworldly singing voice), a poignant storyline and a sense of genuine compassion all work together to create a beautiful and poetic story of the main character’s journey – it may not be a joyful one, and it ends in tragedy, but it remains quintessentially her own, and to be allowed into her mind is on its own a worthwhile experience, and one that I will not soon be forgetting.