Film Review - The Most Beautiful Boy In The World (2021)

We’re all familiar with the haunting cautionary tales of worshipped child stars and the excruciatingly detailed documentations of their downfalls. From the Olsen twins to the Disney Channel, it’s an unfortunate fate that seems inevitable. In Petri and Lindastrom’s The Most Beautiful Boy in the World, we’re offered another variation of this story: Swedish actor Bjork Andresen, and the eponymous nickname that contributed to his downfall.

Told in an observational manner, the documentary introduces us to the person Andresen is now, fifty years on from his iconic role in Luchino Visconti’s Death in Venice. Despite the film’s success, his lifestyle is not the glamorous kind that you would expect. His filthy apartment is only half-jokingly proclaimed an “environmental hazard”, death and grief have plagued his life, and he speaks of all his issues with a concerningly nonchalant acceptance. We watch the Andresen today as he visits key figures of his past and attempts to deal with the present, with archive footage being used to fill any contextual gaps for the audience. It aims to show us exactly what happened to the Most Beautiful Boy in the World.

The structure is perhaps where the film falls short the most. It focuses too heavily on the present day, without establishing the events that landed Andresen in the position he’s in. We’re told very frequently that Death in Venice was mostly responsible, but never how or why – the film instead primarily focuses on his heartbreaking home life. Even with the detailed contextual narration and old video clips from the era, its relevance is not made clear enough for it to make sense. Everything feels as though it’s provided at face-value, barely explored and established before switching to the next upsetting event, in a way that feels as though the film’s sole aim was to be crammed with as much tragedy as possible.

This pacing choice feels especially poor when we’re introduced to key figures of Andresen’s past, particularly those who encouraged his idol status in Japan. Genuinely fascinating speakers and events are given just a few minutes of screentime, and as a result they feel shoe-horned in. It almost feels messy at points.

Despite this slight issue in structure, the documentary is incredibly powerful. In the exposition, Andresen explains that “[my grandmother] wanted a celebrity as a grandchild”, and the strong implication that he did not share the same desire carries throughout. His lack of control over his own life seems to be the main theme, from being unable to stop the questionable deaths in his family to accidentally becoming a huge Western star in Japan, and as an audience we watch as he tries to take the reins.

It isn’t an easy viewing. From the slightly ominous and unsettling opening to the melancholy conclusion, moments of light relief are few and far between. Andresen’s life is too soaked in pressure and grief for this optimism to have a place. It’s all bleak colour palettes and slow motion shots and heart-wrenching confessions that ring in your ears for hours after – but it’s a strong, captivating tribute to the Most Beautiful Boy in the World, and one well worth offering your time to.