Sitting in the cinema, it took only fifteen minutes before the tears started flowing – not just a quiet trickle, but full-on sobbing. It was the kind of emotionally raw outburst that makes strangers turn and stare with concern. What triggered this intense reaction? It was seeing my family on screen – my mum, dad, and nan – in our old council house on Pinner Hill Road in the late 1950s, singing “I Want Love.” This song, penned by Bernie Taupin and myself back in 2001, resonated with a depth I hadn’t anticipated in the context of my childhood. While I knew the song was in Rocketman, the biopic about my life, I was utterly unprepared for its poignant placement and impact.
Up until that cinema experience, I had maintained a deliberate distance from the filmmaking process. I offered some suggestions, reviewed early footage, approved key decisions, and met a couple of times with Taron Egerton, the actor tasked with portraying me. However, for the most part, I remained detached from Rocketman, trusting my husband, David Furnish, to be my eyes and ears on set. I felt my constant presence would be disruptive, perhaps even uncomfortable, for everyone involved. Therefore, the power of what unfolded on screen that day truly caught me off guard.
The Unexpected Emotional Impact of Watching “Rocketman”
“I Want Love” was a song Bernie initially wrote, as I understood it, about his own reflections as a middle-aged man, navigating divorces and questioning the possibility of finding love again. Yet, within the framework of Rocketman, the song became a hauntingly perfect soundtrack to my early life in Pinner Hill Road. While my parents must have been in love at some point, by the time I arrived, affection was largely absent. Their relationship seemed defined by mutual animosity. My father was a stern, emotionally distant figure with a volatile temper, while my mother was prone to arguments and shrouded in dark moods. My childhood memories are dominated by either frigid silences or explosive arguments between them. Often, these conflicts revolved around me and my upbringing.
The presence of Taron Egerton, Elton John, and David Furnish on the set of Rocketman highlights the collaborative and personal nature of bringing this biopic to life.
My father’s RAF service meant he was frequently away from home. Upon his return, he would attempt to impose rigid rules concerning every aspect of my life – from my eating habits to my clothing choices. This would invariably ignite conflict with my mother. I sensed they remained together solely for my sake, a realization that only amplified the misery of our household. My refuge became my bedroom, filled with my cherished record collection and comics. There, I would escape into an imaginary world, losing myself in fantasies of becoming Little Richard, Ray Charles, or Jerry Lee Lewis. Years later, I made peace with my childhood. My parents divorced when I was thirteen, and both remarried, which I welcomed. However, my relationships with them remained complex. I was closer to my mother, yet even with her, there were prolonged periods of silence. My childhood remains a sensitive subject, even now.
Even without these sensitivities, witnessing someone else embody you on screen, reliving deeply personal memories, is profoundly disorienting. It’s akin to experiencing an intensely vivid dream. The journey that led me to that cinema, weeping at the sight of my family from six decades past, is a long and winding tale. And, perhaps unsurprisingly, it begins with a naked transgender woman emanating sparks from her vagina.
The Genesis of “Rocketman”: From Vegas Spectacle to Biopic Vision
This transgender woman was Amanda Lepore, a model, singer, and performance artist. The sparks emanating from her vagina were part of a series of films by David LaChapelle, commissioned for my Las Vegas show, The Red Piano, in 2004. LaChapelle’s film was his visual interpretation of the lyrics of “Someone Saved My Life Tonight,” a song Bernie and I wrote about our pre-fame days. It depicted our life in a North London flat with a woman I had foolishly become engaged to, a time when my understanding of my own sexuality was still murky.
LaChapelle’s film featured an actor portraying me in full 70s stage regalia, attempting a comical suicide by sticking his head in a gas oven, homoerotic angels ice-skating with oversized teddy bears, and Amanda Lepore, naked in an electric chair, sparks flying. I was captivated. I had explicitly requested a Vegas show unlike the typical spectacle, and The Red Piano was certainly anything but standard.
Elton John’s early foray into film, as seen in Tommy (1975), offered a glimpse into his on-screen presence, albeit in a fantastical rock opera context.
LaChapelle’s films, loosely inspired by elements of my life, sparked a thought. The gas oven suicide attempt, while dramatized, was rooted in a real, albeit ridiculous, event. It was my desperate, ill-conceived plan to escape an unwanted engagement. If a film about my life were ever to be made, I realized, this fantastical, no-holds-barred approach would be the way to go. Yet, the prospect of a full-fledged biopic still felt like a distant “if.” While I had found success writing songs and soundtracks for films, the idea of myself on the big screen remained daunting.
Surprisingly, back in 1971, director Hal Ashby offered me the lead role in Harold and Maude. I declined. Despite loving the script, it felt like the wrong move at the time. My limited acting experience included cameos in films like Spice World and Disney’s The Country Bears, hardly Oscar-worthy performances. My most recognized film role was in Tommy, although it involved more physical endurance – trying not to topple over in 4½ft Doc Martens – than actual acting. Initially, I even turned down Tommy. They approached Rod Stewart, and I advised him to decline too, joking, “I wouldn’t touch it with a bargepole, dear.” Then Pete Townshend from The Who called, and I felt obligated to accept. Rod was, understandably, furious, playfully accusing me of sabotage. While playfully antagonizing Rod Stewart is a cornerstone of our friendship, this particular incident was purely accidental.
Casting and Creative Choices: Taron Egerton Embodies Rocketman
I have never been one to dwell on my past career. I am deeply grateful for my success, but my focus has always been on the future, not on past achievements. However, this perspective began to shift as I grew older, particularly after becoming a father. Becoming a parent to Zachary at 63 and Elijah at 65 prompted me to consider their future. I wanted them to have access to my story, my version of events, through a film and autobiography. I became more comfortable with sharing my life, warts and all.
So, when I decided to proceed with a biopic, we commissioned Lee Hall, with whom I had collaborated on the Billy Elliot musical, to write the script. It was brilliant, seamlessly blending fantastical elements with raw, unflinching moments, reminiscent of Tantrums and Tiaras, the documentary my husband David made about me early in our relationship. Many cautioned against releasing such a candid documentary, but I embraced its truthfulness. Both the documentary and the Rocketman film portray moments where I am utterly unlikeable, even appalling. But at my worst, I was indeed disgusting and awful, and there was no point in sugarcoating that reality.
However, bringing Rocketman to fruition took years. Directors and lead actors came and went. David LaChapelle was initially considered to direct but ultimately chose to focus on his fine art. Then producer Matthew Vaughn, whom I met during my cameo in Kingsman: The Golden Circle, suggested Dexter Fletcher. Similarly, various actors, including Justin Timberlake and Tom Hardy, were considered before Taron Egerton emerged. Some studios pushed for a toned-down version, aiming for a PG-13 rating. But my life, as I pointed out, has not been PG-13. I didn’t want a film gratuitously filled with sex and drugs, but to ignore these aspects of my 70s and 80s would be disingenuous. It would be a false portrayal to suggest that after every concert, I retreated to my hotel room with just warm milk and the Gideon’s Bible for company.
Elton John performing on stage in 1974, a period of explosive fame and creative output that Rocketman vividly captures.
Furthermore, some studios wanted a conventional biopic, devoid of fantasy. This, I felt, missed the core point. As a child, I lived largely in my own head. And when my career exploded, it felt surreal. Success wasn’t instantaneous. Bernie and I had spent years playing clubs, making records, and pitching songs to uninterested parties before anything significant happened. But when it did, it was like a rocket launch. There’s a scene in Rocketman where I’m performing at the Troubadour in LA, and the entire room begins to levitate, including me. That’s genuinely how it felt.
I left England in August 1970, virtually unknown. Bernie and I were so broke we were sharing bunk beds in my mum and stepdad’s spare room. I was a session musician to make ends meet. My second album, Elton John, had garnered some press and John Peel airplay, but the idea of performing in America, where I was essentially unknown, seemed pointless. Yet, I returned from the States a month later with American critics hailing me as the “saviour of rock’n’roll.” Musical heroes – names that were mythical figures from album covers – were suddenly appearing in my dressing room, praising our work: Brian Wilson of the Beach Boys, Leon Russell, the Band, Bob Dylan. Within those three weeks, I also lost my virginity to a man – John Reid, who later became my manager – and came out as gay, at least to my inner circle. It was an overwhelming deluge of experiences.
A young Elton John with his mother Sheila and stepfather Fred Fairebrother in 1971, capturing the early stages of his meteoric rise to fame after his American breakthrough.
Understandably, Bernie and I were bewildered. I hadn’t even aspired to rock stardom; my initial ambition was simply to be a successful songwriter. But it just kept escalating. I kept a diary throughout this period, which, in retrospect, is inadvertently hilarious. I documented everything in a matter-of-fact tone, which only amplifies the absurdity: “Woke up, watched Grandstand. Wrote Candle in the Wind. Went to London, bought Rolls-Royce. Ringo Starr came for dinner.”
I suppose I was trying to normalize the extraordinary events unfolding, but the reality was anything but normal. Not that I’m complaining, but no one can truly prepare for such rapid, seismic shifts in life. I doubt any human is psychologically equipped to handle that level of sudden fame, especially someone with my pre-existing childhood neuroses.
In some ways, it’s remarkable I didn’t derail sooner. It took three or four years – and my introduction to cocaine – before things spiraled out of control. Perhaps the relentless pace of touring and album-making initially kept me somewhat grounded. But when I did lose control, it was with the same explosive force as my rise to fame.
The Darker Side and Redemption: Rocketman’s Honesty
Strangely, watching the darker periods of my life in the film isn’t painful. They are truthfully depicted, and unlike my childhood, those struggles were self-inflicted. No one forced drugs or alcohol on me. In fact, many people warned me about my out-of-control behavior. It took considerable effort to become notorious for excessive cocaine use in the 1970s LA music scene, but I was clearly dedicated to the task.
I shared my diaries with Taron when he took on the role. He came to my home, we had a takeaway curry, chatted, and I let him read them. I knew Taron was the right choice when I first heard him sing “Don’t Let the Sun Go Down on Me.” It was crucial to me that the actor portraying me would sing the songs, not lip-sync. Taron had already showcased his vocal talent with a brilliant rendition of “I’m Still Standing” in the animated film Sing.
Taron Egerton embodying Elton John in Rocketman, capturing the flamboyant stage presence and vulnerability of the iconic musician.
“Don’t Let the Sun Go Down on Me” is a notoriously challenging song vocally. I know this firsthand, having struggled immensely when I first tried to record it in 1974. The session was disastrous. In a display of my legendary composure, I threatened to strangle my producer, Gus Dudgeon, with my bare hands, declared the song unreleaseable, and threatened to give it to Engelbert Humperdinck. Taron, in contrast, simply sang it, flawlessly, without murder threats or Engelbert mentions.
His singing genuinely astounded me. He isn’t doing a mere impersonation. He doesn’t look exactly like me, although they did shave his head and thin his hair to mimic my 70s look, which he loathed. “Welcome to my world, baby – at least yours will grow back.” But Taron captured something essential, something of my essence, just as Richard Madden captured John Reid and Jamie Bell embodied Bernie.
The Enduring Partnership: Elton John and Bernie Taupin
Jamie and Taron even managed to portray my relationship with Bernie, which is almost miraculous, as I struggle to comprehend it myself. We were paired together randomly. After failing a Liberty Records audition in 1967, a label employee gave me an envelope of Bernie’s lyrics as a consolation prize. I doubt he had even read them himself. He likely just felt sorry for me.
Bernie and I were exceptionally close in our early career. Yet, we are fundamentally different people. He hails from rural Lincolnshire, I from suburban London. He lives in Santa Barbara and is a champion cattle roper. I collect antique porcelain and would only ride a horse at gunpoint. Neither of us can write if the other is present. But there’s an inexplicable bond that resonated the moment I opened that envelope. I could instantly set his words to music, effortlessly, and that connection has endured for over 50 years.
Elton John and Bernie Taupin’s long-lasting creative partnership is a central theme in Rocketman, showcasing both their synergy and contrasting personalities.
We’ve had disagreements – Bernie could rant for hours about my more extravagant stage costumes, or about “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart,” a song he despised from its inception and continues to loathe. But we have never truly fallen out, despite the absurdities we’ve navigated.
Elton John and Bernie Taupin at an event in West Hollywood, their enduring friendship and professional bond a testament to their shared journey.
Outside of my husband and children, my relationship with Bernie is the most significant in my life. We deeply love each other, and Rocketman captures this profoundly. A scene where Bernie visits me in rehab triggered another wave of tears in the cinema. It mirrored reality. Bernie was among those who urged me to stop using drugs. I was resistant for years, but he remained steadfastly by my side, never giving up. His relief and joy when I finally sought help were immense.
Bernie was initially apprehensive about Rocketman. He read the script and disliked the fantastical elements, protesting, “But that didn’t happen, that’s not true” – classic Bernie. However, after seeing the film, he understood. I don’t think he actually cried, but he was deeply moved. He grasped the film’s essence: to create something that reflected the totality of my life – chaotic, funny, mad, horrible, brilliant, and dark. It isn’t literal truth, but it is emotional truth.
Rocketman is in cinemas now.
