When the opening chords of “I Want Love” filled the cinema, it wasn’t just music; it was a time machine. Suddenly, I was transported back to Pinner Hill Road in the late 1950s, watching my family – my mum, dad, and nan – in our old council house. The scene unfolding in Rocketman, a film about my life, was so profoundly moving that tears streamed down my face, not the polite kind, but full-on, unguarded sobbing that draws concerned glances from strangers.
This wasn’t just watching a movie; it was witnessing my past resurrected. While I knew “I Want Love,” a song Bernie Taupin and I penned in 2001, was slated for the film, I hadn’t grasped the emotional depth of its placement. I had consciously kept a distance during Rocketman‘s production. I offered some input, reviewed early footage, gave my approval on key decisions, and met a couple of times with the brilliant Taron Egerton, who embodies me on screen. However, for the most part, I entrusted my husband, David Furnish, to be my eyes and ears on set. Having the subject of the film constantly present felt like it would be disruptive and awkward for everyone involved.
Therefore, the raw emotional impact of the film caught me completely off guard. “I Want Love,” originally a reflection by Bernie on love and relationships after divorce, took on a poignant new meaning when set against the backdrop of my childhood home. My parents, while they must have been in love once, certainly didn’t show it by the time I arrived. Their relationship was defined by animosity. My father was a stern, distant figure with a volatile temper, while my mother was prone to arguments and dark moods. Their interactions were characterized by either chilling silences or explosive fights, often centered around my upbringing.
Taron Egerton portraying Elton John alongside the real Elton John and David Furnish on the set of Rocketman, capturing a moment of collaboration and shared vision during the film’s creation.
My father’s RAF service meant he was frequently away, and upon his return, he would attempt to enforce rigid rules about everything from my eating habits to my clothing choices. This invariably ignited conflict with my mother. I sensed they remained together solely for my sake, which only deepened the unhappiness in our home. My refuge was my bedroom, filled with my record collection and comic books, where I could escape into a world of fantasy, imagining myself as Little Richard, Ray Charles, or Jerry Lee Lewis. I’ve long since reconciled with my childhood, and my parents divorced when I was 13, both eventually remarrying, which I welcomed. However, my relationship with both remained complex. I was closer to my mother, but even with her, there were extended periods of silence. My childhood remains a sensitive chapter in my life.
Even without these personal sensitivities, watching someone else embody your life on screen, reliving moments you remember, is inherently surreal. 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 prior, is a long and winding tale. And, in true Elton John fashion, it begins with a naked transgender woman shooting sparks from her vagina.
This woman was Amanda Lepore, a model, singer, and performance artist, commissioned by David LaChapelle for a series of films for my Las Vegas show, The Red Piano, in 2004. LaChapelle’s vision for “Someone Saved My Life Tonight,” a song Bernie and I wrote about our pre-fame days in a North London flat with a woman I foolishly became engaged to while grappling with my sexuality, was characteristically extravagant.
The film featured an actor portraying me in full 70s stage regalia, head submerged in a gas oven, homoerotic angels ice-skating with giant teddy bears, and Amanda Lepore, nude in an electric chair, sparks flying. I loved it. I had explicitly requested a Vegas show that defied convention, and The Red Piano was anything but ordinary.
Elton John reflecting on his role in the rock opera movie Tommy (1975), revealing his initial reluctance and humorous anecdote about Rod Stewart’s involvement.
LaChapelle’s films, loosely inspired by my life, sparked an idea. My dramatic (and foolish) suicide attempt involving a gas oven was indeed real – a desperate measure to escape an unwanted engagement. If a film were to capture my life, this outlandish approach felt right. Yet, the prospect of a full-fledged biopic still seemed distant. While I had enjoyed success writing songs and soundtracks for films, the idea of seeing myself on the silver screen felt daunting.
Interestingly, back in 1971, director Hal Ashby offered me the lead role in Harold and Maude. Despite loving the script, it felt like an incongruous step at the time, and I declined. My previous on-screen appearances were limited to cameo roles in films like Spice World and The Country Bears, hardly Oscar contenders. My most notable film role was in Tommy, though it involved minimal acting, mostly focused on not falling over in oversized Doc Martens. Initially, I even rejected Tommy, advising Rod Stewart, who was also considered for a part, to do the same. “I wouldn’t touch it with a bargepole, dear,” I told him. However, a call from Pete Townshend of The Who changed my mind, leaving Rod furious, playfully accusing me of sabotage. While playfully antagonizing Rod is a cornerstone of our friendship, in this instance, it was purely accidental.
Elton John performing on stage in 1974, a year of peak musical creativity and iconic performances, reflecting on his unexpected journey to rock stardom.
Looking back on my career has never been a primary focus. I am immensely grateful for all that has happened, but my gaze is usually fixed on the future. This perspective began to shift as I grew older, particularly after becoming a father. Becoming a dad 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, in years to come. The idea of sharing my life through film and autobiography, with unflinching honesty, became appealing.
When I finally committed to 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 fantasy and 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 Tantrums and Tiaras and Rocketman portray unflattering aspects of my character, moments where I was “disgusting and awful,” because, in my darker periods, that was the reality, and there was no point in sugarcoating it.
Bringing Rocketman to fruition took years, marked by changes in directors and potential lead actors. David LaChapelle was initially considered as director but refocused on fine art. Producer Matthew Vaughn, whom I met during my Kingsman: The Golden Circle cameo, suggested Dexter Fletcher. Justin Timberlake and Tom Hardy were among the actors considered before Taron Egerton emerged. Some studios pushed for a toned-down, PG-13 version, sanitizing the sex and drugs. But my life hasn’t been PG-13. I didn’t want a film solely focused on excess, but to omit the significant role of drugs and sex during the 70s and 80s would be disingenuous. It would be like implying that after each concert, I retreated to my hotel room with warm milk and a Gideon’s Bible.
Elton John and David Furnish at Elton’s 50th birthday celebration in 1997, marking a significant personal milestone and a moment of joy amidst a life lived in the spotlight.
Some studios also advocated for a conventional biopic, devoid of fantasy elements. However, that missed the essence of my story. As a child, I often lived in my head. And my career’s ascent felt equally surreal. Success wasn’t instantaneous; Bernie and I spent years playing clubs, recording demos, and facing rejection. But when it happened, it exploded like a rocket. Rocketman depicts a scene at the Troubadour in LA where the entire room levitates, including me – and that’s precisely how it felt.
In August 1970, I left England virtually unknown. Bernie and I were so broke we shared bunk beds at my mum and stepfather’s. I supplemented my income as a session musician. My second album, Elton John, garnered some press and John Peel airplay, but performing in America, where I was unknown, seemed pointless. Yet, I returned from the States a month later hailed by American critics as the “saviour of rock ‘n’ roll.” Musical heroes, names previously confined to album covers, were suddenly backstage, praising our work. Brian Wilson, 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 to my inner circle. It was an overwhelming whirlwind.
Elton John with his mother Sheila and stepfather Fred Fairebrother in their London apartment in 1971, capturing a moment of family connection amidst his burgeoning fame and transformative experiences in America.
Bernie and I were bewildered. I hadn’t even aspired to rock stardom; songwriting was my ambition. But it kept escalating. My diaries from that period are unintentionally comical. I documented everything matter-of-factly, amplifying 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. But it was anything but normal. I’m not complaining, but no one can truly prepare for such rapid, seismic shifts, especially someone like me, already burdened with childhood neuroses.
In retrospect, it’s remarkable I didn’t derail sooner. It took a few years, and my introduction to cocaine, before things spiraled. Initially, relentless touring and album production left little time for reflection. But when I did go off the rails, it was with equal intensity.
Strangely, watching those turbulent periods in Rocketman isn’t painful. They are truthful, and unlike my childhood, they were self-inflicted. No one forced drugs and alcohol on me. Many warned me about my escalating behavior. It took considerable effort to stand out for excessive cocaine use in the 1970s music industry in LA, but I was committed.
I shared my diaries with Taron when he took on the role. He visited my home, we had a takeaway curry, and I let him delve into my past. I knew Taron was perfect when I heard him sing “Don’t Let the Sun Go Down on Me.” It was crucial that the actor sang the songs, not lip-synced, and Taron had already impressed me with his rendition of “I’m Still Standing” in Sing.
Taron Egerton embodying Elton John in Rocketman, capturing the flamboyant style and emotional depth of the iconic musician in a pivotal scene from the biopic.
“Don’t Let the Sun Go Down on Me” is vocally demanding. I know firsthand, as I struggled immensely recording it in 1974. The session was a disaster. In a display of my renowned composure, I threatened to strangle my producer, Gus Dudgeon, and declared the song unreleaseable, suggesting it should be given to Engelbert Humperdinck. Taron, in contrast, simply sang it flawlessly, without threats or Engelbert mentions.
His singing astonished me. He doesn’t impersonate me, nor is he a physical double, though they did shave his head and thin his hair to mirror my 70s look, much to his dismay. “Welcome to my world, baby – at least yours will grow back.” He captured my essence, much like Richard Madden embodied John Reid and Jamie Bell became Bernie.
Elton John and Bernie Taupin in Sydney, 2001, showcasing their enduring partnership and playful dynamic, with a lighthearted nod to Bernie’s opinions on Elton’s stage costumes.
Jamie and Taron even captured my dynamic with Bernie, which is remarkable because I struggle to define it myself. Our partnership was chance. After a failed 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. He likely just pitied me.
We were close early on but are vastly different. He’s from rural Lincolnshire; I’m a London suburbanite. He lives in Santa Barbara, a cattle-roping enthusiast. I collect porcelain and avoid horses. We can’t write together in the same room. Yet, a profound connection sparked when I opened that envelope – I could instantly set his words to music – and it has endured for over 50 years.
We’ve had disagreements – my outlandish costumes and “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart” are perpetual points of contention – but never a falling out, despite navigating considerable chaos.
Elton John and Bernie Taupin at the 27th Annual Elton John Aids Foundation Academy Awards viewing party, West Hollywood, highlighting their deep bond and Bernie’s unwavering support through Elton’s life journey.
Beyond my husband and children, Bernie is my most significant relationship. We deeply love each other, and Rocketman captures that. A scene where he visits me in rehab triggered another wave of tears. It mirrored reality. Bernie was among those urging me to quit drugs. I resisted for years, but he remained steadfast, overjoyed when I finally sought help.
He was apprehensive about the film, initially disliking the fantasy elements. “But that didn’t happen, that’s not true” – classic Bernie. But upon seeing Rocketman, he understood. He was deeply moved, grasping the film’s essence: to portray my life as chaotic, funny, mad, horrible, brilliant, and dark. It’s not literal truth, but it’s emotional truth.
Rocketman is more than just a biopic; it’s a visceral experience, a journey through the highs and lows of an extraordinary life, set to an unforgettable soundtrack. It’s a testament to the enduring power of music, friendship, and the courage to confront your past, even if it makes you cry in the cinema.
