This bifurcated tale of distinct periods from the life of Beach Boy Brian Wilson plays like two different movies – jarring melodies intertwined in harmonious discord. Watching one, I found myself marvelling at Paul Dano’s uncanny portrayal of Wilson in the 60s, struggling to detect the moment when the actor’s voice segues into that of the real-life musician, dazzled by the construction of stunningly authentic-looking faux archive footage. In the other, I wondered whether it mattered that John Cusack’s 80s incarnation bore so little physical resemblance to either his subject or his on-screen counterpart, and found myself questioning the blend of fact and fiction in this latter-day tale of love’s triumph over madness and corruption.These two strands do not intertwine with ease, but like the counterintuitive chords and juxtaposed beats of Wilson’s peerless songbook, they come together in weirdly beautiful song – a restless sea of storytelling styles upon which the narrative’s plaintive melody skitters and surfs… The period textures are more complex, Pohlad and cinematographer Robert D Yeoman rivalling the tactile detail of Paul Thomas Anderson’s Inherent Vice with their use of 16mm and 35mm stock. Where the film really flies is in the restaging of the writing and recording sessions, the use of real musicians paying dividends in the vérité evocation of Wilson’s creative process. – Mark Kermode