Julie Taymor’s 2007 film Across the Universe is a cinematic experience that defies easy description. Equal parts dazzling spectacle and frustrating narrative mess, it’s a movie that can leave viewers both enthralled and exasperated. With a story that flits between romance, social commentary, and psychedelic fantasy—all set to the music of The Beatles—it’s a bold, peculiar experiment that is as entertaining as it is confounding. “Awesome terrible” perfectly captures the essence: moments of genuine visual and musical brilliance collide with melodramatic missteps and story gaps that are impossible to ignore.
The premise is deceptively simple. Jude (Jim Sturgess), a young British man, arrives in 1960s America seeking opportunity. He meets and falls in love with Lucy (Evan Rachel Wood), a rebellious American woman, and becomes entangled in the social and political upheavals of the era. Alongside them are friends like Max (Joe Anderson), a musician struggling with the draft and love, and Sadie (Dana Fuchs), a rock singer with her own ambitions. Interwoven with this narrative is the music of The Beatles, which serves as both soundtrack and storytelling device, with each song reframed to reflect the characters’ emotional states or to advance the plot.
Where Across the Universe succeeds spectacularly is in its visual ambition. Taymor’s direction transforms nearly every scene into a living painting. Streets erupt in swirling color, classrooms become dreamlike stages, and even mundane locations like diners and apartments are rendered with hyper-stylized artistry. Sequences such as “I Want to Hold Your Hand” reimagined underwater, or the kaleidoscopic acid trip of “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds,” are mesmerizing. The film is suffused with inventive choreography, surreal set design, and lighting that oscillates between warm nostalgia and psychedelic vibrancy. At these moments, it’s hard not to admire Taymor’s audacity and vision. The visuals often feel like something only possible in cinema, where imagination has no practical limits.
The musical performances are similarly a mixed bag. Jim Sturgess and Evan Rachel Wood are competent singers, though neither possesses the vocal magnetism of the original Beatles. Joe Anderson and Dana Fuchs provide energy and grit to their roles, especially during the film’s rock-heavy numbers. Some reimaginings are inspired, breathing new life into classic songs, while others feel unnecessarily literal or overextended. “I Am the Walrus” as a surreal carnival and “Dear Prudence” as an elaborate forest sequence are visually striking, but some numbers drag on so long that narrative momentum is lost. The result is a film where the music often dazzles, but sometimes overwhelms or distracts from the story.
And here is where the “terrible” side of Across the Universe asserts itself. The plot is thin and often meandering, serving largely as a frame for musical set pieces. Jude and Lucy’s romance, which should be the heart of the film, is rushed and occasionally awkward, with emotional beats that feel forced. Supporting characters are similarly underdeveloped, their subplots truncated in favor of the next big visual or musical spectacle. The historical backdrop—the Vietnam War, anti-war protests, and civil rights struggles—is frequently stylized to the point of caricature. While the setting is visually faithful to the era, the social and political commentary often lacks nuance, leaving moments that should feel weighty oddly hollow.
Pacing is another issue. The film swings between hypnotic sequences of dreamlike beauty and sudden, melodramatic bursts of emotional intensity. Extended musical numbers often feel indulgent, while crucial plot points are glossed over or abruptly resolved. Viewers may find themselves caught between admiration for the artistry and frustration at the lack of narrative cohesion. Some scenes are so long and abstract that it becomes hard to follow the story or care about character development. In this sense, the film embodies the essence of “awesome terrible”: audacious, unique, and beautiful at times, yet flawed and sometimes exasperating.
The performances, while generally solid, also contribute to the film’s unevenness. Jim Sturgess is charming and earnest as Jude, but his emotional range is limited, leaving him overwhelmed by the spectacle surrounding him. Evan Rachel Wood is similarly earnest, though she can feel lost amid Taymor’s kaleidoscopic direction. Joe Anderson and Dana Fuchs inject energy and charisma into their supporting roles, but their characters are underwritten, leaving them more as symbols than fully realized people. Louise Fletcher, in a minor role as a figure of authority, brings gravitas, yet the supporting cast often feels like set dressing for the musical extravaganza rather than actors in a coherent story.
One of the film’s most ambitious—and simultaneously frustrating—aspects is its literal interpretation of Beatles songs. Taymor frequently transforms lyrics into visual narratives, often in elaborate, surreal ways. For instance, “Hey Jude” becomes an extended, almost literal interpretation of support and solidarity, while “I Want You (She’s So Heavy)” manifests as a darkly stylized industrial nightmare. These sequences are imaginative and often mesmerizing, but they sometimes distract from the emotional through-line, leaving the audience in awe while struggling to understand character motivations. The balance between spectacle and story is tenuous, tipping far too often toward the former.
The film’s tone is another source of its “awesome terrible” quality. It attempts to blend romance, social commentary, historical drama, and musical fantasy, yet these elements frequently clash. Lighthearted, whimsical musical numbers contrast sharply with depictions of war, loss, and betrayal, creating jarring shifts in mood. While some tonal swings are intentional, reflecting the chaotic energy of the era, others feel unintentional, leaving the audience unsure whether to laugh, cry, or merely gape in confusion. The film’s ambition to be both fun and profound sometimes results in a tonal dissonance that is difficult to reconcile.
Yet despite—or perhaps because of—its flaws, Across the Universe is undeniably memorable. Taymor’s fearless commitment to her vision ensures that nearly every scene contains something extraordinary: a composition that is both bizarre and beautiful, a visual metaphor that lingers, or a musical reinterpretation that surprises. Few films attempt to merge surrealism, historical reflection, romance, and a jukebox musical with this level of audacity, and the results are often breathtaking. Even when the film falters narratively, its inventiveness demands attention. It is a movie that rewards viewers who are willing to suspend disbelief and embrace the spectacle, even at the expense of story cohesion.
The film also offers moments of genuine emotional resonance. Jude and Lucy’s love story, while sometimes awkwardly handled, provides a human center amid the chaos. The characters’ struggles with identity, loyalty, and morality are occasionally poignant, particularly in scenes where personal loss intersects with historical upheaval. These moments are fleeting but powerful, reminding the audience that beneath the visual flourishes and musical extravagance lies a story about people navigating a turbulent world.
Visually, the film is a feast for the eyes. Cinematographer Bruno Delbonnel’s compositions are meticulously framed, often resembling living paintings. The color palette shifts with the tone, from vibrant psychedelic sequences to muted, melancholy depictions of loss and war. Taymor’s penchant for surreal tableaux ensures that even minor scenes are visually interesting, if sometimes over-the-top. These visual flourishes elevate the film beyond standard musical fare, making it a striking, if occasionally exhausting, cinematic experience.
In the end, Across the Universe is a cinematic contradiction. It is innovative and imaginative, yet flawed; visually spectacular, yet narratively tenuous; emotionally affecting, yet occasionally overwrought. It is a movie that inspires admiration and frustration in equal measure, the kind of film that people remember precisely because it is impossible to categorize. Its audacity is both its greatest strength and its most glaring weakness. Some viewers will love it for its creativity, boldness, and sheer spectacle; others will find themselves frustrated by its narrative gaps, pacing issues, and uneven performances.
Despite these contradictions, the film’s enduring appeal is undeniable. It is frequently revisited, dissected, and debated, often earning a cult following precisely because of its “awesome terrible” nature. For all its missteps, Across the Universe is a singular cinematic experience, a bold experiment that refuses to conform to standard storytelling conventions. Its mixture of visual artistry, musical innovation, and emotional ambition makes it impossible to ignore, even for those who are critical of its flaws.
Julie Taymor’s vision, combined with the timeless music of The Beatles, ensures that Across the Universe remains an unforgettable and polarizing work. It is not a perfect film by any measure, nor does it aim to be. Instead, it exists as a daring experiment, a collision of artistry and ambition, and a film that inspires both admiration and exasperation. Its highs are breathtaking, its lows are head-scratchingly odd, and its overall effect is unlike anything else in modern cinema.
In short, Across the Universe is a movie that earns its “awesome terrible” reputation. It is flawed, indulgent, and uneven, yet it is also inventive, visually stunning, and occasionally moving. Watching it is an experience—sometimes exhilarating, sometimes frustrating—but never boring. For those willing to accept its contradictions and embrace its audacity, the film offers a wild, memorable ride.
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