I’m not sure who John Cusack had to sleep with to get cast as the 1980s version of Beach Boy Brian Wilson, but he must have performed phenomenally. He’s the only disharmonic note in an otherwise great cast. And unfortunately, unlike when Wilson combines baselines in different keys, you don’t get magic. You get a sour note. Cusack’s performance is honest enough, and both he and Paul Dano manage to capture the life of a man whose genius was, as so often happens, touched by madness. It’s just that the two men are so different that it strains credulity to ask us to believe that the two are the same man, separated by two decades. I suppose some will call it a “bold casting choice,” but it really kept me from fully enjoying the film.

The rest of the cast is top notch—I could have watched Dano’s incarnation of Wilson for the full two hours, honestly, especially the scenes in the studio, working with “The Wrecking Crew.” (I’ve got a documentary on them lined up for the near future.) And I have to admit to having the hair stand up on my arms watching them put some of the tunes together. Paul Giamatti is deliciously oppressive as the doctor who keeps a tight leash on Cusack/Wilson, whom he sees as his meal ticket, and Elizabeth Banks strikes the right note as the woman who struggles to pull him free, while also dealing with a man who has long ago given up trying to free himself. I can’t imagine that Mike Love will care all that much for Jake Abel’s portrayal of him, but given what little I know of the real story, I’d have to say it’s fair, without being malicious. (Besides, as Love is fond of reminding people, he wrote “Kokomo,” so, you know… who’s the real genius here, anyway?)

Showing two periods of a man’s life that are distinct, yet have similar motifs, links the two in a fractured way, which is maybe the point, I guess. Giamatti’s Landy is just the ‘80s version of Wilson’s father, with the dangerous addition of a prescription pad, for example. You want to reach out and choke each of them in turn—Landy, when berating Brian for not producing songs, and Murray Wilson for—and this really happened—selling the rights to the Beach Boys songs for $750,000 because, as he says, “no one’s gonna remember you or the Beach Boys in five years.” (Yes, I threw up in my mouth a little, too.)

In the end, it’s a story worth watching, and told well. A story that gives us a glimpse inside a man who related to music in a way all his own because he also related to the world in a way all his own. IMDB gives it a 7.4. For me, it’s a 7. Although he’s got some of the mannerisms down, (mis)casting Cusack loses half a point. But at the very least, you’ll want to pull out and dust off that old Beach Boy vinyl you’ve got stored away, and fire it up one more time. (running time 2:01)