Mike Myers' EMI cameo and inside joke is delightful, and Rami Malek is pitch-perfect. Really, really tremendous and uncanny. His 'being' Freddie Mercury never once stood between my eye and my mind's eye, and that's as high a compliment as can be offered to art.
As a concert film, it's pretty good, though sometimes gangly and awkward like a cotton-socked teen standing on her tippy toes atop a wobbly wooden ladder to change that precarious lightbulb some 20' above the cavernous, echoey, marble-floored foyer. The job gets done, but not always comfortably and gracefully, much less beautifully.
Lastly, the perversion and promiscuity that define nearly 1/3rd of the movie are—finally and thankfully—eclipsed by music, friendship, service, forgiveness, and legacy love.
And that's something we can all champion.
