The Paramount+ documentary Milli Vanilli spends much of its time portraying the fake duo’s surviving member Fabrice Morvan as a sympathetic figure, a victim of show business and, particularly, producer Frank Farian, who lured the naive duo into a contract that they did not read or understand. But, late in the documentary, Morvan has the gall to say that yes, a small part of him still feels that he deserved that Grammy award for all the hard work they put in touring the world for promotion while eating caviar and living the life of a star. The moment underscores the sketchiness that tainted everyone involved.
One of the actual lead vocalists, Charles Shaw, is positively seething throughout the documentary, and rightly so. To its credit, the show brings to light the fact that Farian was a repeat offender who previously undertook similar shenanigans with the immensely popular Boney M. The other person with the most screen time is Farian’s business manager/girlfriend Ingrid “Milli” Segieth, who gives the scandalous details of the real singers sneaking in the back entrance after hours and her love for Rob Pilatus.
The documentary goes on for a very long time — at least a half hour too long as it dwells on Morvan’s lmaudlin reflections — yet it manages to largely gloss over the appeal of the music, a triumphant string of five top five U.S. singles, including three consecutive number ones on the Billboard Hot 100. Most of the songs aren’t even mentioned by name, although Dianne Warren does appear for about 15 seconds to acknowledge her contribution. The song “Girl You Know It’s True” sounded like nothing else on the airwaves in late 1988/early 1989. Farian is a clever producer who also made hits for the likes of La Bouche, No Mercy and Le Click, and I would like to have heard some talk about how he cooked up the winning Milli Vanilli sound. To my ‘80s pop loving ears, the best of the bunch was the version of “Baby Don’t Forget My Number” that appears on the greatest hits album — likely a single remix. Of the album tracks that didn’t get released as singles, most of them are unremarkable, but there was one potential hit left on the table — “Take It As It Comes” — a Climie Fisher co-write that is as instantly catchy as the album’s hits.
Through the whole documentary, there’s a galling lack of anyone accepting any genuine responsibility for what transpired, from record label executives who appeared shifty and unprepared for basic questions to Morvan himself. And there was a surprising lack of consequences once the jig was up. Yes, Rob Pilatus arguably lost his life as a direct or indirect result and there was the public shaming of being stripped of the Best New Artist Grammy, but a lot of people made a lot of money and carried on with their merry lives. It does feel like something that should rise to the level of criminality. When it was discovered in the 1950s that game shows were making up the outcomes, there wasn’t just outraged headlines — there were congressional hearings and strict new rules at the TV networks. But when the music world made up Milli Vanilli, everyone involved said: Ah, just blame it on the rain.
