'Elvis & Nixon' revisits a bizarre piece of pop-political ephemera

In December 1970, Elvis Presley paid a visit to Richard Nixon in the White House, offering his help in the president's nascent war on drugs and asking to be appointed an undercover narcotics agent. The photo of the event - an uneasy grip-and-grin featuring two men who ostensibly couldn't be less alike - went on to become the most-requested image at the National Archives.

Taking this bizarre piece of pop-political ephemera as her inspiration, director Liza Johnson (working from a script by Joey Sagal, Hanala Sagal and Cary Elwes) imagines the event in "Elvis & Nixon," a wispy, "Mad Men"-like period piece awash in the era's funkiest R&B tunes, faded color schemes and kitschy material details.

Chicago's own Michael Shannon plays Presley as a recessive, almost feral creature, wary of the world now that fame has engulfed him, trusting only his inner circle, embodied here by childhood friend Jerry Schilling (Alex Pettyfer). Thinning out Presley's familiar Memphis baritone - sending it instead it into a whispery, improbably high register - Shannon imbues the King with surprisingly tender fragility and regret.

When Elvis finally manages to meet Nixon - 40 minutes into the film - it initially looks as if he'll be blown away by the gruff, profane commander in chief. Unlike Shannon, Kevin Spacey attacks his character with jowly, slyly stylized gusto, delivering the signature Nixonian tirades with crabbed truculence and flawlessly funny timing.

At first, Nixon does all he can to avoid the sit-down with Presley. He considers it only after aides mention that it might help with the Republicans' Southern strategy. The deal is sealed when he gets an importuning call from his daughter Julie.

Other than the sheer peculiarity of the incident - and the obvious fun Spacey and Shannon are having as alpha males parrying and thrusting over Dr Pepper and M&M's - it's difficult to discern the point of "Elvis & Nixon." In many ways, it's most revealing as a reminder of a time when Washington-Hollywood back-scratching wasn't nearly as calculated or brazenly reflexive as it is today.

As the filmmakers follow Presley on his mission to become a federal agent at large (at one point meeting with a bureaucrat played by an amusingly nonplused Tracy Letts, another Chicago actor), they portray him as naive and somewhat addled, ignoring what Presley's wife, Priscilla, has said was the singer's true agenda: to make it easier to get in and out of the country with his personal stash of drugs and guns. That blind spot notwithstanding, "Elvis & Nixon" makes for a diverting, often absurdly funny double portrait of two men engulfed by changes they can't fathom, much less accept.