‘EPiC: Elvis Presley in Concert’ Review: Baz Luhrmann’s Elvis Documentary Is One of the Most Exciting Concert Films You’ve Ever Seen

Recall the most unforgettable concert you've ever attended—whether it was Bruce Springsteen, U2, the Rolling Stones, Lady Gaga, the Ramones, Taylor Swift, Radiohead, or, as in my case, Prince and X in the ’80s and Madonna’s Confessions Tour in the 2000s. Now, bring to mind that one spine-tingling moment that still gives you chills. That’s precisely the kind of visceral thrill you can expect from “EPiC: Elvis Presley in Concert,” a stunning new documentary directed by Baz Luhrmann, the visionary behind the 2022 biopic “Elvis.” Over 96 mesmerizing minutes, the film immerses viewers in the raw, intoxicating energy of Elvis’s live performances during his early Las Vegas residencies, beginning in 1969 and extending into the early ’70s.

For many, Elvis during this era is overshadowed by myth: the glittering Vegas stages, the iconic white jumpsuit with its dramatic cape, oversized rings, aviator sunglasses, and the bombastic “2001: A Space Odyssey” intro. It’s easy to dismiss this period as pure spectacle—the King presiding over a kingdom of kitsch. Yet, as Luhrmann’s film powerfully demonstrates, the reality was something else entirely. In the 1970s, performing in Las Vegas was widely considered cheesy and uncool among rock artists—far from the norm. Elvis’s flamboyant costumes and setlists blending “Hound Dog” with “The Battle Hymn of the Republic” made him seem, to some, like a nostalgic throwback. But perceptions have shifted dramatically. Today, Vegas residencies are embraced by artists from Lady Gaga to the Grateful Dead, making Elvis’s pioneering run seem prescient. His Liberace-inspired outfits now read not as garish, but as bold, ahead-of-their-time statements in an age of postmodern fashion excess.

Elvis in the early ’70s was still remarkably vital—lean, magnetic, and vocally unparalleled. His voice, with its signature tremolo, could soar, quiver, and roar with breathtaking control. While some may point to Freddie Mercury as rock’s ultimate showman—and rightly so—the footage here suggests that Elvis in his prime was in a class of his own. Luhrmann and editor Jonathan Redmond spent two years meticulously restoring and syncing never-before-seen 35mm and 8mm footage from Warner Bros. archives, including outtakes from the concert films “Elvis: That’s the Way It Is” (1970) and “Elvis on Tour” (1972). The result is a seamlessly edited, exquisitely paced narrative, narrated by Elvis himself using rediscovered interview audio.

The film opens with a dynamic montage tracing Elvis’s career, acknowledging his often-derided but oddly compelling film era before zeroing in on his triumphant return to music. We see him in rehearsal, clad in a vibrant psychedelic shirt, delivering soulful covers of the Beatles’ “Yesterday” and “Something,” as well as Dusty Springfield’s “You Don’t Have to Say You Love Me.” Offstage, he comes across as both a perfectionist and a warm, humble collaborator. But it’s the live performances that truly astonish: “That’s All Right” is reinvented with breakneck speed, “Hound Dog” feels proto-punk, and “Polk Salad Annie” channels Tina Turner-level intensity. Backed by the formidable TCB Band—featuring James Burton’s searing guitar work—Elvis radiates joy and swagger, whether playing air guitar or reading lyrics off a sheet during the debut performance of “Burning Love.”

“EPiC” doesn’t shy away from Elvis’s playful, self-aware side—he toys with the mic, jokes with lyrics, even sings with a bra tossed onstage. Luhrmann subtly underscores the shadow of manager Colonel Tom Parker, including a pointed montage during “You’re the Devil in Disguise.” As Elvis himself reflects in the film, his dream of touring internationally was never realized—a missed opportunity that might have altered his trajectory. The documentary culminates in a transcendent rendition of “Suspicious Minds,” a song that captures both personal anguish and generational shift. When the credits roll, you’re left marveling not only at Elvis’s singular genius but at Luhrmann’s restrained yet dazzling craftsmanship. This is Elvis, pure and undimmed—a performer fully aware that he was giving everything he had.