From its opening moments, Gabriel Range’s “Stardust” vows to do things a little bit differently, kicking off with both a warning and a promise: “What follows is (mostly) fiction.” The shape of it is true-ish enough: set in 1971 after the release of his “The Man Who Sold the World,” a still-struggling David Bowie (an explosive Johnny Flynn) has yet to break into the cultural consciousness.
Surrounded by people who love him — and are thus convinced of his place in the pantheon of musical geniuses, even if his entree will have to wait for some future date when everyone else gets hip — Bowie is forced to swallow a bitter pill: He’s just not a star.
But, of course, he is, and just needs to show the world his special brand of magic.With the apparent freedom afforded to him by that winking announcement, it’s understandable that audiences might
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