“Two guys lip-synched, and the world blew up over it.” That’s how filmmaker Luke Korem succinctly remembers Milli Vanilli from his youth in 1989 and 1990, the brief period when the pop duo experienced the vicissitudes of worldwide fame followed shortly by global ridicule.
Munich-born Robert “Rob” Pilatus and Paris-born Fabrice “Fab” Morvan bonded as young dancers on the club scene in Munich, two of the very few Black faces there. In their early 20s they were discovered by German music producer Frank Farian, who they say masterminded a scheme to make them the face of Milli Vanilli but with other musicians actually singing the songs.
The new Paramount+ documentary Milli Vanilli takes viewers on their whirlwind ascent from background dancers to the top of the charts in 1988, culminating in an astounding Grammy for best new artist in 1990, through to their panicked efforts to keep the ruse a secret while on tour and the brutal vitriol they and their families faced following their dramatic unmasking at the end of 1990. With interviews from nearly all the key players involved, the enthralling and ultimately tragic film has much to say about the siren song of fame and wealth; the role of race in the music industry’s power dynamics; and how exactly so many were able to turn a blind eye to the lie behind a golden goose.
Korem became intrigued with the tale four years ago, after he came across a 2014 video of Morvan on the storytelling series The Moth. “At the end Fabrice sang, and he had this really beautiful voice,” the director tells Vogue. “I thought, Wait a minute—I thought this was about two guys who can’t sing.” That led him down a rabbit hole to Farian, who he was intrigued to learn had done the same thing with disco band Boney M in the ’70s. “There are so many sensational headlines about this story, but I wanted to know the human story beneath it. I felt there were so many more layers to it than the average person knew.”
It took a year to convince Morvan to get on board. “There was a lot of deceit,” Korem says. “But 30 years passing allowed healing and for people to look back objectively in a way that benefited the story greatly.”
Many had approached Morvan about telling his story, with several biopic projects stalling over the past 15 years. (The 1997 pilot episode of VH1’s Behind the Music about Milli Vanilli remained its highest rated for years.) But he was impressed by Korem’s 2017 documentary about a blind magician, and the timing just felt right. “With the healing process, I was more relaxed about it,” recalls the singer, seated next to Korem, in a mellifluous voice with a hint of a French accent. “Even though the scars are healed, sometimes they become fresh again if you go back to that moment and feel those emotions. I knew I’d have to go through that, but Luke felt like the person I could tell my story to.”
But Korem made clear to Morvan and other sources his intent to explore the many often contradictory sides of the story. “The truth lies somewhere in between,” he says. “To Fab’s credit, we didn’t show this film to anybody until it was already picture locked. This was not a PR biopic by any means. We let the audience decide for themselves.”
The hardest part, however, was “was dealing with a story that people think they already know,” Korem says. “This is not just like a pop doc. We’re going to take you on a real visceral journey.”
That’s something Morvan felt the first time he saw the film at the Tribeca Festival this summer: “I felt a hand come around my neck and squeeze. I could feel the pressure.” But that sensation dissipated once he saw the audience’s reactions. “You could see their tears, and they came to hug me. I’m happy because finally people are going to feel what we felt. When you’re famous, the fact that you’re a human being goes out of the equation.”
The pop songs that rocketed them to stardom serve as the soundtrack this emotional ride—and they’re as infectious and fun as they were 30 years ago. Morvan has actually been performing for years in America (occasionally with the real voice behind Milli Vanilli, the late John Davis), and the slow jam “Girl, I’m Gonna Miss You” is still a crowd favorite. “It has everything to do with those gospel chords nestled within the groove. En français on dit intemporel—it doesn’t age, it’s a classic.”
Also retaining their power are the pair’s youthful looks—chiseled faces, disarming gazes, perfect braids—that captivated the world all those years ago, as well as the fashions that made them style icons: leather jackets, ripped jeans, sharp blazers, tight tank tops, and, of course, biker shorts. “That was just a comfort thing,” Morvan says of the pair’s signature item. “It was just easy—you only had to worry about changing out the top.” Korem points out that in his interviews with Morvan, “I would ask him to go back in time and the first thing he would say was what he was wearing.”
Growing up, Morvan wanted to be a fashion designer, inspired by the high-drama fashion shows of the ’70s and ’80s. (Once crossing paths with Karl Lagerfeld at an airport, Morvan says the legendary designer remarked approvingly, “Mm, stylish.”) And although his wardrobe from that era is now safely stored away, he agrees that many of Milli Vanilli’s inimitable styles would still work today. “He can still pull off the Spandex,” Korem grins, gesturing at the singer’s lean frame.
Today Morvan sees their style successors in a perhaps surprising place: “I look at the landscape of trap music, with the dreads and being more fashion oriented, and I think I was a trailblazer when it came to that style,” he says, long locs now piled artfully into a knot atop his head.
Beyond the music and perhaps the clothes, many under age 35 or so may not know the details of Milli Vanilli’s story, and Korem often heard the same reaction from those audiences: Why did everybody get so angry? “It was a different time,” the director observes. “Today, with reality TV, with auto-tune, with packaged pop stars, we just accept things for what they are, as entertainment.”
Morvan, pointing to the popularity of lip-synching on TikTok, agrees the whole thing would have transpired differently today. “We got crucified,” he says, his bright smile flickering briefly. “It was hard to be so high and to fall so fast. And the jokes and everything…. That was rough.”
Following the scandal, Pilatus struggled with drugs and was in and out of jail, before dying from an overdose in 1998 at just age 32. “Rob died of a broken heart because of everything that was said,” Morvan notes. “I fell, I stood back up, and it turned me into what I am today. I hope that with my story people can learn something and say, ‘There is a way for me to stand back up and change my life.’”
