Firstly, don’t watch this film, watch Asif Kapadia’s Amy. Now read the review.
I have made it very publicly known in many of my recent reviews that I have grown a great distaste during this recent glut of musical biopics, not one of them for me has risen above the mediocre and normally that’s fine. I can live with most of them, I can live with fans of the artists immediately making it their favourite film, because why not? They love the music and when someone makes a movie that’s built around idolisation and is mostly music, then you get what you get. But one particular film of this nature has been floating round for some time and has to be frank (pardon the pun), been unnerving me in the periphery upon its release. The nature of making a film about the talent and ultimate tragedy of the life of Amy Winehouse, whose life was infamously taken from her own voice time and time again and presented falsely or harmfully and to then make a film that by its nature would be mostly fabricated like all of these biopics usually are, rubbed me entirely the wrong way. I gave the benefit of the doubt and I headed in, a true blue Amy fan and was left with a film that on surface level is probably better as a film-making level than many of the recent glut. However on a far more moralistic level could be the most shameful of them all. I do not use that word lightly.
On the surface level this is just as messy as the rest of them; with shameless mangling of timelines to allow for certain moments to land better, with egregiously on the nose dialogues (one in particular where the lines of Rehab are so closely affected it feels like a parody), scenes where songs are written right there and then (which was a talent of Winehouse’s but here as presented feels contrived) and an overall leering exploitive nature that hangs over the depictions of Winehouse’s lowest moments. The film however from the off sets its self up for sublime failure with an opening quote from Amy that is used as a bookend about how she wishes to be remembered for her music, hence framing the film as one that will do just that. Yet the creation of her greatest album which this film has titled itself after and credits in the synopsis as the plot of the film is reduced to one terribly made montage that has more green screen than a Marvel film. You cannot frame your entire film as an ode to the music and then spend collectively I would say 30 minutes of the films 2hr run time on that music, with the majority of that 30 minutes comprising of whole performances of songs that of course are sensational but barley touch watching or listening to the actual thing. Let’s talk then here about Marisa Abela before we get to our director and writer, because if this film has anything going for it at all, it is like so many of these biopics (Bohemian excluded) in that it has an extraordinary lead and a great ensemble around them. Abela is sensational and is subtle and believable and mimics only when called for, it is a touching and sincere portrait that never once reeks of falsehood, apart from with regret the many, many times she is hampered and screwed over by a shameful screenplay and terrible direction. Now it is said also that Abela does all of her own singing and if we are to take that on face value as the truth then this is the finest vocal performance in a biopic that I have ever seen. Truly and unequivocally incredible. However to by cynical and I am more than willing to be proven wrong, but this vocal performance is so much like Amy that it does feel like a mix in the recording of the two voices or at times just playing the real thing. So for now, until my worries are proven right or wrong, I will say that Abela’s performance including her incredible vocal mimicry is astounding. However the film she is in, is most certainly not.
The remaining
points all somewhat bleed from one into the other, in that screenwriter Matt
Greenlaugh’s work and director Sam Taylor-Johnson’s is to be spoken of in turn
to some regard with the work of the three other chief actors in the film,
Lesley Manville, Eddie Marsan and Jack O’Connell. All three of them deliver
brilliant performances because they are all deeply empathetic, truthful and
brilliant actors. I cannot speak to the truth’s of these people, nor would I
ever feel arrogant or belligerent enough to attempt such a thing, however I can
only go from what has been presented to me prior in a documentary piece that I
do feel is a more truthful depiction and the manner in which certain figures
are depicted here makes the film a glorified romance that if it was not dealing
with real life then I would be praising actually for a tender, brutal and
honest depiction of a toxic romance – however we are dealing with real life and
so it completely rubbed me the wrong way. Taylor-Johnson and Greenlaugh play
fast and loose with facts and their own mission statement for it to only suit
them as and when they please and overall make a film that is almost shamefully
contradictory and as I’ve already eluded to, and at best is simply messy and
rings false. I repeat myself once again; if you wish to see a film about this
figure see the documentary and if you wish to see the music performed then view
the archive of footage we are fortunate enough to have of her talent.
A 4/10 that in regards to craft and structure may actually be better than your One Love and your Bohemian Rhapsody, but to bookend your entire film with a false promise of it being about Winehouse’s music and talent, only to then have the majority of the film being equitable mostly to misery porn and in some of its suggestions upon the death, just as salacious as the reporters it villainises (rightfully so obviously, but the filmmakers here are just as bad). Marsan, O’Connell and Manville are all great and if one can look past the reverberations and seeming agenda of what these depictions mean, then one can find three great performances. Abela is sublime. She is perfect, she is a terrific Amy hampered by a very shoddy film indeed that is at its best very clunky and at its worst – I dare say – morally bankrupt. I say this with no levity at all and firmly no hyperbole. I hope this is the first of these biopics where people finally turn away from the simple one word sentence of “a terrible film with a great lead performance” and have the fans of this tremendous artist feel wronged in some way. But I can only speak for myself.
P.S. I can only repeat myself over and over again… Do not watch this film and go and watch or rewatch Asif Kapadia’s perfect documentary Amy. Not only is it a film that actually celebrates the music and Amy’s craft, but more so is told whenever it can in her own voice, which was so often taken away from her.
- Thomas Carruthers
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