Thursday 3 April 2008

Reigning It In, Letting It Loose: A Review of 'Shine a Light'

'What do you mean, you're not going to play 'Gimme Shelter'?'

Back in the day, there were Beatles people, and there were Stones people. Sure, the former were more politically active and maybe presented a higher echelon of hippie-consciousness, but barring some kind of Lazarus-like resurrection (of both people and careers), you’re not likely to get them playing an 18-song set at the Beacon Theatre in New York – even when they were all still alive, they had moved on. The Rolling Stones will never move on. Until Mick Jagger collapses on stage like an oversexed Moliẻre they’ll continue to delight in the adrenaline of the live show.

To capture this stubborn commitment, Martin Scorcese has furnished himself with ten cameras, a team of Oscar-winning cinematographers (like Cameron Crowe collaborator John Toll), and a triple-decker stress-sandwich in order to make superlative part-documentary mostly-concert film Shine a Light. The film hints at being both a larger historical project (which it was once planned to be), and a behind-the-scenes examination in the manner of Jean-Luc Godard’s Sympathy For The Devil, but ultimately sets himself the more difficult task of capturing just what it is like to watch the band play live.

On an IMAX screen this is accomplished with aplomb. We see Jagger’s fillings and Keith Richards’ dishevelled veins in all their (in)glorious detail. The little details surprise and engross: Richards leaning on the shoulder of bassist Ronnie Wood during a lull, drummer Charlie Watts sighing in exhaustion after a solo, pretty blondes in the front row desperately trying to get a picture of Jagger on their mobiles.

Having opened the Berlin film festival, Shine has garnered mixed reviews. True, the set itself is not a barnstormer, designed as it is to highlight lesser-known tracks rather than recycle wall-to-wall hits (which come as the encore), some of the riskier lyrics have been excised thanks to the presence of a Presidential dynasty, and the performance – to a much smaller crowd than the band are used to – occasionally lacks a certain something, most notably in the opener, ‘Jumping Jack Flash.’

Those who are not that familiar with the band may not be able to get past these quibbles, while even hard-core fans may be unimpressed due to them. Either way, the work behind the camera is exceptional, Scorcese and his team turning fresh what could so easily be stale, the editing and cinematography crisper and more rewarding than in most concert films. The opening may resemble Spinal Tap without the irony, but it successfully sets a tone of frenzied anticipation and fin-de-siecle grandiosity.

This is a film to either stick on in the background on a Sunday afternoon in your open-plan flat while people come and go, or to be overwhelmed by in the immersive environment of Waterloo’s IMAX, an experience made all the stranger by the necessary passivity of the audience in the face of such an energising performance.

3 comments:

Steve said...

Hey man, interesting review. I finally caught it at the imax last night, quite the experience. You do a really good job of not letting the sheer magnificence of the experience prohibit you from acknowledging some important criticisms in your review. Your last paragraph is especially insightful.

I was really impressed by the way Scorsese occasionally managed to convey the musicians' psychology with his camera(s). I'm thinking specifically of the long take close-up on Buddy Guy in-between vocals or Keith Richards' contemplation/release at the end of the show.

Nick Jones said...

Thanks for the comments - indeed, nearly every review I've read mentions the stillness of Buddy Guy in comparison with Jagger et al. Richards spitting a fag out into the darkness is also something to behold - like an outtake from a Malick film.

Anonymous said...
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.