Back to Black
[info headline="Release date"]7 December 2018[/info]
[info headline="Language"]English, Hindi[/info]
[info headline="IMDb Rating"]7.4[/info]
[info headline="Genre"]Action, Fantasy, Science Fiction[/info]
[info headline="Cast"]Nhu y, Amber Heard, Patrick Wilson[/info]
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Director Sam Taylor-Johnson’s “Back to Black” invokes a
single question, one fans of Amy Winehouse are sure to recognize: What kind of
f*ckery is this? The Camden-bred superstar, played by Marisa Abela, was
famously “just one of the girls.” Down to earth, charming, witty, and, when she
opened her mouth, a dazzling performer with an unbelievably soulful voice.
Infamously, those who remember Amy will also recall a brutal struggle with
addiction and leeching media frenzies that followed her to her death at age 27
from alcohol poisoning in the summer of 2011.
“Back to Black” chronicles the years between the success of
2003's breakthrough Frank and the blowup of the film's titular album in 2006.
But if you expect to learn about Amy the person or even Amy the musician,
temper your expectations. Taylor-Johnson’s film, penned by Matt Greenhalgh, is
concerned with Amy the addict, making “Back to Black” a dreadful, dastardly
attempt at a biopic.
If there’s one assumption to be made about any musician’s
biographical drama film, it’s that it will be music-centric. While “Back to
Black” has plenty of performances highlighting some of Amy’s most famous songs,
they are almost exclusively used for simple soundtrack and pity fodder rather
than essential structure. They almost feel like flippant reminders to portray
Amy as a performer rather than solely the emotional wreck they characterize her
as. The film allots next to none of its runtime to the actual making of either
album. We are given fractional context to her artistry, only minor bullet
points, like a single guitar-in-the-bed songwriting sesh and a cheeky Mark
Ronson namedrop.
"Back to Black" misunderstands Amy’s legacy. The
film doesn’t permit unfamiliar audiences to be privy to her iconicity. It
doesn’t showcase the ravenous support from her hometown and country, the way
they rallied behind her, or the transition of her fame to the States. It
neglects to acknowledge any of the reasons why Amy and her music were so
beloved. Very little of her actual career is touched on in the film. Instead,
it plays more like a montage of toxic romance, drug use, and impromptu tattoos.
Many of the onstage moments serve to show issues with
sobriety or the mournful longing she feels for her on-and-off boyfriend and
eventual husband, Blake (Jack O’Connell). The singular clip we’re given of the
making of Back to Black is a moment of her tearfully recording the titular
track, declaring, “he’s killed me,” and hard cutting to a leap in time where
Amy is in the deepest throes of substance abuse. Not even her addiction, the
film’s misguided though central focus is given thoughtful narrative—it’s just
something that happens off-screen. It’s treated with cut-to-the-chase rapidity
because, as the film sees it, we know it happens anyway.
Abela gives a valiant effort in her performance, loosely
capturing Amy’s onstage mannerisms and idiosyncratic dancing. But gesture is
not essence, and there’s always a distracting artifice to her depiction. Amy
Winehouse's charisma and charm were almost as famous as her voice, and Abela’s
hollow copy and exaggerated accent put her out of her depth in attempting to
replicate them.
If the film’s navel-gazing take on defining Amy by drug use
wasn’t criminal enough, the script treats these struggles and her eventual
death as matters of fate: an end bound to her from the beginning. Every reach
for a beer or glass of wine is dramatized like a smug nod to what we know is
coming. From the top of the film, Amy is portrayed as a philandering, snarky
silver tongue, a criminal to the love lives of others and a fated victim to her
own heart. Blake is treated like a casualty to the irrepressible storm of her
out-of-control nature, and her father, a powerless, wishful supporter, even
though simple biography dictates otherwise. Neither of these men is fully to
blame, but omitting their enabling and exacerbation of Amy’s vulnerabilities is
irresponsible to the dignity of history. Amy is portrayed as a naive and
directionless mess, and all the while, the music is never the cornerstone of
the story. It begs the question: Why was this film made?
When we reflect on pop culture’s past with 2024 eyes,
looking back on how the media and public treated Amy, we recall the
exploitation with disgust. We compare it to Britney and vow to do better next
time. The hopeful implication here would be that we could honor Winehouse’s
story better in death than in her life, yet this expectation sets the viewer up
for failure. While Taylor-Johnson directs scenes that seem to shake their head
at the oppressive paps that tail Amy’s every move, her film fails to do anything
different. There’s a gross level of romanticization and infantilization that
hemorrhages any hint of life force from this story. The same sensationalist
treatment she attempts to scoff at is integral to the story she’s chosen to
tell. Taylor-Johnson’s predatory, voyeuristic eye never fails to capitalize on
the strife of Amy’s addiction without providing empathy or care. It renders the
music purely as a consequence of a proposed penchant for pain and poor choices,
depicting its hero as pathetic.
“Back to Black” makes a martyr of its subject, flattening
Amy Winehouse's life and music to a series of binges and failure to overcome
heartbreak. It viciously strips her of any agency or humanity, positing her to
be nothing more than a tragedy with an iconic album. While there’s no way to
separate Amy’s biography from her addiction, to conflate it with her entire
existence, sidelining personhood and omitting the pillars of her legacy is an
offensive approach to storytelling.
For fans who love her, this film is a heart-wrenching watch
for all the wrong reasons, and for any of the true loved ones she’s left
behind, the impact feels as if it can only be devastating. “Back to Black”
spotlights the same dialogue in its introduction as in its final act, Amy
laments, “I want to be remembered as a singer. I want to be remembered for my
voice." Yet, the film hardly remembers her for more than her darkest
moments, a posthumous “too bad” that will leave many leaving the theater disturbed.
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