by Alice-Ginevra Micheli, Contributing Writer
Amy Winehouse is one of those singers who achieved early greatness, cementing her position as a legend of music. But she unfortunately passed away before she could continue to share her talent with the world. And with it being a death which followed a life of tragedy, trials, and intensive media scrutiny, you can see where Hollywood was coming from when they decided to make Back to Black, a film about Winehouse’s life.
Beginning in adolescence, Sam Taylor-Johnson’s film follows Winehouse (Marisa Abela) as she goes from local London girl to major music star, and the fall that defines her short and tragic life.
When this film was announced, I can’t say I was excited for it. There’s been a general downfall in music biopics in recent times, partly due to their almost repetitive storytelling of the “tortured genius,” something which relates less and less to modern audiences. It’s impossible to ignore the current state of the world when examining a film such as this. With the cost of living crisis, scrutiny of the celebrity context, and a general eat-the-rich attitude, you can understand why people aren’t interested in seeing films about celebrities throwing their life away. And with the fact that the film’s mere existence feels quite exploitative, it put a bad taste in many mouths before it had even been released.
I’m sorry to say that the aftertaste isn’t sweet either. The worry that the film would be exploitative is accurate. As someone who didn’t know much about Winehouse and her life, apart from the obvious, I was excited to learn more. To be introduced to the genius behind the tortured mind. However, having seen the film, I feel like I almost know less than I did going in. The way the story is presented, it feels like the creatives read a Wikipedia summary, looked at famous paparazzi photos, and then put together one of the most paint-by-numbers music biopics that I have seen since Bohemian Rhapsody.It alarmingly goes into such little detail about the actual music that it feels like Taylor-Johnson was more interested in showing the grime, dirt, and drug-addled drama than presenting a life that was complex and worth portraying in this format.
The direction is lazy and uninspired. There are several moments where connections are simply not made between plot points, and the journey from neighborhood girl to music maven is skimmed over in favor of focusing on the vaguely toxic relationship between Winehouse and British lad, Blake Fielder-Civil (Jack O’Connell). Vaguely toxic in this, as in many parts, the film chooses to tell us it’s unhealthy without really showing why, besides the fact that they’re both addicts. There’s never an in-depth look into how Fielder-Civil is taking advantage of Winehouse, or why she is so desperately addicted to him, and how in turn that affected her life and career.
This is especially prevalent when you are presented with a friend and family life that seems otherwise fairly normal and supportive. There is so little understanding allowed or presented to the clear mental health issues that Winehouse was dealing with her whole life — the film instead chooses to depict her as an almost good-for-nothing, arrogant girl who is the sole reason for her own death.
One of the big draws was meant to be Abela’s turn as the pop star in question. However, a few days after seeing the movie, her performance has already left my mind. She does a fine job in the role, but she never really captures the essence and charisma that helped launch Winehouse so far. As an audience member, you’re more questioning why she had all these agents, studios, and managers holding on to her. This also lives within the impression of her singing, almost feels off-pitch with how much Abela is trying to emulate Winehouse’s voice. There is none of the casual greatness that accompanied so many of the singer’s legendary performances. Instead, the amount of enunciation and effort present make the a cappella performances almost uncomfortable to witness.
It might seem like this film is atrocious — in a way, I guess you could say it is. However, this feeling comes more from the disrespect one feels on behalf of the singer, and how little care was given to how she was portrayed, and how her story was told. Yes, it’s impossible to deny that she was an addict, she did join the “27 club” due to poor decisions regarding alcohol. But she also made music history with her transcendent manipulation of the jazz genre, and the evocative yet emotional storytelling she would achieve through her lyrics and songs.
At the end of the day, when I go see a movie about a singer, I want to see the music. I want to see the singer. I want to understand why she was the way she was, and be shown her genius — not just presented a myriad of songs amongst a collage of tragedy that was already painted across the tabloids while she was alive.
Back to Black is fine, if a little disrespectful. If you’re a Winehouse fan, I’d recommend watching the Oscar-winning documentary, Amy instead.
Rating: Didn’t Like It
You can read more from Alice-Ginevra Micheli, and follow her on Instagram and Letterboxd