Film Review: "Back to Black" and the Burden of Being Just Good Enough
Sam Taylor-Johnson offers a serviceable if not groundbreaking biopic of one of the most iconic singers of the 2000s.
Hello, dear reader! Do you like what you read here at Omnivorous? Do you like reading fun but insightful takes on all things pop culture? Do you like supporting indie writers? If so, then please consider becoming a subscriber and get the newsletter delivered straight to your inbox. There are a number of paid options, but you can also sign up for free! Every little bit helps. Thanks for reading and now, on with the show!
In some ways the musical biopic is the hardest genre to get right. After all, such a film not only has to use the conventions of the form to illuminate something essential or compelling about the subject; it also (presumably) has to include at least a few musical numbers. And, of course, the bigger or more iconic the star, the more difficult and thorny the task becomes, with an increasing number of pitfalls, particularly when the subject in question has a very complicated legacy marred by tragedy and addiction.
Which brings us to Back to Black, the new musical biopic directed by Sam Taylor-Johnson and starring Marisa Abela as the iconic Amy Winehouse, whose own troubled life and remarkable artistry–to say nothing of her untimely and tragic death–remain firmly intertwined in the public imagination and in understandings of her artistic legacy. It’s precisely Winehouse’s iconicity that has, unsurprisingly, overshadowed the film’s reception. Some critics have lambasted it for reducing Amy to nothing more than her addiction, while others have made the opposite claim, suggesting that it idolizes her. The film, somewhat like Winehouse herself, changes depending on who is doing the reviewing and their relationship to the singer and her body of work.
Nevertheless, it’s important, I think, to determine just how well Back to Black works as a film, without the obscuring haze of Winehouse idolatry. To put my own cards on the table: while I see Winehouse as a true powerhouse now, I was largely unaware of her during the height of her popularity (despite the fact that we were basically the same age at the time), and I certainly am not a fan, per se. Thus, I came to this film without preconceptions or powerful investments, and as a result I actually found myself quite enjoying it. Unlike so many other recent musical biopics of the last decade–I’m thinking, for example, of the relatively recent I Wanna Dance with Somebody, which chronicled the life and career -Back to Black doesn’t try to do too much. Instead, we meet Amy when she is at the beginning of her career, and we then watch as she begins her ascent and then the ups and downs in her personal life.
For her part, Abela gives a compelling–if not exactly revelatory–portrayal of this complicated young artist. Contrary to what some people continue to insist, Abela does look like Winehouse and, as Owen Gleiberman writes, “Abela’s Amy is an authentic force of nature, and every inch the Winehouse we know from her ecstatic, tormented, spilling-over-the-sides, saturation-coverage-by-the-media image.” To my eye, Abela gives a remarkably humane performance, allowing us to see Winehouse as a person rather than as simply an icon. This might rub her fans the wrong way, and understandably so, but it’s why it’s important to keep in mind what the film sets out to do which, it seems, is to focus on her relationships rather than her artistry, per se.
Indeed, Amy’s relationships provide the narrative and emotional spine of the film, whether it’s her deeply affectionate bond with her nan, Cynthia (played with dazzling warmth by the ever-delightful Lesley Manville) or her overly-doting-but-also-concerned father, Mitch, played by Eddie Marsan. While her Nan is both an emotional and artistic touchstone for Winehouse–even going so far as to craft her towering beehive–her father plays a more ambiguous role. While he is obviously concerned for his daughter and her well-being, he is far too passive to be an effective check on her impulses. While this may not be the scathing indictment of him that many fans might have wanted, his unwillingness to challenge her until it is too late is its own form of critique.
It’s really Winehouse’s relationship with Blake Fielder-Civil, however, that proves to be both the most important and the most destructive to her later life and career. Fielder-Civil is played with rakish charm by Jack O’Connell, who brought a similar bad-boy charisma to his role of Oliver Mellors in Netflix’s adaptation of Lady Chatterley’s Lover (O’Connell also deserves all the credit for his brilliant lipsynching of The Shangri-Las’ “Leader of the Pack”). From the moment they meet in a pub it’s clear that there’s a volatile and powerful connection, one that will lead them both down the road to mutual self-destruction. Rather than going the easy route–and the one that many of Winehouse’s fans might like to see–and pinning Amy’s decline into addiction all on him, the film instead asks us to hold them both to account. They’re two kindred spirits, for better and for worse, as much in love with life as they are with death.
It’s also just a beautiful film to watch. Taylor-Johnson has a keen eye for an arresting image, and while some of the iconography–particularly the repeated motif of Winehouse’s oft-caged canary–may be a bit too on-the-nose, others are more effective. This is a film that gently but insistently draws you into its world of sultry vocals and pubs, city streets and pharmacies, and I for one appreciated this aspect of it.
Many critics have taken the film to task for all but ignoring Winehouse’s artistry in favor of her personal relationships, but I think this is overstating the case. The singer’s most famous tracks come in at key moments in the film to showcase Winehouse’s state of mind, and I give Abela props for doing her own vocals rather than relying on lip-syncing. Sure, they don’t ever attain quite the heights of the real thing, but there’s still a fair bit of soul there, and I think they end up saying more about her state of mind than a few more scenes showing her composing could have done.
In the end, it seems to me that Back to Black deserves at least a little bit of credit for avoiding some of the pitfalls and pieties so associated with the musical biopic. It doesn’t valorize Amy Winehouse, but neither does it vilify her. Instead, it paints her as what she no doubt was: a complicated and at times vexing artist who was also the victim of a relentless paparazzi that subjected her every move to scrutiny (contrary to what some have claimed, this is a point brought up again and again in the film). It may not break any new ground in terms of the musical biopic form, but it doesn’t need to. It gets in, gets the job done, and gets out and, for me at least, that’s enough.