It’s become an eternally tired sentiment that musician biopics like this are beyond exhausting. There was a moment in time when this cinematic reimagining of legendary musician’s lives was rather novel; the ability to see a more artistic interpretation of said artist’s life that could be both constructive and informative. Then Bohemian Rhapsody came along and cemented a mould that was already forming.
It wasn’t long ago that we had the Bob Marley biopic Bob Marley: One Love. And as we speak, Michael Jackson is due an upcoming film, as are the Beatles, who are getting four simultaneous biopics. At this point, it’s hard to listen to what is essentially the same story of a wide-eyed musician growing into a phenomenon and then falling apart due to addiction or domestic abuse. So it’s only natural that I groaned at the idea of an Amy Winehouse film, which was sure to double down on exactly that. After all, what is Amy Winehouse without her long history of substance abuse and relationship spats?
Back to Black did have some slither of hope with its director. Sam Taylor-Johnson had previously impressed with the rather distinct and transformative Nowhere Boy, based on the early years of John Lennon. With how cared for the history of Lennon was in that film, I could perhaps rely on Taylor-Johnson to do the same for Winehouse. And while it’s the furthest thing from being a terrible movie, it does manage to fall into the same generic tale of destructive fame. Underwhelming to say, this is yet another standard entry in the musician biopic universe. This is Sam Taylor-Johnson’s Back to Black.
As would be expected, Back to Black recounts the turbulent rise to fame of British pop star Amy Winehouse (Marisa Abela). Starting off as a young and aspiring musician living in the slums of Camden Town, hanging out in local pubs and sleeping with as many men as she pleases, Amy finally gets her shot when a bigtime music publisher signs her on. But, much to the chagrin of Amy, they want to turn her into a poppy, colourful artist, betraying her tough-as-nails image and raw love of the artform. Managed by her father Mitch (Eddie Marsan) and with the emotional support of her nan Cynthia (Lesley Manville), she’s left struggling between business and personal woes.
But the music is only a part of Amy’s story. Back to Black is more a delve into Amy’s personal life and her turbulent history with ex-boyfriend Blake Fielder-Civil (Jack O’Connell). After a particular uproar with her producers, Amy goes to a bar where she meets the jack-the-lad, flirting and charming his way into her heart. This romantic, if destructive, tale inspires Amy to keep writing music, crafting songs around both her admiration and frustrations with her beloved.
The party-heavy lifestyle continues to take hold. What was once a life of constant drinking and mild drug use turns into rampant alcoholism and class A abuse. A cautionary tale of whatthe price fame can have on a salt-of-the-earth person.
It’s impossible to look at this film objectively without the bevy of music biopics that have come out in the last two years alone. For what good the entertainment of the Queen biopic did, it created this unoriginal slew of replaceable and indistinct jukebox musicals with the same general journey. Back to Black may sidestep one side of Winehouse for the sake of expanding the other, but it’s still just as generic.
Some criticism has been given to the film for focusing more on Winehouse’s struggles with substance abuse over her more creative side. To defend it for one second, it’s impossible not to make this a centre point. Even in comparison to other artists, Winehouse struggled more with this side than anyone else. The film displays a symbiotic relationship parallel to her adoration for Blake. No particular blame is placed on anybody, making more of a point that the two were just as bad for each other as they were for themselves. Wading through the torrent of discomfort and drug-addled haze, there is a genuine love story that elevates the film ever so slightly.
The relationships Amy share with people in general is what holds the film steady. Abela’s performance isn’t great, being a little too exaggerated and downright stiff at times, but she nails the grounded likability of Winehouse well. It makes her relationship with Blake feel natural and her adoration so totally obvious. Amy was never one to adhere to the standards of the music industry, and that’s what made her so endearing to so many. You see this in the way she talks to her father, often telling him off for pushing her into an image she doesn’t want, but also relying on him to help and comfort her. If the film has anything going for it, it’s how strong this affectionate side of her is.
The grounded nature of Amy’s life and personality is something that many overlooked while she was alive. Many were quick to villainise either Blake or Mitch-the former for hooking her on harder drugs and the latter for enabling her behaviour-but Taylor-Johnson was sure to dispel these ideas. You’ll find yourself especially drawn to Mitch and Amy’s nan. These two really solidify the more earthly side of the artist, presenting their own complexities and skewed morals.
Stepping away from the familial strengths of the film, we do run into all too common issues these types of movies suffer from. Most apparent is the cliché struggling artist finds the confidence to make it in the industry but falls under negative influences formula.
The film runs through the same exact course but in a more shrouded way. Before the film even reaches its second act, you’ve already figured out how it’s going to play out. The final act is particularly egregious, invoking an almost predatory imitation of other films. We have to sit through the same miraculous creations of songs. We watch and listen as Amy brings her iconic songs out of thin air, pausing to let the audience sit in awesome wonderment. But it’s all so inauthentic and disingenuous. None of it feels realistic and is impacted by Abela’s shaky singing. Mannerisms are pushed too far to the point of feeling more like a caricature and the transition to Winehouse’s actual voice is unnatural and jarring.
I still think the choice to focus on Winehouse’s personal life over the music is admirable, but one can’t ignore how it shoddily steps around her musical talents. The songs, while varied and even a little obscure at times-which was a good decision-feel more like they were put there for the sake of simply being there. This is a problem that plagues so many of these types of films: songs have no real rhyme or reason for being put there narratively and only serve to gives audiences what they expect. Hearing songs like Fuck Me Pumps and Rehab are all well and good, but they need a narrative excuse to be present. The only ones that fit into this are the ones established as being based around her relationship with Blake.
I think that’s another point worth bringing up. While the film is titled after the album-and song-of the same name, it never feels as though the album is given much attention. Going back to the core of the film, Amy’s relationship with Blake was so consequential to her music that it brought about the entire album. In the film, it’s more framed as a little side-note in them getting back together. Really, the film needed to make the music the third piece of this symbiotic relationship, not just an addendum to please audiences.
The small bits of praise I’ve given to this film are overcast by the generic state of yet another piece in the music biopic zeitgeist. For fans of Winehouse, the music isn’t given the focus it needs and an idea is formed that her drug and relationship problems are all there was to Winehouse’s life. To those who are tired of the obvious checklist structure of such films and are-like myself-merely outside spectators of the artist, you’ll roll your eyes and count down the seconds till the next cliché intervenes.
Amy Winehouse was more than talented, creating songs that betrayed the system and gave us a lens into her private life. In some aspects, the film delivers on just that. But in others, it imitates what worked for other films, reminding us of how samey the lives of these artists can feel. Quite frankly, I’m tired of these serviceable and indicative movies that offer little in the way of a unique voice, bordering on disrespect. For those unaware, there is a documentary simply titled Amy that delves further into the life of the troubled and heart-breaking life of the artist. This film is one I’m more than happy to say goodbye to in words alone.
Written review by Conor Johnson.