Review: Beware of Mr. Baker

(Jay Bulger, 2012)
(Originally posted at Take One)

Taking its name from a warning sign adorning the driveway of a particularly cantankerous British rock ‘n’ roll legend, Jay Bulger’s all-encompassing documentary Beware of Mr. Baker (2012) peers behind the dark glasses and gruff facade of one Ginger Baker: wunderkind drummer, world renowned agent of disaster and, most significantly, the destructive member of a variety of bands, namely Cream. Notable in his infamy, Baker is a figure tainted by a catalogue of ill-fated decisions and a history of substance abuse, and here is the focus and subject matter for Bulger, who makes his impressive filmmaking debut.

Starting in the present day, which sees Baker breaking the nose of his chronicler – and, arguably, one of a few of his confidantes – in a characteristic outburst of rage, Bulger’s film then journeys backwards and plunges into Baker’s early life and the wild and destructive career that has lead him to, at the time of filming, living a secluded life in South Africa, having journeyed there to sample the life-changing tribal drumming techniques practised there. Studying his troubled childhood, his beginnings as a gifted but untapped musician and the subsequent ascent into the gritty echelons of London’s jazzy, pre-rock ‘n’ roll scene, Bulger utilises a number of techniques to depict the inspirational-cum-tragic tenor of his subject, whose quick submission to the enticements of drugs irrevocably changed his life.

As Bulger flits back and forwards in time (and indeed to and from archive materials, animated sequences and talking head interviews with an abundance of Baker’s previous acquaintances such as Eric Claption), the hidden truths about Baker slowly begin to seep out; he is, of course, a fiery personality that time is quickly beginning to forget, but he is also a caring and secretly kind man jaded by own his weaknesses. In the later stages of his career, when his affiliation with the short-lived Cream was drying up faster than his bank account, Bulger focuses on his charity and his obsessions with horses and polo, elements that both added to his compulsive personality and monetary downfall. In the more contemporary portions of the documentary, the camera stares, motionless, at a static, bitter and contrary 73-year-old Baker mumbling through anecdotes and spouting vitriolic lines and observations as he puts the world to questionable rights. He is vivacious and infectious, a tortured soul with a fascinating history, and Bulger does an excellent job of capturing him at his chequered highs and miniscule lows.

However much the director’s almost faultless affection for his subject glosses over the darkness, the selfishness and the occasionally unbelievable amount of pain he has caused to the people who admire and love him (especially the family he callously disregarded), Beware of Mr. Baker is a fascinating, comprehensive and sympathetic portrait of an explosively flamboyant figure in British rock history, one that paints an interesting picture of the grimy 1960s and 70s rock climate that chewed up this thumping musical virtuoso and pitilessly spat him out.

Review: Crossfire Hurricane

(Brett Morgen, 2012)
(Originally posted at Take One)

Marking the 50^th anniversary of the formation of The Rolling Stones, Brett Morgen’s illuminating documentary Crossfire Hurricane both commemorates and studies the extraordinary legacy enjoyed by one of the world’s most iconic rock bands. Compiling a wealth of painstakingly researched scraps of rare and often unseen archive materials, ranging from newsreels, personally filmed backstage videos and a host of live performance footage, Morgen – whose previous documentaries include Chicago 10 and The Kid Stays in the Picture– has sculpted a lovingly rendered tribute to such an astonishing milestone of British rock music, taking a standard approach to the genre and peppering it with insight and evocation, even if it fails to be totally comprehensive.

This may not be entirely Morgen’s fault, however, as The Rolling Stones have padded out their remarkable fifty-year tenure with an illustrious and eventful career marked by an exhaustive, long-standing and unsurpassed dedication to the music they’ve so profitably released. Honed and meticulously edited together, Morgen has created a timely and inspiring distillation of the band’s highs and lows which, thanks to the Stones’ help in the production of the documentary, raises a congratulatory glass and a dutiful slap on the back. That isn’t to say the film is one-sided and biased towards depicting the band in a completely positive light; quite the contrary in fact, as the film makes many pit stops in order to explore the low points in their career, which range from the tragic, premature death of original band member Brian Jones, the rising temptations of rock ’n’ roll – especially Keith Richards’ frequent run-ins with the police for drug abuse – and their unjust brandishing as anti-establishment rabble-rousers.

It is perhaps here that Crossfire Hurricane finds its most interesting groove. Charged with inspiring a counter-cultural movement in both England and, subsequently, wherever their infectious success took them, the Stones were lambasted by a certain percentage of the public who saw them as nothing more than catalysts for social and civil unrest, especially with their dizzyingly lively concert performances, and of course the disastrous events at their self-organised free festival on the Altamont Speedway, itself an event scrutinised in the Maysles brother’s 1970 documentary Gimme Shelter. Sparking disorder and casual mayhem in their wake, the band invited a level of mass hysteria perhaps only shared by The Beatles, whose rise to success began at a similar time.

Yet, with their shaggy hair and unobvious looks, The Stones were carelessly allotted into the unwarranted position as the bad guys in conjunction with The Beatles’ white knights, whose sunny music and sleek attire contrasted with Mick Jagger, Keith Richard and Charlie Watts et al’s non-conformity, unkempt haircuts and garishly diverse fashion sense. An excellent juxtaposition of the band’s rebellious attitude with British culture comes in the form of an expertly pieced together montage of their activities and the fans they so enthralled, cut together with a number of advertisements that outline the supposed ideals of domesticity and the nuclear family.

Never letting their ostracism from certain distinguished figures get in the way of consistently producing record after record, The Rolling Stones only intermittently became prey to the lure of their profession, letting drugs, sex and booze cloud their better judgements. The best thing about Morgen’s film – and surely a reason why they appear to have commissioned it so wholeheartedly – is that it really does paint them as intelligent and very well educated men who know exactly what they want and how to amass their talents to get it. The spine of the film is a series of interviews with the current band members set in the present who Morgen was not, for whatever reason, allowed to film, only to record. This produces a series of unadulterated sequences where the blackness of the screen gives the audience a break from the gloriously flashy havoc and allows us to fully comprehend and listen to the pains, the joy and the utter fulfilment expressed in their voices.

Although Morgen’s film serves only to commemorate The Rolling Stones and their dextrous career, rarely conveying anything particularly new about the band as it inescapably sketches over large portions of the band’s foundations, Crossfire Hurricane is a reflection and celebration of their justified success. Just like the lyrics the film borrows its title from, they were born into a hurricane of incongruity and fervent popularity. Yet as the finale (and a recently announced comeback tour) suggests, this band fully deserves whatever merit one throws at them, as does Morgen, whose film is a gas.

Review: Beware of Mr. Baker

(Jay Bulger, 2012)

Taking its name from a warning sign that adorns the driveway of a particularly cantankerous British rock ‘n’ roll legend, Jay Bulger’s all-encompassing documentary Beware of Mr. Baker peers behind the dark glasses and gruff facade of one Ginger Baker. A wunderkind drummer, world renowned agent of disaster and, most significantly, a member of a variety of bands, namely Cream. Baker is an infamous figure tainted by a catalogue of ill-fated decisions and a history of substance abuse, and is the focus and subject matter for Bulger’s impressive filmmaking debut. (Continue reading here)

Review: Mea Maxima Culpa: Silence in the House of God

(Alex Gibney, 2012)

Overlapping an account of paedophilia with an all-out denunciation of the Vatican, Alex Gibney’s documentary Mea Maxima Culpa: Silence in the House of God assembles a stash of research in order to expose the widespread sexual abuse within the Catholic Church.(Continue reading here)

Review: West of Memphis

(Amy Berg, 2012)

Already the subject of three HBO documentaries that took a slapdash approach to arranging its key facts (the Paradise Lost trilogy), the shocking case of the West Memphis Three is again examined by director Amy Berg in West of Memphis. Here, she creates a sprawling, inclusive, sometimes biased catalogue of a long running voyage of justice. In 1994, the town of West Memphis in Arkansas was shattered by the heinous murders of three eight-year-old boys, which resulted in the accusations of three teenagers who were wrongfully said to have been part of the increasing rise of rituals practised by satanic cults. (Continue reading here)