★★
A life lived as brilliantly as Amy Winehouse’s was ripe for biographical selections from the moment of her death, too soon in 2011. It is an indictment of the times in which we live. There is nothing to be proud of. Back to black is the first dramatization to come out of the blocks. It follows and lurks in the shadows of Asif Kapadia’s superior 2015 documentary, Amy. Where that film dove deep, upsetting his family in the process, this one is just a paddle in the shallow end. A superficial and disappointing entry into the current vogue for jukebox biopics. But it’s worse than that. Back to black lacks the self-awareness to recognize himself as no better than the paparazzi of the day he defends.
It is likely that many will find the film quite passable. Courtesy of Winehouse herself, it has a terrific soundtrack, giving Sam Taylor-Johnson plenty of editing opportunities. It’s an easy victory for the Fifty shades of Grey director, who shoots with eloquence and style. As for the lead role, Marisa Abela certainly looks the part. She also makes an impressive effort at vocal impersonation, going to hell with the song and storyline. Rote and simplistic writing – from Movie stars don’t die in LiverpoolMatt Greenhalgh of – does Abela no favors, but his effort and respect for Winehouse is palpable. Capturing Amy isn’t just about donning a beehive and a fake “Daddy’s Girl” tattoo.
Amy has neither as the film opens. Back to black joins his story just before the completion of Frank, his debut album, in 2003. It was an album born of anachronism, of jazz in the era of manufactured pop. Amy is not a fucking Spice Girl and will not be made for anyone. She’s a family girl through and through, deeply close to her grandmother, Lesley Manville’s Cynthia, and the apple of her parents’ respective eyes. Mom, Janis (Juliet Cowan), is not doing well, we are told, but the film doesn’t provide any further insight.
Mitch Winehouse, played by the likeable Eddie Marsan, is more central. The real Mitch hated Kapadia’s documentary – which dared to criticize his culpability in Amy’s downfall – but should find Back to black more appetizing. Here, he is an affectionate and kind character. Totally exempt. It’s true, he was the man who said no, no, no to rehab, but he was the father who drove her there when she really needed it. No mention is made of the exploitation documentary he made for Channel 4 just two years before his death.
Jack O’Connell’s Blake Fielder-Civil is also left wanting, the other half in a toxic, on-and-off relationship built on chronic obsession and frequent drunkenness. Their relationship sparks both the film’s best scene – a giddy, dangerously seductive public house encounter – and an uneasy sense of diversion. While acknowledging Blake’s role in Amy’s introduction to Class A drugs, Taylor-Johnson goes to great lengths to separate him from her first try. Instead, the focus is on Blake’s vitality in shaping Amy’s iconic image and sound. It’s true that “Back to Black” – the album – was born from their first breakup – and perhaps it introduced him to The Shangri-Las – but that doesn’t make him her star ancestor. It was a sharp-edged love story but Taylor-Johnson’s examination is far from incisive.
The lack of in-depth analysis of the reality of Amy’s story proves to be a pervasive problem in From black to black. Certainly, Taylor-Johnson’s inability to get under Amy’s skin in the first act creates a second that is merely reconstructive and a third that exploits. Who benefits from extreme close-ups of tear-stained Amy? This is the plan the paps would have killed for in 2011. The minimal screen time is good for Amy’s bulimia and only rarely in the film is it suggested that she might be suffering from depression . Instead, Amy is presented as a lifelong teenager: sweary, irritable, naive, and hormonal. Strip away the nuances of her story and what remains is the story of a young woman orchestrating her own demise. Such an angle doesn’t even scratch the surface.
T.S.