Over futile odds
And laughed at by the gods
And now, the final frame
Love is a losing game.
Amy Winehouse, Love Is a Losing Game (2006)
Biopics are exceptionally difficult to make, especially when their subjects have recently passed away — or are indeed alive. The imprint of the human to whom the story pertains is still strong in the collective mind — unkind parallels are inevitable, passions will run high, there might be lawsuits, and the filmmakers are bound to be short-changed for decent audience feedback.
Equally, to make a biopic is to invite public interest, instantly. No other film gets publicity as quickly as a story about someone that is (or was) a huge star. The mass attention directed at the subject of the film is then organically transferred to the film, itself. Therefore, to venture into making of a biopic shows a director who is, either, extremely daring and dedicated, or simply casually calculating the draw their film will have, just by virtue of its subject matter.
Sometimes, both scenarios could be present in one filmmaker. However, it’s not that easy to tell.
As flawed as Sam Taylor-Johnson‘s Black to Black (2024) is, as a biopic of the late Amy Winehouse, and as a film — often resorting to the form’s tired tropes of explaining rather than showing, with memorable public moments as narrative shortcuts — it has a searingly committed, highly nuanced performance at its centre, with Marisa Abela as the beloved, tragic jazz artist, belting out the complex tunes herself (!) — and it tells that story with heart, and compassion.
While I was watching the film, touched by the story unfolding and slightly annoyed at its easily avoidable set-backs (glossing over the father-daughter tensions and her husband’s exploitative behaviour), as well as the heavy-handed moments in the script (by Matt Greenhalgh), with Abela as Amy repeatedly declaring exactly who she is at every occasion possible (as if we are not already witnessing it on screen in Abela’s fierce performance) — I pondered over the bravuras of the celebrated Asif Kapadia documentary, Amy (2015) versus the strengths of this particular biopic.
What I came up with is something the stellar 2015 documentary actually failed to do, the one crucial aspect of Amy Winehouse’s life that Taylor-Johnson presented really well — and that is to make the central emotional drama of her final years clearer to the audiences by elevating her relationship with Blake Fielder-Civil to the position it actually had in her life (Blake is played by a really spot-on, steamy yet steady Jack O’Connell). Thus giving the love they felt for each other, despite all the terrible realities of addiction and abuse, some dignity.
Similar reverence is given to her relationships with the two other key figures in her life — her chanteuse nan Cynthia, and her cabbie dad Mitch, masterfully, subtly played by two wonderful actors, Lesley Manville and Eddie Marsan, respectively.
As for Amy’s obsession with her troubled partner Blake, which gave us Back to Black (2006), her second, and final album, it is a notorious thing in all the arts that muses rarely live up to the artists’ expectations, in real life. For, how could they? In the eyes of an artist in love, they are merged with the divine, because love, itself, offers a touch of the divine. It’s a long fall from those heights when reality intervenes. When all us others observe these magical creatures, without that personal filter of enchantment (if we ever get the chance), quite often we fail to see scarcely a drop of the intoxicating nectar that inspired the artists to create an immortal work of art.
But, in it lies its mystery.
Just for that element alone, Back To Black, deserves our praise.
For a more authentic portrait of Amy as an artist, I humbly point you towards Maurice Linnane‘s low-key Amy Winehouse: The Day She Came to Dingle (2012), which I serendipitously stumbled upon a few days after watching Back To Black in the cinema. In my mind, this Arena series doc on her 2006 performance at the annual Other Voices music festival in Ireland, surpasses anything that I ever came across on Amy Winehouse, whose music and artistry I love (and once had the honour to witness). It manages to capture her whimsy, wisdom, poetic spirit, tastes and influences, that otherworldly talent, all in her own words, in deep and truthful conversation, and reflexion, and then, beautifully, soulfully — sets her free.
★★★✩✩
Author: ©Milana Vujkov
Lola On Film 
One response to “Back To Black”
I agree that so often a biopic is a calculated move; fame and Fandom gives an almost guaranteed audience, which I imagine producers find reassuring. Two that stand out to me as having brought something more to the table are Ray (about Ray Charles) and Walk the Line (Johnny Cash). Both fall into a few of the standard traps, but their long carreers and phenomenal musical output alone gives so much to drill into that I couldn’t help but love being along for the ride. I previously had very little knowledge of their catalogs but left a fan (still, years later) made the experiences worthwhile on that count alone.