Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Netlix brought us Jean-Luc Godard's "Sympathy for the Devil" over the weekend, and I've been thinking about it since. Although at first it has the look and feel of a documentary, Godard was after something different, I think. The movie consists of three repeating set pieces, with a couple of intervening scenes. There is a reoccurring scene set in a junkyard, featuring black revolutionaries, and a reoccurring scene set in a recording studeo, featuring the Rolling Stones working out the title song. In between these longer scenes, and several others, there are short pieces which show a woman spray painting revolution-themed graffiti on various surfaces. Throughout the movie there are barriers and barricades-- the wrecks of cars in the fenced-in junk yard; the walls the graffiti artist paints; the acoustic dividers the musicians are separated by as they record-- with a couple of notable exceptions. The first is in one of the other longer scenes, in which a film crew and an interviewer follow a woman through a glade, questioning her about liberation. The second is towards the end of the Stones' recording session, with Mick, Charlie and Keith sitting on the floor working out the final details of the song.
It is all very 1968, and very good for what it is, but what makes it compelling is the Stones stuff-- the rest of it, as creative and shocking as it still appears, is not very engaging, and is frequently ham-fisted. But the Stones-- there is Jagger, a complete pro, working through each take, tweaking the lyrics here and there, listening to how it is coming together, making suggestions. Charley Watts, implacable, working it out. Keith is a restless creative force-- when a take ends, like Watts, he will go over a lick he wants to get right, or talk to Brian Jones and go over a riff, or talk to Mick. Early on he takes the bass over from Bill Wyman, who is then relegated to incidental percussion. Wyman is in the great tradition of immobile bass players, but Keith, barefoot, bops along to the samba riff that is the song's signature. As a documentary about the creative process this part of "Sympathy for the Devil" works brilliantly, and is a beautifully crafted piece of filmmaking, with the camera moving easily from one participant to the next without any cuts. "Sympathy for the Devil" is a complex number, and the level of musicianship on display here demonstrates how professional and hard-working this band really was.
Recommended for fans of the Stones with a fast forward button whose wives are not at home. (A. was not so into it, let's say.)
It is all very 1968, and very good for what it is, but what makes it compelling is the Stones stuff-- the rest of it, as creative and shocking as it still appears, is not very engaging, and is frequently ham-fisted. But the Stones-- there is Jagger, a complete pro, working through each take, tweaking the lyrics here and there, listening to how it is coming together, making suggestions. Charley Watts, implacable, working it out. Keith is a restless creative force-- when a take ends, like Watts, he will go over a lick he wants to get right, or talk to Brian Jones and go over a riff, or talk to Mick. Early on he takes the bass over from Bill Wyman, who is then relegated to incidental percussion. Wyman is in the great tradition of immobile bass players, but Keith, barefoot, bops along to the samba riff that is the song's signature. As a documentary about the creative process this part of "Sympathy for the Devil" works brilliantly, and is a beautifully crafted piece of filmmaking, with the camera moving easily from one participant to the next without any cuts. "Sympathy for the Devil" is a complex number, and the level of musicianship on display here demonstrates how professional and hard-working this band really was.
Recommended for fans of the Stones with a fast forward button whose wives are not at home. (A. was not so into it, let's say.)
// posted by Bill @ 8:30 AM 
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