A Few Riffs for Penny
The way some rock fans talk about the sanctity of live music, you’d think it was a guaranteed path to transcendence. But of course most concerts fall far short of the sublime, and the thrill of breathing in the same air as your idols or witnessing them flaunt their virtuosity in real time is so often compromised by bad acoustics, frustrating sight lines, and the off-key screeches of the person standing next to you. What people tend to cherish in the best concert docs are the pristine audio and up-close views of the action, delivered through an all-seeing, all-hearing perspective that no one at the event could have enjoyed. But these movies can offer something even more precious: a deeply personal sense of how the filmmaker experienced and hoped to remember a show—in other words, a sense of how one kind of artist chose to look upon another kind of artist. What separates a great concert doc from the countless hours of live footage now on YouTube is the dance between camera and subject—the beat-by-beat push-and-pull between proximity and distance that has always set the screen apart from the stage.
this dance that makes Otis Redding’s performance of “I’ve Been Loving You Too
Long” in D. A. Pennebaker’s Monterey Pop not
just the emotional high point of the film but one of the most overpowering moments
in the concert-doc canon. If you were to watch the movie cold, with no
knowledge of its legendary set list, you wouldn’t see its galvanic impact
coming. In the number right before it, Otis bursts onto the stage with a down-to-business
rendition of Sam Cooke’s “Shake,” an up-tempo anthem driven by stomping, swaying,
and hollering. Otis’s name, rendered in the psychedelic style of
the festival’s branding, pulsates on the scrim behind him, but Pennebaker holds
on a medium angle that frames the frenzy at a calm remove, the edge of the
stage visible and the star’s four-piece rhythm section, Booker T. and the
M.G.’s, working up a sweat alongside him. At the end of “Shake,” the spectacle
is tempered by even more distance, as Pennebaker cuts to a far-off wide shot and
Otis catches his breath before making a spoken appeal to the “love crowd,” an
audience far whiter than his established southern fan base. It’s as if the filmmaker were coming up for air just long enough to brace himself
for the storm on the horizon.
In the thirty-fifth edition of the Italian festival dedicated to restored films, an eclectic lineup underscores the transportive physicality of cinema after a long year stuck at home.
Translated into English for the first time, this afterword to Hirokazu Kore-eda’s novelization of his film explores the director’s attraction to fiction writing and how the art form differs from narrative cinema.
A ballad from the 1910s becomes a precarious way station between life and death in Akira Kurosawa’s portrait of an ordinary man’s final days.
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