Amazing Grace (2018/19)
Directed by Sydney Pollack
Warner Brothers/Neon Films, 87 minutes, G
★★ ½
The story behind Amazing Grace is better than the
film itself. In 1972, at the height of a career that would ultimately yield
scores of top-selling singles, multi-platinum albums, and 18 Grammy Awards, Aretha
Franklin (1942-2018) took a step back to her roots in gospel music. Over the
course of three nights in a Los Angeles church, Franklin made Amazing Grace,
an album of sacred music that ultimately sold over two million units. At
the same time, director Sydney Pollack (1934-2008) filmed more than 20 hours of
raw footage that he planned to fashion into a documentary film. There was a
problem; Pollack couldn’t get the film to synch with the music and he was so
much in demand that he didn’t have the time to work on it. Thus, Pollack’s
footage lay in a Warner Brothers vault until 2011, when producer Alan Elliott
fixed the technical problems.
Then, as the slogan goes, weird things turned weirder.
Franklin sued Elliott for unauthorized use of her likeness. He too put the
project aside until after Franklin’s death. Then a new distribution company,
Neon, and a group of new producers, including Spike Lee, sent the film to the
Doc NYC, where it was well received. In 2019, it went into worldwide release.
Aretha Franklin was, of course, one of the greatest singers
in popular music history. Some say she was the greatest–so renowned that
she’s in the Rock n’ Roll Halls of Fame in both the United States and Great
Britain, as well as the Gospel Music Hall of Fame. I would listen to Franklin
sing in a room full of whirring chainsaws and, if you know her music at all,
even money is that her voice would drown out the saws. I get it that a lot of
people would want to see any film about such a beloved figure. Objectively,
though, the most notable thing about this 1972 project is that is so
1972. By that I mean it features bad hair, cheesy costumes, and enough male
chauvinism to make you wonder if feminism ever happened.
It was also religious music filmed inside a church and Franklin
was a devout Christian, her two divorces, three (of four) out of wedlock
children, and sometimes mercurial behavior notwithstanding. This is to say
don’t expect to see any of the sort of stage antics you’d normally associate
with a Franklin concert. She was there to sing, not talk or put on a stage
show. Franklin’s voice is muscular, clear, and awe-inspiring. I thought I was
immune to all versions of “Amazing Grace,” perhaps the most overdone song this
side of Christmas carols, but Franklin slowed it to a snail’s pace so that
there was plenty of space for bravado crescendos. Clara Ward (1924-1973) was in
the audience and even she was blown away. If you don’t know that name, perhaps
only Mahalia Jackson (1911-72) was more famous among female gospel singers. And
Ward wasn’t the only one who was impressed. It was etched upon the youthful
faces of the Southern California Community Chorus, who backed Franklin and
musicians such as Bernard Purdie and Chuck Rainey who went on to fine careers of
their own. Franklin also sang with such glory and power that members of the
congregation often jumped from the pews to exalt and bear witness. (Not so Mick
Jagger and Charlie Watts, who sat in the back benches at one of the services.)
For all of that, Franklin often looked the part of a deer in
the headlights. That’s partly because the Rev. James Cleveland (1931-91) was the
toastmaster of the evenings. Aretha was the Queen of Soul, but the Rev.
Cleveland was the King of Gospel and the New Temple Missionary Baptist Church was
his house. Cleveland exuded his command, sometimes in obsequious ways, but
mostly by acting large and in charge. (He was both and, in those days; Franklin
was slim by comparison.) Also in the house was the Rev. C. L. Franklin
(1915-84), Aretha’s father. He was, to be charitable, a problematic figure. In
addition to the four children he fathered with his second wife, he also sired
one with a 12-year-old member of his congregation. (In 1979, he was shot during
a robbery attempt in 1979 and died after a five-year coma.) He too had a fine
voice, but he was very much a male of his generation, meaning that his very
pores oozed patriarchy.
As concert films go, Amazing Grace is no The Last
Waltz or Stop Making Sense. Part of me wonders if Pollack declined
to correct the film’s technical problems because he couldn’t figure out how to
make it sizzle on the screen and it wasn’t as interesting as The Electric
Horseman, upon which he was also working. If you watch Amazing Grace,
do so to hear Aretha’s voice and to acquire an accidental sociology lesson. As
filmmaking goes, though, let’s call it one heck of a soundtrack in search of
better visuals.
Rob Weir
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