Back to Black
Director Sam Taylor-Johnson’s “Back to Black” invokes a single question, one fans of Amy Winehouse are sure to recognize: What kind of f*ckery is this? The Camden-bred superstar, played by Marisa Abela, was famously “just one of the girls.” Down to earth, charming, witty, and, when she opened her mouth, a dazzling performer with an unbelievably soulful voice. Infamously, those who remember Amy will also recall a brutal struggle with addiction and leeching media frenzies that followed her to her death at age 27 from alcohol poisoning in the summer of 2011.
“Back to Black” chronicles the years between the success of 2003’s breakthrough Frank and the blowup of the film’s titular album in 2006. But if you expect to learn about Amy the person or even Amy the musician, temper your expectations. Taylor-Johnson’s film, penned by Matt Greenhalgh, is concerned with Amy the addict, making “Back to Black” a dreadful, dastardly attempt at a biopic.
If there’s one assumption to be made about any musician’s biographical drama film, it’s that it will be music-centric. While “Back to Black” has plenty of performances highlighting some of Amy’s most famous songs, they are almost exclusively used for simple soundtrack and pity fodder rather than essential structure. They almost feel like flippant reminders to portray Amy as a performer rather than solely the emotional wreck they characterize her as. The film allots next to none of its runtime to the actual making of either album. We are given fractional context to her artistry, only minor bullet points, like a single guitar-in-the-bed songwriting sesh and a cheeky Mark Ronson namedrop.
“Back to Black” misunderstands Amy’s legacy. The film doesn’t permit unfamiliar audiences to be privy to her iconicity. It doesn’t showcase the ravenous support from her hometown and country, the way they rallied behind her, or the transition of her fame to the States. It neglects to acknowledge any of the reasons why Amy and her music were so beloved. Very little of her actual career is touched on in the film. Instead, it plays more like a montage of toxic romance, drug use, and impromptu tattoos.
Many of the onstage moments serve to show issues with sobriety or the mournful longing she feels for her on-and-off boyfriend and eventual husband, Blake (Jack O’Connell). The singular clip we’re given of the making of Back to Black is a moment of her tearfully recording the titular track, declaring, “he’s killed me,” and hard cutting to a leap in time where Amy is in the deepest throes of substance abuse. Not even her addiction, the film’s misguided though central focus is given thoughtful narrative—it’s just something that happens off-screen. It’s treated with cut-to-the-chase rapidity because, as the film sees it, we know it happens anyway.
