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Elegy for the rock mystique, "a goddamn impossible way of life." The Band's farewell concert, Thanksgiving at the Winterland Ballroom. Chandeliers and columns for a backdrop, the American South conjured up by Canadians, "a drunkard's dream if I ever did see one." (The genuine article, Levon Helm might be Harry Dean Stanton as yarn-spinning drummer.) Rick Danko gives a tour of the bordello turned studio, Richard Manuel flashes a burnt-out grin when the topic of groupies comes up, Garth Hudson recalls pretending to be a teacher to placate his disapproving family. Robbie Robertson leads with weary-leopard charisma, the Cool Guy Martin Scorsese yearns to be. "You're still there? We're going to do one more song and that's it." Not Godard's scientific eye in Sympathy for the Devil but also a laboratory experiment, a private world of light and movement to embody aural communities. Friends and idols pass through: Ronnie Hawkins in eagle-adorned Stetson, Muddy Waters chugging in place for "Mannish Boy," Van Morrison throwing himself across the stage. Neil Young drops by like a happy mountain man for "Helpless," a cut finds Joni Mitchell on spectral backup silhouetted against a burst of electric blue. "And if you can't recall the singer, can you still recall the tune?" Colored smoke and wandering spotlights, opulent camerawork that can track in on the odalisque drawn on an accordion. Dueling guitars with Eric Clapton, the Staple Singers and Emmylou Harris, Neil Diamond and Ronnie Wood and Ringo Starr, too. Bob Dylan with red feather in white fedora serves up "I Shall Be Released" as the Paradise following the Counterculture's funeral, the concluding crane movement begins with fingers on a keyboard and floats away beautifully in the darkened soundstage. Cinematography by Michael Chapman, Vilmos Zsigmond, and László Kovács.
--- Fernando F. Croce |