Dir.
Clint Eastwood, 2003, US, 85 mins
Cast: Ray Charles, Pinetop Perkins, Jay MxcShann, Dave Brubeck, Marcia Ball
Clint Eastwood - actor, director, piano player - takes us on a personal journey in his contribution to the American PBS series executive produced by Martin Scorsese. Piano Blues charts a subjective history of American blues through the testimonies and art of the piano player. Interviews with modern-day musicians such as Dave Brubeck and Marcia Ball, are juxtaposed with nostalgic archive footage of such greats as Fats Domino, Muddy Waters and Oscar Peterson - even Clint himself. If you're a blues fan you may approach it with anticipation for exciting and informative documentary but will soon find you are experiencing a strange mixture of rapture and confusion. What is the thread here - the narrative? Fair enough that there is no chronology; the documentary doesn't rely on that. Fair enough that the viewer doesn't hear about the roots and origins of the blues piano, or how it's still influential in contemporary music; the film never promises to do that. But somewhere amidst the treasurable reflections of greats such as Ray Charles, there lies the question of how interviews such as this fit into some kind of framework. Then there's the integral but enigmatic figure of Eastwood, sitting side by side with key figures in American blues. Together, he and his contributors reminisce about seeing the greats perform, and share tales of their own inspirations, spontaneously playing the odd snatch of a classic tune on the piano in front of them. Yet his actual role as director, performer and enthusiast isn't expanded on until a good two-thirds of the way through - and at times he even looks a little bored on that piano stool. It's only when in a delightful touch, he presents his testimony in the same style as the other contributors, that the corking quotes start to flow and we really see the warmth with which he approaches his subject. Comments such as "the Blues is the basis of everything" or that it is a "real American art form. Maybe the only true American art form that we have", reveal the depth of his passion, and are crucial to inducing the viewer's passion too - if only they'd come earlier. The film ends on a real high note, deliberately overlooking the overblown patriotism of the final number. Following Eastwood's enthusiastic contribution, the archive material that before had been included in quite lengthy segments, comes together in a more fluid manner, culminating in a montage of the great jazz tradition of improvisation and collaboration. Oscar Peterson and André Previn up the ante with a gripping two-piano performance before the sequence moves seamlessly to a series of present-day musicians banging tunes out together. It's really quite a moving end to a documentary so reverent of its subject, summed up by Dave Brubeck's comment as he finishes his duet with Jay McShann: "Still got it." Kerry McLeod |
