As Hollywood's infatuation with the musical biopic continues, they have landed on one of the most interesting stories so far: that of the late, great Amy Winehouse. The incredibly talented yet personally troubled star's story is one of more than a handful of attempts at Winehouse's complex story, the most prolific example being Asif Kapadia's critically acclaimed if controversial 2015 documentary, Amy; almost a decade later, Sam Taylor-Johnson interprets the story with Marisa Abela talking on the daunting lead role.
From her early life in Camden to her rise to global fame, Back To Black seeks to chart both the immense critical and commercial success of Amy Winehouse and her personal struggles with substance abuse and the toxic relationship that inspired her groundbreaking music. Alongside rising star Abela, Back to Black stars Jack O'Connell, Eddie Marsan and Lesley Manville.
How much of a biopic surrounding a musical icon should be focused on their legacy, and how much should be focused on their troubles? That is the question Hollywood's most endlessly tackled sub-genre at the moment has been grappling with since, at the very least, Bohemian Rhapsody became a blockbuster and its success desperately chased for replication. That colossal embarrassment - at least in my eyes, presumably not by the majority of its audience who bolstered it to almost a billion dollars in box office receipts and awarded star Rami Malek countless accolades for his portrayal of Freddie Mercury - also seemingly became the template these films seek to generate; that is, making its subject's life seem like a living hell, focused so squarely on the tragedy around them than their immense success and audience goodwill.
Far too absorbed in her troubles to pay much attention to how her legacy was built, Back to Black wallows. Winehouse's final years were no doubt tragic, rendered now in hindsight with a depressingly inevitable sadness and scramble to process how it could ever be allowed to happen. But the tapestry of Winehouse's life is so much more than this rather one-note and morbidly unbefitting picture ever suggests, bypassing the exploration of her impressive vocal talent, exemplary songwriting skills and groundbreaking success fans of the singer would want.
Back to Black's most glaring issue is perhaps best summarised by a period of about 15 minutes: shortly after finding out her label is pausing stateside promotion of her debut album due to its underperformance on home ground, she's being hounded outside her home and she's well on her way to becoming the highest-charting British female of all time in America? What changed? She started - and ended - a relationship the film paints in the brightest shade of 'red flag' imaginable, never seeking to explore the grounds of her attraction to Blake Fielder-Civil, or the reason for her devotion and utter dependence toward him.
Back to Black may be reticent to attribute blame, but I won't be: it falls predominantly at the screenwriter's door. For all of the promoted intentions of 'honouring' Amy, someone should have told writer Matt Greenhalgh, whose screenplay takes any unsatisfying view of its subject with no awareness of time, place or pacing. Not only lacking any sign of depth that could have considered her personal complexities with a revealing profundity, it rushes through the material that is there without any stamp of identity - something Winehouse herself was so defiant about in a moment the film directly references in an interview with Johnathan Ross, which only further dilutes her story and very character.
Sam Taylor-Johnson shouldn't escape unscathed either. While demonstrating capability in the remaking of certain moments pivotal to Winehouse's career, with capably executed moments of filmmaking, there's no personality to any of it. In place of any focus or care to develop other avenues, Taylor-Johnson almost incidentally thrusts the drink and drugs Winehouse came to rely on further into the central frame; but again, the big question of 'why?' is far from the creative team's mind, potentially because it could come to condemn people within the Winehouse estate the film has to answer to. Mitch Winehouse comes out looking like a saint and the misplaced charm of Fielder-Civil, courtesy of the usually-reliable O'Connell, keeps us from seeing the darkest side of him influencing Amy. No one should be surprised given that the family were involved, or at least very aware of, the film's production.
In the face of a tepid script that ultimately strands her, you have to feel somewhat sorry for star Marisa Abela, who does her best impression of a caricature of Winehouse. She fearlessly attempts to mimic the traits of Winehouse we came to know, love and be concerned by, but absent the depth that would provide her with the opportunity to enrich her performance, Abela delivers the performance she has to, not the one she's capable of. Regrettably though, in an ill-advised decision she did indeed have some control over, she decides to sing herself: she's not bad, but her voice clearly lacks the potency of Winehouse's distinct vocal excellence, destroying the mirage she conjures elsewhere as soon as she has a mic in her hand.
If the Back to Black filmmaking team really wanted to honour Amy Winehouse - and surely anyone who spends years of their life making a film devoted to the subject does - this wasn't the way to do so. Focusing on her troubles without delving into the complexities of addiction, hand-in-hand with its soft touch and refusal to condemn those who share some responsibility for the devastating way events unfolded, they misinterpret Amy Winehouse's legacy to such devastating, negative effect - perhaps the biggest sin a musical biopic can make. So vague in her success and talent to disproportionately focus on the darkest and most negative, Back to Black robs Winehouse of the opportunity to have her work commemorated for her artistic worth and merit, instead of the devastating series of events around her death. Please, please put us out of our misery and stop this by-number biopic business.