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In the grand tradition of D.A. Pennebaker's ace Don't Look Back (1967) and Albert and David Maysles' dark classic Gimme Shelter (1970), Sam Jones resurrects the rockumentary with his stunning and insightful portrait of Wilco.
What more can be said about the bizarre context within which this film was made? Wilco records the best album of their career. Wilco loses two of its founding members. Wilco is dropped by Reprise Records. Wilco streams the album online in its entirety. Wilco is signed to the immeasurably cool Nonesuch imprint. Wilco cracks the Billboard Top 20 with the official release of Yankee Hotel Foxtrot. In the process, filmmaker Jones, who had approached the band and begun filming long before any of the trouble started, finds himself with the chance of a lifetime: the opportunity to capture the creative peak, the partial collapse and the ultimate rise of one of the most respected and influential rock groups active today.
As songwriter Jeff Tweedy himself points out during the film, as Wilco's luck kept getting worse, Jones's film kept getting better. That Jones was actually present when band manager Tony Margherita received the call with the news that Reprise would not release the album is indicative of the impact and raw emotion the material contains. Jones's professional training as a still photographer is evident in almost every frame of the film. The formal compositions are stunning, the camera movement is creative and captivating, and the skilled compilation and intelligent editing further cements a narrative flow that sweeps up the audience, takes us through a turbulent eighteen month period, and deposits us in the spring of 2002 with the release of Yankee Hotel Foxtrot. A handful of industry figures offer their two cents concerning the state of modern music and the problems Wilco has faced, but overall, Jones is careful to ensure that Wilco's story is told by the band members themselves and illustrated through their actions. The live rehearsals and concert performances that dot the crisis structure of the film function perfectly as evidence that Jones's desire to document the band was justified.
To be fair, the departure of multi-instrumentalist and co-songwriter Jay Bennett offers the film's most stunning moments. It is Bennett who emerges as the film's antagonist rather than the faceless executives at Reprise. His struggles with Tweedy during the mixing process and idle chatter concerning the direction of the group do nothing to endear him to the audience, nor do the numerous moments that find him addressing the camera in an attempt to establish his role within the band. Bennett's overt acknowledgment of the filmmaker and the apparatus seem to foreshadow the fractured union -- this transgressive act, returning the camera's transparent gaze, ultimately costs him his role in the band. And don't think this theoretical babble is unfounded: Jones highlights several of these moments in such a way that they stand in stark contrast to the other band members' behavior. The other members of the group are disciplined in their handling of the presence of Jones and his crew, and it is ultimately this respect and restraint that confirm the precision of the film's representation.
While YHF is captured at every step of its genesis, my primary beef is with Jones's decision to feature older Wilco material during live segments in lieu of the songs from Yankee Hotel Foxtrot. This sentiment is shared by the band and expressed during their commentary alongside Jones. Thankfully, much of this material is included in the disc's extras. Highlights include the band's modest evaluations of their own work and performances, and the silent (yet hilarious) appearance of mixer/producer Jim O'Rourke. (O'Rourke actually speaks in some of the deleted footage, during a conversation concerning the rumours that his involvement with Yankee Hotel Foxtrot rendered the album unlistenable -- this is laugh-out-loud material.) The specifics regarding the conception of the project and Jones's initial meetings with Tweedy and Margherita are captured both on film and in the filmmaker's journal, available both online and in booklet form with the DVD set.
The collector's edition Plexifilm has assembled to honor I Am Trying To Break Your Heart is nothing short of breathtaking. The audio commentary featuring Wilco and Jones is relaxed, humorous and every bit as insightful as the film itself. With an additional disc fully dedicated to supplemental material, the extras actually outweight the original film. Disc two's feature-film worth of deleted material and alternate performances fully fleshes out the creative process and the candid moments that make Wilco so engaging, both as artists and film subjects.
-- Mike Baker
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