Shine a Light (M. Scorsese, 2008)

In my incredibly limited film "career" (heh), perhaps my greatest accomplishment has been editing together a three-minute music video for an oldies-cover band through the film club where I am vice president. It was edited together from three takes of a live performance, with only the help of the club adviser and a fellow equally inexperienced club member. It took about four to five two hour sessions to edit this opus together, with only two to three cameras to take from for every take. When I consider the amount of time and hard work put into editing thie video, I can't help but applaud Martin Scorsese and his army of cinematographers for making Shine a Light as seamless and exhilarating as it is. It's a marvel of a film, and while I haven't seen any other concert films to really compare it with, I remain daunted by its energy.

However, even for those that haven't edited live music before, the film's prologue does a good job of making one feel the pressure and insanity of such a task, filming a concert of one of the world's biggest bands from two performances with some of cinema's most renowned living cinematographers, including Emmanuel Lubezki and John Toll. Hours before the concert starts Scorsese is still unsure of what the order of the songs will be, and he gives the reasons as to why this information is so essential, such as whether or not it is a song that will need a close-up of say, Kieth Richard's guitar, or Mick Jagger. It sets the mood for a wild two nights, and luckily nothing goes wrong, giving us the viewer a nice close-up view of one hell of a concert.

From the prologue onwards we have nothing but the concert intercut with some old interviews from the band's heyday. To review the concert itself is challenging, because you run the same risk that you when reviewing comedies of simply listing off what you liked most. Naturally the performances of their biggest hits, "Jumpin' Jack Flash" and "Satisfaction," which opening and close the concert respectively, are among the more furious numbers, but everything in between was able to keep this viewer enthralled, with the Buddy Guy duet of "Champagne & Reefer" being a particularly fun, soulful number.

Luckily, there are aspects of the film that are memorable for technical and thematic reasons. One particular moment that stuck out for me came early on, I'm not even sure during what song it occurred, but there is a shot of Mick Jagger from the audience when suddenly in the area between the camera and the stage a fan begins recording his own close-up of Mick Jagger on his cell phone, with the cell phone staying in the middle near the bottom of the frame before cutting away. I have tried figuring out what made this unscripted moment so appealing - maybe the accidental poetry of the way people record such events and remember them? - but I still can't quite figure it out. I just loved it.

There is also an undercurrent that runs through almost every scene where Mick Jagger puts his microphone aside for a moment and just lets loose. The interviews spliced in between the songs put emphasis on the questions about just how long the band plans on doing this, concerts and rocking out and such. It is interesting to consider how they do keep doing this, after decades of drugs and hard times, and yet they still seem to be having the time of their lives, with Mick stopping to dance or Keith Richards jamming so close to the audience and even tossing out a guitar pick or two over the course of the show. Once upon a time senior citizens were among the dullest, quietest people on Earth. The Rolling Stones like to think otherwise.

Much like my viewing of another film focusing on a major music icon earlier this year (I'm Not There), I knew little about the artist(s) going into the film, but left energized and wanting to know more. Scorsese and Co. have done an amazing job here, and I applaud them. I guess this means I should see The Last Waltz too then, eh?