During passing black-and-white footage beginning the film, we see Scorsese as he sketches out shot charts to map out the sequence of the songs, right down to the solos, and who would be where on the stage. His hopeful intention is to be able to direct his cameramen through earpieces. However, Mick Jagger fiddles with the list in continuous wavering. We observe over his shoulder at songs scratched out and written back in, as he brings up nonchalantly that naturally the whole set might be altered on the spot. It sounds as if after playing together for half a century, the Stones agree on their song order through mind- reading.
What I love about this opening is that it speaks volumes about the role of a film director. Scorsese has been working as a director for over 30 years now, and he has for almost as long been one of the most beloved and respected filmmakers at least in this hemisphere. However, no matter how many A-list stars he has directed, no matter how many millions of dollars have gone into his projects, and no matter how long he struggled with depression and anger and anxiety during the 1980s trying to make The Last Temptation of Christ, he just cannot seem to wrangle the Rolling Stones! When one deems someone fit to be a director, or anyone in a position of charge for that matter, one primarily discerns based on how they perceive that person's ability to control a hundred or so people. This criteria is not so skewed, as many of these large masses of people to wrangle towards your concrete vision of the end result are big celebrities, superstars, megastars, who are so spoiled and pampered by their status that they work noncondusively, treat the director and others with utter contempt, cause selfish problems, and other such things. However, there is the argument that if one is willing to do absolutely anything to tell a story, to make a statement, to realize their vision, they will put up with as much as they have to in order to do so. (Really, the argument can be made that one could never truly know if they could handle a director's job till they actually do it.) Scorsese proves in these first ten minutes or so that no matter who you are, there are simply some people who are not compatible with you in hands-on creative situations. He also proves that in spit of this, a project can still come to seamless fruition.
The problem is that Shine a Light is not a story, not a statement, and really nobody's vision. Actually, it disregards cinema. It is a filmed concert. At a concert, the audience enjoys a succession of performances. When an audience sees a movie, they enjoy a progression of events. That includes documentaries. Not every documentary has a narrative structure, but every sequence changes something. A documentary could be a story told in reality, or it could be an argument formed from bullet point to bullet point. Simply filming a concert gives the audience none of that. The audience languishes through impressive coverage of a rock concert.
Take it from a fan of the Rolling Stones! Gimme Shelter, Street Fightin' Man, Jumpin' Jack Flash, Sympathy For the Devil, Monkey Man, Let It Loose, You Can't Always Get What You Want, so many quintessential rock songs. Mick Jagger's lazy, drawling vocal style is timeless. I even like to sing like that when I'm in my car, whether Let it Loose ("Leddeh Looh!") has been stuck in my head or if I'm belting Fly Me To the Moon ("Flah Me Tooh d'Mooh"). I enjoy the performances of Champagne & Reefer with Buddy Guy, and their beautiful rendition of As Tears Go By.
Jagger is a dancer and a confidently sloppy one, too, and if I were at that concert, I would enjoy that. He employs his wiry body to command the attention of the audience. Keith Richards and Ron Wood are lazily lithe, Richards especially looking as if to disregard physics as his body leans at impossibly obtuse angles. Surely it has the most excellent coverage of the onstage performance. Directing cinematographer Robert Richardson, Scorsese set up a group of nine cinematographers, all either Oscar winners or nominees, to cover a concert, when if it was possible to round up such a dream team he could have made the most incredible movie imaginable.
What I love about this opening is that it speaks volumes about the role of a film director. Scorsese has been working as a director for over 30 years now, and he has for almost as long been one of the most beloved and respected filmmakers at least in this hemisphere. However, no matter how many A-list stars he has directed, no matter how many millions of dollars have gone into his projects, and no matter how long he struggled with depression and anger and anxiety during the 1980s trying to make The Last Temptation of Christ, he just cannot seem to wrangle the Rolling Stones! When one deems someone fit to be a director, or anyone in a position of charge for that matter, one primarily discerns based on how they perceive that person's ability to control a hundred or so people. This criteria is not so skewed, as many of these large masses of people to wrangle towards your concrete vision of the end result are big celebrities, superstars, megastars, who are so spoiled and pampered by their status that they work noncondusively, treat the director and others with utter contempt, cause selfish problems, and other such things. However, there is the argument that if one is willing to do absolutely anything to tell a story, to make a statement, to realize their vision, they will put up with as much as they have to in order to do so. (Really, the argument can be made that one could never truly know if they could handle a director's job till they actually do it.) Scorsese proves in these first ten minutes or so that no matter who you are, there are simply some people who are not compatible with you in hands-on creative situations. He also proves that in spit of this, a project can still come to seamless fruition.
The problem is that Shine a Light is not a story, not a statement, and really nobody's vision. Actually, it disregards cinema. It is a filmed concert. At a concert, the audience enjoys a succession of performances. When an audience sees a movie, they enjoy a progression of events. That includes documentaries. Not every documentary has a narrative structure, but every sequence changes something. A documentary could be a story told in reality, or it could be an argument formed from bullet point to bullet point. Simply filming a concert gives the audience none of that. The audience languishes through impressive coverage of a rock concert.
Take it from a fan of the Rolling Stones! Gimme Shelter, Street Fightin' Man, Jumpin' Jack Flash, Sympathy For the Devil, Monkey Man, Let It Loose, You Can't Always Get What You Want, so many quintessential rock songs. Mick Jagger's lazy, drawling vocal style is timeless. I even like to sing like that when I'm in my car, whether Let it Loose ("Leddeh Looh!") has been stuck in my head or if I'm belting Fly Me To the Moon ("Flah Me Tooh d'Mooh"). I enjoy the performances of Champagne & Reefer with Buddy Guy, and their beautiful rendition of As Tears Go By.
Jagger is a dancer and a confidently sloppy one, too, and if I were at that concert, I would enjoy that. He employs his wiry body to command the attention of the audience. Keith Richards and Ron Wood are lazily lithe, Richards especially looking as if to disregard physics as his body leans at impossibly obtuse angles. Surely it has the most excellent coverage of the onstage performance. Directing cinematographer Robert Richardson, Scorsese set up a group of nine cinematographers, all either Oscar winners or nominees, to cover a concert, when if it was possible to round up such a dream team he could have made the most incredible movie imaginable.