By Alex McPherson

Featuring excellent performances from Marisa Abela and Jack O’Connell, but otherwise coming across as a surface-level retelling of singer Amy Winehouse’s tumultuous rise and fall, director Sam Taylor-Johnson’s “Back to Black” ultimately does little to justify its existence.

Taylor-Johnson’s film, which has the support of the Winehouse estate (unlike Asif Kapadia’s superior 2015 documentary “Amy”), is less an honest portrayal of the performer’s tragically short life than it is an attempt to rewrite history. It smooths over well-documented truths and packages them into rote drama that sacrifices nuance for miserablism.

“Back to Black” begins in Camden Town, London, in 2002, where the 18-year-old Winehouse – a rebellious, wry soul with a love of jazz – is a burgeoning talent, channeling old-school sounds to modern audiences and using music to express herself in the face of life’s challenges.

Her divorced parents Janis (Juliet Cowan, who gets a notably small amount of screen time) and Mitch (Eddie Marsan) recognize Amy’s undeniable skill, as does her loving grandmother Cynthia (a typically comforting Lesley Manville), who encourages her to pursue a music career. Before long, Amy does, thanks to her future band manager Nick Shymansky (Sam Buchanan) but, as Matt Greenhalgh’s screenplay smugly foreshadows, her downfall will soon follow.

Funny, passionate, and strong-willed, with a distinctive 50’s-60’s inspired style to boot, yet also an emotionally unstable, bulimic alcoholic, Amy is a force to be reckoned with – even though Taylor-Johnson neglects to give viewers much context into why she is the way she is. She insists to record label suits that she “ain’t no spice girl,” refusing to compromise on her songs and performances.

But when she begins an on-again, off-again relationship with handsome scumbag Blake Fielder-Civil (O’Connell), Amy spirals into further substance abuse and codependency as her stardom rises. It all eventually proves fatal: she’s a victim of fame, drug abuse, and bad actors feigning support while exacerbating her decline.

Marisa Abela and Jack O’Connell as Amy Winehouse and Blake Civil-Fielder

Addictions and personal life chaos aside, Amy was a one-of-a-kind talent that shouldn’t be reduced to a by-the-numbers biopic treatment. Unfortunately, Taylor-Johnson is not up to the task. What results is a puzzling experience that lacks insight, perspective, and purpose, other than to serve as an acting showcase and an attempt at whitewashing history into sanitized drama for the masses.

At least Abela gives it her all. She captures Amy’s inherent likability, volatility, and inner demons with an authentic attention-to-detail, commanding her every scene even when the script lets her down. Abela does her own singing for the film, too (with the standout being her titular “Back to Black”).

While Amy’s voice is impossible to recreate, Abela does a valiant job nonetheless, in the scattered moments that Taylor-Johnson actually foregrounds the music rather than Amy’s conflicts. Scenes of Amy’s creative process are half-baked – reduced to rushed, solitary brainstorming sessions – but Abela conveys a youthful, exuberant fervor that’s infectious and alluring.

O’Connell, too, is fittingly charismatic. Blake emanates bad boy vibes that Amy is immediately drawn to, despite the fact that Blake has a girlfriend when they begin their flirtation. Abela and O’Connell have great chemistry, and the early stages of their relationship are charming and playful, if tinged with the dark knowledge of the horrors to come. 

Still, the film’s rushed pacing makes it difficult to fully buy into their bond – especially since Amy’s impulsive behaviors and attachment issues aren’t given enough context for us to understand where she’s coming from. Since Taylor-Johnson’s film focuses on a “snapshot in time,” primarily the period between the release of Amy’s first album, “Frank,” and the grammy-winning “Back to Black,” we don’t get much insight into her troubled childhood.

This is likely to save face for Mitch, who the film treats gingerly; his well-documented enabling of Amy’s vices and mental health struggles is downplayed, as is the decade during Amy’s youth in which he had an affair and wasn’t present in the household.

Blake is depicted both as a victim and a victimizer – seemingly powerless to resist Amy’s charms, but manipulating her to fuel his own addictions; his unpredictable behaviors do a number on Amy’s fragile psyche as their relationship becomes increasingly public and destructive. But “Back to Black” still posits that Amy introduced herself to heroin – an odd choice on Taylor-Johnson’s part that feeds into the film’s view of Amy as an unavoidable trainwreck, a person who was doomed from the start and who lacks the will to change.

Indeed, Taylor-Johnson characterizes Amy as a hopeless soul experiencing an inevitable decline, a victim of her own heart, rather than foregrounding Amy the artist. The music itself is almost an afterthought, a consequence of Amy’s inner turmoil rather than a genuine expression of her craft, as the film erratically jumps through time to the next big crisis in Amy’s life.

The portrayal of the media storm surrounding Amy, too, is just window-dressing; Taylor-Johnson doesn’t effectively capture the way her music grips the nation or the celebrity pressure that propels Amy further into oblivion, relying on merely workmanlike direction. The film even pulls its punches in the end, letting its troubled “heroine” drift offscreen, as if the film is too scared to depict the depths of her suffering.

For someone who wanted to be known for her music above all else, it’s downright irresponsible to frame her story like this — Taylor-Johnson molds Amy’s trauma into accessible entertainment. With Kapadia’s excellent documentary providing a far more meaningful portrait, “Back to Black” begs the question: why was this biopic necessary?

“Back to Black” is a 2024 biopic directed by Sam Taylor-Johnson and starring Marisa Abela, Jack O’Connell, Eddie Marsan, Lesley Manville and Sam Buchanan. It is rated R for drug use, language throughout, sexual content and nudity, and runtime is 2 hours, 2 minutes. It opened in theatres May 17. Alex’s Grade: C-

By Lynn Venhaus
Elevated by beautifully nuanced performances from award-worthy Lesley Manville and sturdy Liam Neeson, “Ordinary Love” shows us “all the feels” between a longtime married couple facing a life-altering situation.

Married for a long time, Tom and Joan face new challenges when she is diagnosed with breast cancer. Their relationship is tested during this frightening journey. The intimate contemporary drama is about the moments between a couple that give meaning to their lifetime together – by showing their daily living routine, yet underneath that microscope, they must deal with uncertainty and a test on survival.

As cancer touches every family in America, your level of comfort with the realistic details from tests to surgeries to treatment will depend if you have gone through it with a loved one, or yourself. It may trigger memories of those tense, distressing times.

Co-directors and married-in-real-life couple Lisa Barros D’ Sa and Glenn Leyburn present a comfortable, common life of two senior citizens – assuming they are retired, but nobody says from what – in the most generic way in northern Ireland. Yet, as unexciting as it is, there is revelation in its repetition.

That’s largely due to Manville and Neeson’s ease with playing two people who spend a lot of time together – conveying both affection and aggravation in equal parts. They converse in recognizable ways — bickering at the grocery store, kidding each other without malice, complaining about minor things, and sitting in their living room ‘places’ while watching television in the evening, after their daily walk – just everyday regular folks.

And that’s the beauty of Owen McCafferty’s astute script, that it dares to be mundane. The film spotlights the kind of run-of-the-mill details and feelings expressed that make it thoroughly relatable, especially with such skilled performers.

The changes with Joan’s breast cancer diagnosis are the significant test to their strength as a unit. They’ve already endured the loss of a child – their daughter Debbie “was killed” but we don’t know how or at what age. It’s frustrating to not know that information. The only drawback to the script is how little backstory we get.

Neeson becomes the dutiful caretaker while Manville reluctantly transforms from the take-charge half to someone needing help – and they both admit how frightened they are. Her ability to telegraph quicksilver emotions, large and small, is astounding, and their tenderness together is palpable.

Manville, nominated as the controlling sister in “Phantom Thread” for a supporting actress Oscar, shows the strength and courage needed to fight cancer as well as the vulnerability associated with something beyond your control. The waiting, the wondering – all captured well. And the film is nicely shot, too – a noteworthy mix of the bright lights of hospitals and the shadows of a home.

It’s refreshing to see Neeson, who has been in that action zone for years, tackle the head of household role with such honesty. On a personal note, after undergoing the tragic death of his wife of 15 years, Natasha Richardson, in 2009, that had to be difficult to re-live incidents demanded in this script, which is why tackling such a role is admirable.

The ordinariness of “Ordinary Love” makes it appealing, yet it’s the craftsmanship of the project that keeps us interested and deepens its very human perspective on staring at our mortality and life as we know it. Ob-la-di, ob-la-da, life goes on – we all have learned that – but to be reminded how just ‘keep on keeping on’ is quite an achievement is not a small thing.

“Ordinary Love” is a drama rated R for brief sexuality/nudity. Directed by Lisa Barros D’Sa and Glenn Leyburn, it stars Lesley Mann and Liam Neeson. Run time: 1 hr. 32 minutes. Lynn’s Grade: B+