AS WE GAZE UPON lovingly shot close-ups of the Tennessee River, we hear a familiar voice intoning empty platitudes. “‘Magic,'” the voice says, “is the word that comes to mind when I think of Muscle Shoals. It’s about alchemy, it’s about turning metal… into gold.” Is that an Irish accent we’re detecting? Oh, jesus chri—is that fucking Bono?
Sure enough, we cut to a stumpy Irishman wearing a pair of bling-bling eyeglasses. Instead of any of the dozens of incredible musicians who recorded there, the filmmakers chose Bono—who had nothing to do with the legendary music that was cut at FAME Studios or the neighboring, competing Muscle Shoals Sound Studio—to introduce their movie about the small Alabama town that originated some truly magnificent music in the 1960s and 1970s. Bono was likely still a pants-wetting urchin on the streets of Dublin when Percy Sledge recorded the immortal “When a Man Loves a Woman,” or when Wilson Pickett laid the raw, funky “Mustang Sally” to tape.
Bono isn’t in much of Muscle Shoals, but that he’s in it at all is a symptom of the movie’s wrong-headedness. Perhaps the film’s intentions are solid—to be a definitive documentary on the place where Aretha Franklin found her voice and where a bunch of white boys found themselves backing Clarence Carter, Etta James, Arthur Conley, and countless soul and R&B greats. But the filmmakers can’t find a straightforward narrative, instead digressing into artsy-fartsy camera tricks and weirdly depressing anecdotes from FAME Studios founder Rick Hall. Worse, the film keeps getting distracted by rock star glitz—intently focusing on the two days the Rolling Stones spent in Muscle Shoals, and the unreleased album Lynyrd Skynyrd recorded there before they got their big break.
This isn’t a movie as much as a bullshitty Rolling Stone advertorial. Hopefully, more capable filmmakers will one day tackle Muscle Shoals’ remarkable story. Until then, best let the music speak for itself.
Ned Lannamann, You must have fallen asleep during the movie and had to make this drivel up. If you are going to make it look like you listed every one of the stories then you should list them. There was a theater full of people that liked it when I saw it. They, at least, were awake. So were the hundreds who passed the word in earlier screenings and said it was good. Too bad they don’t have the bully pulpit. The movie’s stories are about the history of the Muscle Shoals sounds and the grit it took to bring it to the world. Maybe you just don’t get grits…it’s a southern thing. I saw it in Michigan at the 2013 Waterfront Film Festival with a professor of film who liked it. The audiences here were serious film buffs who had what it takes to appreciate the story and the film. I think your readers should make up their own minds since we obviously disagree here. Hopefully Portland moviegoers will ignore the critic there and be able to enjoy the story anyway. It should not be missed. I have no affiliation with the movie or with any of the people connected with the film. I just enjoyed it and think others will too if they are not misled by a critical review. I’m glad I saw it.
Eric Schlanser
That is nice that you liked it, Eric, but by accusing me of sleeping through it, you’re ignoring the movie’s very substantial problems. Why was Bono in this movie to begin with? Why did the Rolling Stones and Lynyrd Skynyrd eat up the lion’s share of screen time when artists like Arthur Conley, the Staple Singers, Laura Lee, James & Bobby Purify, and R.B. Greaves are barely mentioned, if at all? Why did the film’s only complete live musical performance come from Alicia Keys, who has nothing to do with any of it? The movie was junk. For example, you barely hear a snippet of Arthur Alexander’s “You Better Move On,” which was the first hit to come out of Muscle Shoals and remains one of the most important records of all time, while “Sweet Home Alabama” (which was recorded in GEORGIA) is lovingly played in its entirety over the end credits.