Prof. Neil Fox is no stranger to the pages of Directors Notes, having contributed many an article over the years in addition to being interviewed for both his filmmaking work and his film festival co-directing. Today, however, we’re speaking to Fox about his latest venture as the author of the BFI book Music Films: Documentaries, Concert Films and Other Cinematic Representations of Popular Music, which is released by Bloomsbury Publishing today. Fox has long been writing on music films and the knowledge he’s gained over the years coalesces into a fascinating read that avoids the typical chronological structuring that comes with genre analysis and instead looks at the varying ways music films can be recognised as true cinematic artefacts. Joining us for a conversation below, DN asked Fox about the overarching study he looked to produce with the book, the music films he feels deserve a reappraisal, and the common perceptions on films featuring popular musicians he hopes to alter.
The ‘Music Film’ is an all-encompassing term to investigate as it covers, as your title points out, documentaries, concert films and other cinematic representations of popular music, was the book always intended to cover such a breadth of work? And why was it important for you to talk about all of these types of films under that singular umbrella?
Yes, the intention was always to be broad. I know some will argue it’s too broad and I can see that to a degree, but I really wanted to look at a lot of films that are doing different things, documentary, concert film, mockumentary and ‘other’, but with a lot of crossover and see where those conventions which pop up all the time, and get blurry and shift, came from and how they have evolved over time. Calling them music films, rather than documentaries let’s say, was intentional, to group the different styles together and to present them as films, first and foremost. They seem to contain Hutcheon’s idea of the postmodernist artefact as a site of “complicity and critique” really beautifully.
Calling them music films, rather than documentaries let’s say, was intentional, to group the different styles together and to present them as films, first and foremost.
Broadly speaking, what common perceptions of the music film are you hoping to challenge with the book?
There’s the hope that they will be seen as cinematic objects rather than merely documents of music, musicians and performance. I wanted to write a book that presented the genre or sub-genres as films, so that what they are doing formally as films is taken seriously and this is foregrounded. I want them to be seen as a form that contains its own language, tensions, aesthetics, rather than always being side-lined and seen through the lens of ‘this is a film about the Beatles’ or ‘this is an Elvis performance’.
I want to challenge the idea that they are fan objects solely, or that they are just propaganda on the behalf of artists or record labels to sell more records and concert tickets and merch. I like that this is part of why they are made, but to me this is always in tension with the intention of the filmmakers if they are engaged with the form and the opportunity, and often in tension with the artists themselves who display conflict in how they are presenting themselves and being presented. This means that sometimes, what might be termed authenticity, or ‘the real’, is only available in moments, or fragments, within films, but I think it’s important that these films are discussed as contentious objects and that these moments, alongside moments of pure joy and artistry are celebrated.
Could you talk about the structure of the book? It’s divided into three parts ‘Form and Feel’, ‘Politics and Place’ and ‘Performativity and Performance’, how did you arrive at these sections?
This came out of the review process and I’m eternally grateful to the reviewers who looked at the proposal and helped shape it. I couldn’t see a good way to do it and was stuck in a chronological mindset, which was never going to work and wasn’t really what I wanted to do with the book as a whole. They helped me with the confidence to look beyond the calendar and group things together differently. I knew that after doing a chronological survey at the outset, to look at how the form developed, I wanted to break out and be able to look at films from different eras alongside each other.
I want to challenge the idea that they are fan objects solely, or that they are just propaganda on the behalf of artists or record labels to sell more records and concert tickets and merch.
Once I acknowledged that there was no perfect way to do it and that my decisions of how to put it together would never please everyone, I found different thematic avenues into the structure. It’s the best I could do and I prefer it to what I had at the start. I think it gives a sense that there are differences across musical genre and filmmaker demographics, as well contexts such as recording of music, or performance of music, that are present regardless of musical genre in terms of filmmaking and cinematic structure.
Were there any films you revisited during your research for the book that you came to change your opinion on or see in a vastly different light?
I still have real problems with Amy (2015). I think I’m pretty vitriolic about it in the book. I really wanted to like and appreciate it when I rewatched it, but I just couldn’t. I think it’s a cruel film. It subjects her to the same ordeal she endured while alive, through the form, which I find pretty reprehensible. The film that shifted the most for me was 20 Feet from Stardom (2013), which on release I thought was fine, but found it really moving and compassionate upon rewatching it. The film about Trojan Records, Rudeboy: The Story of Trojan Records (2018) was a surprise. I wasn’t expecting something solid and formulaic but it is made with real style and passion. That was a pleasant surprise.
Most Popular
Similarly, did you discover any films during your research that you think are perhaps underrated and deserve a reappraisal?
Most of them. I think the genre as a whole is massively neglected and not taken seriously. I hope the book in a tiny way can counter that narrative. I took the decision to focus as much as possible on films from this century as alongside the huge increase in music films being made, there have also been brilliant formal developments and approaches that have gone unnoticed. Even at the top of the tree there is creative and critical dismissal. Lana Wilson’s film about Taylor Swift, Miss Americana (2020) is superb, and does what I was saying above about presenting a film where label/manager intention sits alongside artist intention, sits alongside filmmaker intention in fascinating productive tension. Also, Beyoncé’s concert film Homecoming (2019) suffers because of the level of quality that is expected of her as an artist, but as a document of an artist in preparation and performance, as well as an encapsulation of talent, it is extraordinary in parts.
I think the genre as a whole is massively neglected and not taken seriously. I hope the book in a tiny way can counter that narrative.
Then there are films that are hardly ever talked about in mainstream film conversation because they are seen as ‘just’ music films, a qualifier I tackle in the book. The process of writing the book brought me into contact with incredible films such as Right On! (1970), Herbert Danska’s film about The Last Poets, The Last Angel of History (1996), John Akomfrah’s film about Afrofuturism and twentieth century Black music. I was able to write about why I think White Stripes: Under Blackpool Lights (2004) is a great concert film, and why I think Lord Don’t Slow Me Down (2007) is the best Oasis film.
You mention in the book about the shift music films took post A Hard Day’s Night where they generally leaned towards being more earnest as opposed to adopting the playful sensibility at the heart of the Beatles’ film, why do you think this? And what music films have we had since then that you would say are more playful and less concerned with being earnest?
I love the moment in King Rocker (2020) where Robert Lloyd, the subject of the film, asks “Did it get too earnest?” after talking about his life for a bit. That’s a film that is moving and heartfelt, informative, but also super playful and understands the inherent pomposity of committing stories of rock n roll life to tape. It matters, but it also doesn’t. It’s important, but also it’s not. I like that both these elements are present in possibility in music films. Post A Hard Day’s Night (1964), musicians, including the Beatles, take themselves very seriously as artists or want to be shrouded in mystery or irony. It’s a shame. Because while music and cinema are important, to those of us who commit our lives to making and/or following popular art forms, fun and ridiculousness and levity should also play a part, I think.
I took the decision to focus as much as possible on films from this century as alongside the huge increase in music films being made, there have also been brilliant formal developments and approaches that have gone unnoticed.
In the last ten years or so there have been lots of different types of playful music films. Mistaken for Strangers (2013) about The National, and in particular the relationship between frontman Matt Berninger and his brother Tom manages to be a lovely portrait of the band while also undercutting the earnestness that often goes along with music films, by being made by Tom and him being inexperienced as an interviewer and also wrapped up in a complicated relationship with his more successful sibling. Caroline Catz’s Delia Derbyshire: The Myths and Legendary Tapes (2020) is delightfully playful, formally. It’s such an aesthetically fun experience to see Catz performing as Derbyshire in recreations of the composer’s life, on a set where contemporary composer Cosey Fanny Tutti is responding to Derbyshire’s work and Catz’s performance and creating new art from it all.
Milford Graves Full Mantis (2018), Jake Meginksy’s film about the jazz drummer is profound and philosophical but never earnest, because of the director’s love of, respect for the person and understanding of him. In many music films when the subjects talk about their art and life they can give off an air of pretension, or a lack of depth, sometimes. But not with Graves. Then there’s King Rocker Which is just hilarious and one of the best films about music films there is.
Coming out of the writing of the book, has your enjoyment of music films dwindled or changed?
Not dwindled. I still love them and can’t wait to see Eno (2024) which may be the perfect encapsulation from what I’ve heard of what I argue in the book, that music films are at their best when the filmmakers are engaged with making a film that captures in cinematic form what makes the musical artist(s) at the centre of the film so important. A film made in the spirit of the music or musician let’s say. If anything my love for them has deepened and writing the book gave me the confidence to stand by my belief that they were worthy of being studied as serious films, not frivolous paratexts.
As someone who always has their hands in many projects, what can you tell us about what you’ve got on the horizon, work-wise?
I guess one of the most interesting and relevant to this interview is that I’m producing a feature documentary by some filmmakers whose work I cover in the book, Rob Curry and Tim Plester, about the folklore archivist Doc Rowe. Also, right now I’m helping Mark Jenkin and his producer Denzil Monk gear up for the shooting of Mark’s next feature which will hopefully take place this summer.
