QUICK’N DIRTY: LIVE FROM BERLIN
The story begins in the year of 1961 in New York. The Bills Evans Trio records two of the most acclaimed jazz records of all time in one single go. Next, Scott “Scotty” LaFaro dies tragically in a car crash, leaving his music partner Bill Evans (Anders Danielsen Lie) feeling lonely and despondent. Our sad protagonist moves in with his brother Harry (Irish heartthrob Barry Ward), his sister-in-law and his child niece, but finds no inspiration in the new environment. The little girl’s admiration for her uncle and her desire for a musical career serve of little comfort.
Bill then moves to Baton Rouge, the capital of Lousiana, ir order to spend time with his ageing parents. Harry Sr (Bull Pullman) and Mary (Laurie Metcalf) are two loving folks. Both attempt to forge a sense of intimacy with their famous child. The father uses alcohol as a token of bonding. It is petty bickering and subtle alienation, however, that prevail. This tedious family life does little to lift Bill out of the gloomy place where he locked himself. Parallel to this, Bill’s romantic partner Ellaine Schultz (Valene Kane) attempts to reunite with the man who suddenly drifted away. Perhaps the fact that their relationship was mostly chemically-induced caused him to lose interest. She tells him: “I love you”. He heartbreakingly replies, “thank you”, without reciprocating the sentiment.
The film moves back and forth in time. We travel to 1973 and 1979 and witness two suicides that could help to explain Bill’s irrevocable downfall: his brother shoots himself in the head, while his rejected partner throws herself in front of a New York subway train. We also watch Bill puke blood inside a car and die in hospital due to a combination of health factors, in the year of 1980.
This is an aesthetically accomplished film. The superb cinematography blends the high-contrast, low-key lighting chiaroscuro technique associated with the noir movement of the 1950s with colourful psychedelia (the latter is used for the later events). The precise editing ensures that the story remains intelligible, often making up for the uneven narrative arc.
Most of the characters – the parents, the brother, Ellaine – have a sombre and creepy Lynchian feel. While intriguing, this prevents the humanisation of the protagonist and those surrounding him. Instead of relatable mortals, these people look like caricatures. Overall, Everybody Digs Bill Evans provides limited contextualisation and insight into Bill’s psychology. We learn that the artist recorded 10s of albums during the two decades in the film, but we are left to wonder how this happened, and how the tragic deaths helped to shape his artistry. The developments portrayed are distant in time and spirit, and it is very difficult to construct a coherent picture of this talented music and complex human being.
The heroin-taking scenes look barely realistic. Overall, Everybody Digs Bill Evans (which takes its title from one of Bill’s most acclaimed albums) is a remarkably uneventful, monotonous and lethargic affair – that’s particularly problematic for a film about an addicted musician. While Trainspotting (Danny Boyle, 1998) glamourised heroin, this Irish-British production seems to suggest that the highly addictive opiate has narcolepsy-inducing properties: Bill come across as sluggish, lifeless and uninspiring.
Very little music is featured in the film, which focuses on the creator instead of his creation. This may come as a disappointment to die-hard admirers. And it’s unlikely to convert any new fans. Just give it a miss.
Everybody Digs Bill Evans just premiered in the Official Competition of the 76th Berlinale. Some character names were adapted for dramatic purposes (or perhaps for fear of copyright and libel suits).
