“Ella Fitzgerald: An Early One” tells the story of how singer Patti Austin traveled to the early Fitzgerald with a large band in the 1930s and was probably not interested in being the only one on the bus to act as his own personal filtration system. Back with the coat over his head. It’s good for laughter, and it’s also good for a sense of relief, to remind you that this is a rare twentieth-century jazz giant movie that doesn’t have to worry about when to start tragic predictions. Living in a mature old age is not just one of those things in this genre of documentary.
In director Leslie Woodhead’s film, it is suggested that Fitzgerald lived a relatively lonely life on the streets – but further emphasized that he was seldom off the road, and retained the grief he probably felt for himself. There is no lack of overt degradation or overt trauma to get the most out of the narrative’s momentum in “Only One of the Down Matters”. This means, however, that Woodhead, through the process of design or elimination, has been forced to focus on something that might get less attention in Holiday Documentary: Music. There’s plenty of it in the movie, though these are the short blasts you’d never like it to be, it could be good for a long tail for its Verve Records catalog after the film hit the VOD on June 26th.
Woodhead’s movie best describes the various musical stages of Fitzgerald’s career. First, he was a Harlem-based big band musician who entered the national spot in the ’30s and’ 40s as a short-lived consultant, band leader Chick Webb. . After all, he was an enthusiastic and brilliantly talented partner in the BOP movement, moving forward with small and Wilder combos, hinting at just as much as he did to the players of Sax or Trump that his name is still almost synonymous with scapegoating. In the third musical, all those vocal voices were lost (but not fatally) when another philanthropist, Norman Granz, was talking about moving him to the ballad and covering the Great American Song Book at a time when its pages were still fresh. Caste relations were rarely in a progressive state, as the film recalls, but Berlin, The Garswines, Harold Arlene, and others are his musical collections. Each suburb had a practically de Rigua companion piece for the first new hi-fi.
This film should not have been made 20 or 30 years ago, it is hard to begin to hope, when many more contemporaries of Fitzgerald could shed early light on its impact. Tony Bennett, Johnny Mathis, and a handful of other former timers look up and down in conversation, but Woodhead wisely weighs Fitzgerald’s vocal prowess significantly over these things by writers capable of skilling Margo Jefferson and Will ably Friedd. The second spanned 40 song parts over five spontaneous minutes during a show in Berlin while describing a typical, off-finishing thrilling moment in the singer’s mid-term career. If you have any doubts that Fitzgerald was part of the park and the organization of monks who landed in the role of Irving Berlin-lover Baladi, this sequence will solve it a lot.
It’s naturally a bit difficult for a filmmaker to focus on Fitzgerald as a personality – and a subtitle for a “one of those things” movie isn’t very promising that you wouldn’t expect him to set as anything other than average. Line said that after her first marriage and divorce she “never felt a life of strong love in her life” and her adopted son Ray Brown Jr., who made sure to keep in touch with the most sensitive moments on camera, seems like a difficult thing for his mother. A rare bit of Fitzgerald voiceover, which hints at innate loneliness without a man in her life, stands against the recording of “a house is not a house”. The movie invents the idea that, during a 42-week journey towards the end of one year of her life, she had sex with her boyfriend Bob Dylan and many street dogs before and after Ted. It has some melancholy, but ends with the story of one of the brightest singers Not enough to turn the moment into a tragedy. A jazz movie whose dominant mode – in a heroic attempt to cut through some personal grief – is the real musical joy? We will accept it.