No one could argue that rock’n’roll legend Eddie Cochran isn’t worthy of a birth-to-untimely-death bio-doc; it’s almost shocking that this is the first one to be made. But if truth be told, director Kirsty Bell’s effort is stretched so thin to make a feature-length running time you can practically see through the screen. Also it’s so old-fashioned in its structure it plays almost like a tongue-in-cheek parody.
The film deploys just about every scrap of archive material featuring Cochran that the budget could afford (which means we see precious little of his performance in The Girl Can’t Help It), plus scads of rostrum-mounted newspaper articles. That’s still not enough to make more than a long short film, so Bell has inserted endearingly tacky dramatic recreations with actors playing Cochran and his mother, whom the rocker reportedly phoned regularly while on tour. In these performed conversations Cochran confides to mom about, for instance, his fears that he’ll die an early death like his friend Buddy Holly. (And sure enough he did, in 1960 in a car accident on the road between Bristol and Heathrow.) Luckily though, someone connected to the production has top-notch persuasion skills and/or fantastic connections because the lineup of talking heads willing to wax lyrical about Cochran really is impressive and charmingly eclectic; these include famous fans such as Keith Richards, Rod Stewart, Roger Daltrey and Tim Rice (and that’s just the Brits).
More unexpected contributions come from the likes of a typically wry yet well-read John Waters, effervescent guitarist and one-time TV presenter Brix Smith and, most randomly of all, Kiefer Sutherland – who was once attached to an Eddie Cochran biopic that never got made but has ever since retained a deeply informed knowledge of Cochran’s musical technique. By the time an hour has passed, Cochran’s life story has ended with his death but Bell and her interviewees keep going for another 30 minutes or so, discussing his legacy and the many covers of hits such as C’mon Everybody and Summertime Blues. But credit where credit’s due, the old guys in scarves are willing to get into the details of pickups and string choices, and the significance of Cochran’s 1955 Gretsch 6120 Chet Atkins hollow body guitar; it’s delightful to listen to, like an audio version of one of those guitar-geek magazines.
Bio-docs about musicians never have nearly enough space allocated to the nuts and bolts of what makes the music itself so great, and too much to the gossip. This feature is a welcome exception, though perhaps erring a little too much the other way, heavy on the side of appreciation at the expense of lowdown.
Extract — continue reading at the source.
