We all know what happened to Amy Winehouse. In the opening moments of director Asif Kapadia’s Amy we see her at fourteen, singing ‘Happy Birthday’ to a friend with that undeniable voice, and we’re effortlessly reminded of what made her famous in the first place. Winehouse was fiercely talented, refreshingly open, and in July of 2011, she died, landing her a place in what Kurt Cobain’s mother famously called “that stupid club”. Her downfall has been absorbed into public consciousness ever since, and the story of how that tragedy came to be is common knowledge. However, it’s another thing entirely to hear her tell that story herself.
Comprised of compelling archive footage shot on everything from mobile phones to video cameras, Amy teaches us about the life of Amy Winehouse from beginning to end, drawing heavily on her words to capture precisely how things fell apart: when her performances are shown, the lyrics appear onscreen as she sings, allowing the viewer to see for themselves how closely her art intertwined with her life whilst grasping her capability as a songwriter. Winehouse herself grounds the film, and is quietly resurrected in the memories recorded mostly by those who cared for her. It’s immensely personal, and with the assistance of voiceover interviews from friends and family, we can begin to understand what (or who) was to blame for the misfortune that eventually consumed her. There’s a certain irony in the fact so much of the film is based around archive clips, as it’s hugely critical of the media storm that swept Winehouse up and left her stranded (comedians, chat-show hosts and journalists get named and shamed for their jokes about her addiction, whilst husband-slash-enabler Blake Fielder-Civil and father-slash-public denouncer Mitch Winehouse are heavily chastised for not taking action – there’s a whole lot of truth in the line “my daddy thinks I’m fine”). At the beginning, a warning about flash photography being used appears onscreen, almost darkly comic: some of the documentary’s most harrowing moments come from heavy exposure to that. Footage of Winehouse being ferried around by bodyguards as she’s mobbed by paparazzi and bathed in camera flashbulb lights makes for some of the piece’s most uneasy moments. She’s described as “a girl who wanted to disappear”, and in those scenes, it’s almost as if we’re watching her go.
Often with tragedies, knowing how things end doesn’t help. Although it’s clear where the documentary is heading, it’s an awfully hard road to take, and moments where it seems as if there may be a breakthrough, success in finding Winehouse the help she needs, come quickly crashing down, and it’s painful to watch. However, through simple, sensitive composition, Amy puts a spotlight on both the titular songstress and the nature of her fame, resulting in a film that is as heartbreaking as it is enraging. Whether or not anyone could have saved her isn’t up for debate – the simple, sad fact is, nobody did. All we did, and all we can do now, is watch.
Words by Lara Peters