I don't know how anyone could rave about this film. I thought it was excruciatingly long, slow and very, very boring. I gave it two stars out of ten.
I must say that Dexter Gordon is one of my least favorite players of his generation and what fame he was able to garner probably comes more to do with his having outlived the rest of his contemporaries than it does with his musical accomplishments, but to focus so much attention on him and to have to listen to him hoarsely whisper or mumble his lines for over two hours was torture. And here was yet another example of "Ray" or "Walk the Line" syndrome - a biopic about a one-time talent who had become a derelict begging for drinks. Why are we supposed to find this kind of behavior interesting or entertaining? I was not touched and found it impossible to care about what happened to his character.
I thought the music was very disappointing, and mostly because of Dexter Gordon. It seemed like he was holding everyone else back. He was appearing alongside a bunch of other guys, all known hotshots, who all looked like they came to play and Gordon could barely squawk out a few notes. In general, all the music was too slow, it barely held together and it was pretty much lifeless and dull. I was so disappointed, especially after the build-up this film got. I don't see how anyone with even the most cursory and superficial interest in jazz can call the music in this film "great jazz".
I don't know what kind of a fetish or obsession this director had with jazz, but I thought all of the discussion on screen about the music sounded completely sophomoric and pretentious. It also bugged me greatly to hear Dexter Gordon's character speaking of the evolution of advanced harmony and some of the players who helped usher it forward with new technical and theoretical innovations and placing himself in the time line alongside the likes of Basie, Charlie Parker, etc. Of course, this was not Dexter Gordon talking, but his character, but it was irksome for me to hear Gordon, who is a second class jazz man, talk like he was the Son of God or something.
The story line was tedious, what little plot that there was. Why this Francis character would ever get so worked up over the Dale Turner character didn't wash for me. Okay, if this was about the real-life relations between Bud Powell and Francis Paudras, I could see why he'd basically give his life over to help the guy, but from what was shown in this film, it landed like a lead turkey. I fault the director and also the whomever it was that made the terrible casting decision to use Dexter Gordon who, at 63, was way too old for the part. Powell would have been 34, Lester Young would have been 50 in 1959. Gordon seemed too physically challenged and barely able to speak so that it was painful to have to sit through his performance. Watching Gordon was like watching an old dog trying to get up the stairs.
In a perverse irony, seeing Martin Scorcese on screen as the oily manager of Dale Turner was strangely humorous.
For a film that is supposed to be anthemic and give a definitive view into the jazz world, 'Round Midnight misses the beat.
I must say that Dexter Gordon is one of my least favorite players of his generation and what fame he was able to garner probably comes more to do with his having outlived the rest of his contemporaries than it does with his musical accomplishments, but to focus so much attention on him and to have to listen to him hoarsely whisper or mumble his lines for over two hours was torture. And here was yet another example of "Ray" or "Walk the Line" syndrome - a biopic about a one-time talent who had become a derelict begging for drinks. Why are we supposed to find this kind of behavior interesting or entertaining? I was not touched and found it impossible to care about what happened to his character.
I thought the music was very disappointing, and mostly because of Dexter Gordon. It seemed like he was holding everyone else back. He was appearing alongside a bunch of other guys, all known hotshots, who all looked like they came to play and Gordon could barely squawk out a few notes. In general, all the music was too slow, it barely held together and it was pretty much lifeless and dull. I was so disappointed, especially after the build-up this film got. I don't see how anyone with even the most cursory and superficial interest in jazz can call the music in this film "great jazz".
I don't know what kind of a fetish or obsession this director had with jazz, but I thought all of the discussion on screen about the music sounded completely sophomoric and pretentious. It also bugged me greatly to hear Dexter Gordon's character speaking of the evolution of advanced harmony and some of the players who helped usher it forward with new technical and theoretical innovations and placing himself in the time line alongside the likes of Basie, Charlie Parker, etc. Of course, this was not Dexter Gordon talking, but his character, but it was irksome for me to hear Gordon, who is a second class jazz man, talk like he was the Son of God or something.
The story line was tedious, what little plot that there was. Why this Francis character would ever get so worked up over the Dale Turner character didn't wash for me. Okay, if this was about the real-life relations between Bud Powell and Francis Paudras, I could see why he'd basically give his life over to help the guy, but from what was shown in this film, it landed like a lead turkey. I fault the director and also the whomever it was that made the terrible casting decision to use Dexter Gordon who, at 63, was way too old for the part. Powell would have been 34, Lester Young would have been 50 in 1959. Gordon seemed too physically challenged and barely able to speak so that it was painful to have to sit through his performance. Watching Gordon was like watching an old dog trying to get up the stairs.
In a perverse irony, seeing Martin Scorcese on screen as the oily manager of Dale Turner was strangely humorous.
For a film that is supposed to be anthemic and give a definitive view into the jazz world, 'Round Midnight misses the beat.