I mentioned over Thanksgiving that I'd gotten a copy of The Last Waltz for five bucks. It came out in theatres in 1978, when I was about eleven and it was rated R (for what???**) so of course I didn't see it at the time.



I also didn't see it until after I'd read Levon Helm's book (here's a link to my Amazon review of it, if you're interested--it may be worth noting that after reading the book I spent a couple of weeks toying with writing a murder mystery about a bunch of old feuding former band mates, but that's another post.)

And the thing I wonder now is, what would I have thought if I'd seen it without knowing all the back story. I mean, I'm willing to admit that Helm's book is Helm's version of the story, but the thing was I liked his version so I'm sort of prejudiced against Robbie Robertson's side of things. And Helm's version of how Robertson ended up with pretty well all the songwriting credits (even on "Chest Fever," which Helm seethingly comments is pretty much an instrumental by Garth Hudson with a few nonsense lyrics thrown in) is actually less inflammatory than some of the other versions I've heard from people who were paying attention to the music scene at the time. (If you can't trust your band mates not to fuck you over when you're messed up, you might as well give up.)

So my attitude as I watch certain interview footage is influenced by all that. I just wonder whether I'd have been left thinking "smarmy little prat" if I'd seen the movie without knowing all the back story.

I'll tell you one thing, though, I might not have known why but I'm pretty sure I'd have noticed there was something wrong with Levon Helm. I don't know if I'd have identified the problem as homicidal rage, but I think I'd have picked up on the contrast between his stiffly polite cooperativeness and the dry heat in his eyes. He's behaving himself for the documentary but he doesn't want to be there, and there's a moment when Scorsese tries to get the band to talk about groupies when he firmly derails the interview.

I don't think I'd have known who he was mad at, though, if I hadn't known. In one interview sequence, as he lights yet another cigarette (which, since I saw the movie after Helm's bout with throat cancer, made me wince) he first holds the match so Robertson can light his. I don't know if I'd have realized he was angry at Robertson, but it must have been uncomfortable viewing at the time for theatre-goers who didn't know the back story, wondering what the hell the problem was.

Garth Hudson is pretty quiet. I think Levon had words in his book for the relative neglect in the movie of the best musician in the group but maybe Garth preferred it that way. I do know that if I'd seen the movie at the time I would have gone away seriously concerned about Rick Danko. It wasn't so much that he appeared to be particularly out of it (although he and Richard Manuel are both obviously pretty intoxicated in several interview sequences.) It's more that he comes off as so sweet and kind of helpless. (Years later when The Band was being inducted into the Canadian Music Hall Of Fame, Jim Cuddy had an encounter with Danko that sort of confirms at least part of the impression he gives in the film.) And there's a solitary moment at the end, when Scorsese interviews Danko alone, when he just seems lost. Viewers must have wondered what the hell was going to happen to him after the group ended.

I don't think I'd have thought for a second that I should be more immediately worried about Manuel.

Strictly related to the music: man, the young and bright-eyed Neil Young, enthusiastically joining in on the jams and singing "Helpless" over at Danko's mic, still looks like a crazy person. Like, well-intentioned and good-natured and apt to bite you in the throat at any moment. He looked about two seconds away from turning into a werewolf. I feel bad for thinking it, but there you are.

The big jam at the end on "I Shall Be Released," which I linked to a couple of posts ago, is gorgeous. And it's also pretty funny to see Ronnie Hawkins out onstage with no idea what song they were singing--if you watch him he gradually picks up on the chorus and joins in. There's a guy who looks like you'd love him no matter how much trouble he got you into.

It's a great film, even the uncomfortable parts.

[And I should start thinking harder about that murder mystery. My original plan was that the guitar player who ended up with all the songwriting would get murdered, and the drummer who never forgave him would be the prime suspect. This would still work, although perhaps the guitar player would have become a nicer person later in life and possibly become a sort of mentor to, ahem, a young band in his adopted home town (which is where our sleuths come in. Or maybe they're friendly with one of the other band members. The bass player, for instance.) When he's murdered, his estranged former band mates would become suspects. Among other things, the drummer has never forgiven the guitar player for as-yet-unfigured-out acts that he thinks contributed to the suicide of... oh, say, the keyboard player. Further murders ensue.

This is definitely one case where I wouldn't kill the bass player, though. I just wouldn't have the heart.]

[**I just looked up the original New York Times review and it said the movie was rated PG, which makes a great deal more sense. I must have been thinking of something else. Festival Express, which I also watched over the weekend? I think there was more swearing in Festival Express. But still.]