It's gritty, grimy, meandering, raw, crass, dark, dreary, miserable and spectacular - just what life on the road with the World's Greatest Rock Band should be. This seemingly uninhibited peek behind the curtain of Pop celebrity is not always pretty, not always inspiring, but it is nearly always absolutely fascinating.
There are few people in the world that can comprehend exactly what it means - what it feels like - to be at the center of the whirling cyclone of attention directed towards international mega stars, and Robert Frank does his best to give us a meager glimpse of the insatiable monster. The few moments of near still quiet that occur between Mick and Bianca are so oddly surreal, partly because of the quaintly eerie sound from the music box that Bianca is playing with, but largely because such mundane moments of domestic interaction are in such outrageous contrast to the non stop vortex of madness surrounding them. Business plans and arrangements are somehow accomplished in fractured, hectic, incomprehensible shouts and whispers among the din of their party life. Society's sophisticates, like Truman Capote and Lee "Princess" Radziwill rub sweaty elbows with the likes of "Snatch Girl", "Junky Soundman" and other lowly denizens of the underground conduit. Girls are witnessed fulfilling every promise that is implied by their status as Groupies. And even other celebrities at times seem bewildered and stunned by the carnivalesque proceedings, like Tina Turner's moment in the dressing room where she is every bit a deer in the headlights of the Stones' thundering locomotive. Maybe she always looked that way back then, battered as she was by Ike, but her expression is so perfectly matched to my own feelings of shock and awe.
The few live musical moments are thrilling in their intimacy, their proximity to that entity that is the Band at work. On and back stage the camera functions as a trusted band mate. It's the eyes and ears and heart of an active, invaluable member of the group - the audience. And as valuable and irreplaceable as that role is, we, the fans, are still left behind when the camera closes in on the face of an enraptured (possibly tripping) Keith as he unleashes a flesh tearing solo. No one but the boys themselves will ever know just exactly what wonderful, magical, mysterious stuff it was to be at the center of their mad, beautiful world, but now I have a fair clue, and it's awesome.
There are few people in the world that can comprehend exactly what it means - what it feels like - to be at the center of the whirling cyclone of attention directed towards international mega stars, and Robert Frank does his best to give us a meager glimpse of the insatiable monster. The few moments of near still quiet that occur between Mick and Bianca are so oddly surreal, partly because of the quaintly eerie sound from the music box that Bianca is playing with, but largely because such mundane moments of domestic interaction are in such outrageous contrast to the non stop vortex of madness surrounding them. Business plans and arrangements are somehow accomplished in fractured, hectic, incomprehensible shouts and whispers among the din of their party life. Society's sophisticates, like Truman Capote and Lee "Princess" Radziwill rub sweaty elbows with the likes of "Snatch Girl", "Junky Soundman" and other lowly denizens of the underground conduit. Girls are witnessed fulfilling every promise that is implied by their status as Groupies. And even other celebrities at times seem bewildered and stunned by the carnivalesque proceedings, like Tina Turner's moment in the dressing room where she is every bit a deer in the headlights of the Stones' thundering locomotive. Maybe she always looked that way back then, battered as she was by Ike, but her expression is so perfectly matched to my own feelings of shock and awe.
The few live musical moments are thrilling in their intimacy, their proximity to that entity that is the Band at work. On and back stage the camera functions as a trusted band mate. It's the eyes and ears and heart of an active, invaluable member of the group - the audience. And as valuable and irreplaceable as that role is, we, the fans, are still left behind when the camera closes in on the face of an enraptured (possibly tripping) Keith as he unleashes a flesh tearing solo. No one but the boys themselves will ever know just exactly what wonderful, magical, mysterious stuff it was to be at the center of their mad, beautiful world, but now I have a fair clue, and it's awesome.