On 5th December 1976 Bob Marley performed at the Smile Jamaica gig in Kingston. In recent years sectarian violence had become the norm in Jamaica; only two days earlier Marley himself had been shot and almost killed by a politically motivated gunman. Although debate raged over whether Marley should appear at all, it was decided that he should appease the crowd by performing one token song. But letting down an audience wasn’t in Marley’s nature. In the end, not only did he play a full 90 minute set, but he did so with open defiance, tearing open his shirt to bear his gunshot wounds.
As spools of grainy video footage depict, Marley, caught in a creative trance, calls two opposing Jamaican politicians onstage and encourages them to shake hands before the enormous crowd. As he raises their clasped hands in the air bravery, ideological conviction and virtuosic reggae collide with sublime intensity. You don’t have to be reggae fan, to understand the power of this collision; if you don’t feel butterflies at that moment then you’re dead inside.
This sequence of events, illustrated by talking heads and stunning archive footage, is not the only startling moment in Kevin MacDonald’s thorough documentary. There is the story of how, when performing in Zimbabwe, Marley is so consumed by transcendent ecstasy that he doesn’t notice he is being tear-gassed and that his band have been forced offstage. Or the scene in which McDonald plays the song “Cornerstone” to Marley’s half sister and she realises that the lyrics are about their absent father. Or the interview with legendary producer Lee Scratch Perry who liked to communicate ideas in the recording studio by dancing to the musicians through the glass. Marley brims with sparkling anecdotes, colourful characters and irresistible tracks. If you’re even slightly interested in either music or politics then there is much to revel in here.
MacDonald chooses a solid unpretentious style, detailing Marley’s biography chronologically without pointless flourishes. If the subject had been less infinitely fascinating then this simple style might have failed to grip, but as it is Marley is a compelling watch. This is partly down to MacDonald’s clever use of limited resources. Photographs of Marley as a child are scarce, as is information about his white British Captain father, yet McDonald cleverly juxtaposes interviews with images of shanty towns and Jamaican countryside to illustrate the impact Marley’s mixed heritage and tough upbringing had on his life and music. The exploration of Rastafarianism is similarly intriguing, with eye-opening black and white footage of Haile Selassie being greeted as a deity upon arriving in Kingston, and the prejudice expressed towards followers carefully documented. An account of how Marley was forced to shave off his dreadlocks whilst undergoing chemotherapy is extremely touching, another testament to the importance of spiritual conviction to his life.
Countless interviews with friends, family and colleagues are also unrelentingly engaging, building a portrait of a man who gave himself wholly to the public, but never managed to demonstrate the same generosity towards his family. Marley emerges as a charming, charismatic, infuriating figure, irresistible to Miss Worlds and dictator’s daughters, but frustrating to live alongside. The most moving contributions come from his wife, a backing singer with the Wailers who would tolerate Marley’s girlfriends as the band toured, and from two of his children, who openly express their bitterness towards their often absent father. This is a man whose high cheekbones and dreadlocks are as instantly recognisable as the Mona Lisa, whose profile is printed on garish T-Shirts and cheap mugs as far away as Japan and India, but who remained a stranger to his own children. The uplifting final credit sequence, featuring Indian school children singing “One Love” and European buskers dancing to “Get Up Stand Up”, goes some small way towards justifying this sacrifice, presenting a man who died far too young, but whose recognisability as a symbol of hope remains unrivalled.
If there is one problem lying at the heart of the film, it’s that for all the quirky anecdotes and soul bearing, Marley the man still remains somehow obscured, never fully humanised. Perhaps this is because interviews with Marley himself were rare, and there is little opportunity for the musician’s own words here. Despite the fact that this is a documentary authorised by the Marley family this is no hagiography, but even against candid interviews, the lack of recordings of an off duty Marley means that most of the footage here depicts Marley in concert. Onstage his charisma his palpable, as is his spiritual and creative integrity, and it is easy to believe that he was an unimpeachable saint. The true story, of a difficult but deeply loved man from impoverished roots who became a global representative of freedom, is far more interesting.
Anyone who scoffs at the idea of an artist having a discernible political impact needs to watch that Smile Jamaica footage, buy a Bob Marley album and eat their words.