An In-Depth Review of 'Everybody Digs Bill Evans': A Jazz Biopic with Poise and Grace
The legendary jazz pianist Bill Evans' life was a tapestry of grace and poise, a delicate touch that conveyed a profound depth of emotion, all while grappling with personal turmoil and tragedy. Crafting a biopic about such an artist is no easy feat, especially when the challenge lies in capturing the artist's personal struggles in the very essence of their art. This is precisely what Grant Gee's film, 'Everybody Digs Bill Evans', accomplishes with remarkable beauty and authenticity.
The film cleverly avoids the common biopic pitfall of a cradle-to-grave narrative, opting for a more focused and selective approach. It draws inspiration from Welsh author Owen Martell's short novel, 'Intermission', which fictionalizes Evans' immediate response to the tragic death of Scott LaFaro, a gifted bassist in the Bill Evans Trio, in 1961. While the film occasionally glimpses into other significant losses in Evans' life, it primarily focuses on the pianist's struggle with mental illness, substance abuse, and familial tensions, all conveyed through the lens of his intense grief and creative paralysis during those few months.
Premiering at the prestigious Berlin Film Festival, 'Everybody Digs Bill Evans' marks a notable narrative debut for Grant Gee, a veteran British filmmaker known for his music documentaries and music videos. His work showcases a unique affinity for the rhythms and aesthetics of mid-century American jazz, a departure from his previous projects. The film's production team, including a predominantly European cast, faced the challenge of representing New York City and coastal Florida, with County Cork, Ireland, serving as a stand-in. Piers McGrail's cinematography, heavily influenced by the jazz-scene portraits of photographers like William Claxton and Lee Friedlander, adds depth and richness to the film's aesthetic.
A bold casting choice is the Norwegian actor Anders Danielsen Lie, who portrays Bill Evans. His angular features and distinctive appearance, enhanced by heavy two-tone glasses and shellacked hair, create a visually striking contrast. Lie's refined and recessive melancholy perfectly captures the essence of Evans, making this casting choice spiritually accurate.
The film's opening sequence, expertly edited by Adam Biskupski, sets the tone with mounting tension. It transitions from a Bill Evans Trio performance in June 1961 to the devastating car accident that took Scott LaFaro's life just days later. This haunting stillness is further emphasized when Evans, stunned and withdrawn, is retrieved from his shabby Manhattan apartment by his older brother, Harry (Barry Ward). Harry insists Evans stay with his family, a decision that forces the pianist into a new reality.
However, Evans' forced insertion into family life fails to shake him free from his petrified mourning and heroin addiction, which also strained his relationship with his long-term girlfriend, Ellaine (Valene Kane). Barry Ward's portrayal of Harry, Evans' protective yet envious older brother, is both softly wrenching and deeply moving. Harry's musical dreams, overshadowed by his brother's talent, lead him to admit the limits of his influence, ultimately passing Evans into the care of their retired parents, Mary (Laurie Metcalf) and Harry Sr. (Bill Pullman), in Florida.
The film's rehabilitation process is a halting, passive-aggressive journey, fraught with unspoken shame and reproval. Yet, it is characterized by everyday patience, a focus on small domestic routines, and gestures of familial affection, bringing a temporary serenity to the troubled musician. The irony is poignant: Evans finds peace when farthest from his music, but this distance cannot be maintained. A heart-wrenching scene captures his parents silently listening to him play in the next room, awestruck by his talent, which they know could be his downfall.
The film's title, 'Everybody Digs Bill Evans', is a pointedly cheerful nod to one of his albums, and it thrives on the tacit ironies and stoically endured wounds. It occasionally flashes forward to later milestones of pain in the 1970s, adding depth to the narrative. Most of the film, however, remains in the shadows, allowing Evans' music to speak volumes, with Gee's sophisticated direction folding emotions into the darkness, letting the music do the heavy lifting.
