Back to Black review: Stop making a fool out of her (26/1/25)

Back to Black is the latest instalment of musical biopics which fails to deliver on every metric.

You might think that a film called Back to Black, the story of Britain's arguably finest soul singer, would concentrate on the album of the same name, the extraordinary artistry which made her the star she still is.

You might think that. 

But you’d be wrong.

Back to Black - a 122-minute hatchet job, directed by Sam Taylor-Johnson and starring Marisa Abela and Jack O’Connell - spends just four minutes on the making of Amy’s breakthrough second album.

I know this. I counted them.

Instead of concentrating on what made Amy great, the film magnifies all the things that took that greatness away. The drink, the drugs, the relationships.

Which isn’t wrong. I understand that is part of the narrative of her tragic life. This film can’t be made without that. But without the balance and context that comes along with it, it comes across as a shallow re-telling of a complicated life.

If you were hoping for a nuanced depiction that goes past the surface level then you will be very disappointed. You would probably get more insight into her by asking a random person off the street to summarise her life. At least they would mention the music she created. 

As far as the film is concerned, she was just an arrogant drug addict who loved drinking and was desperate for love - not the musical giant she should be remembered for.

Supposedly an origin story of the 2006 album, Back to Black follows Amy Winehouse's breakthrough into the music industry and the spawn of her turbulent love with Blake Fielder-Civil, her troublesome partner, all leading up to the album by the same name. 

Any time left that should have been spent on her groundbreaking music is spent telling us, in needless detail, that Amy was addicted to drugs and alcohol. It isn’t handled with any empathy or understanding and it feels more like the film shouting at you every ten minutes saying: “Do you remember she was an addict?” without adding anything else.

The only thing that keeps this film afloat is the performances by Marisa Abela and Jack O’Connell as Amy and Blake. Their chemistry on screen is palpable and they both do their best with the lacklustre script. The scenes of them falling in love might have been compelling - if it wasn’t for the dog’s dinner of the script and the film’s disrespectful insistence that Amy’s addiction was more important than her talent. It wasn’t. It’s not. 

The grey and depressing South London backdrop mirrors the tragedy of her life, the state of this film - and my mood by the time the credits rolled. At least they got that right.

What could, in fact, should, have been an emotional and insightful biopic on the life of Amy Winehouse and the legacy she left behind was instead more focused on painting Amy as the villain of her own story.

This could have worked, but the problem with this film is that it concentrates on this - her downfall - more than it does her music, her triumph of spirit, her undeniable talent. She is misunderstood one last time by the media and belittled, again, as a broken and hopeless addict.

My advice? Just listen to the album. You will get a more honest, insightful, and most importantly a fairer version of her life. 

Rating: ⭐