| Beneath the bravado Agile, Mobile, Hostile: A Year With?Andre Williams exposes the vulnerability of an aging bluesman
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| AGILE, MOBILE, HOSTILE: A YEAR WITH ANDRE WILLIAMS
Feb. 11, 9 p.m., Royal Albert Arms
When you first meet him, Andre Williams is the kind of guy who seems to embody all manner of awesomeness. He's charming, he drips with inimitable style and he projects the aura of bona-fide living legend.
You know that song, Shake a Tail Feather? The one Ray Charles knocks out in The Blues Brothers? He wrote that, kids. Well, OK, co-wrote. But his name's on it all the same. Not that he's ever seen any money from it, as he grumbles bitterly.
Agile, Mobile, Hostile: A Year With Andre Williams slowly accumulates tragic resonance as it exposes the frail old man beneath the bravado. Williams "was the man back in the day" - "hell," he says, "I still am." At age 70, he's still both recording and performing, a cock who still has his walk.
It may be all he has, however. That, and the admiration of young music lovers who are thrilled to pack an out-of-the-way venue on a Sunday night to see Williams do his thing.
Too bad he can't remember the words to his own songs. Also too bad that all the charisma in the world can't hide his raging alcoholism. Or keep him from quite possibly winding up on the streets.
At one point, Williams appears on the radio and is asked, why is he still cutting records? "So I can finally retire," he replies. Later, he searches for an already-furnished apartment he can rent on a month-to-month basis and the weight of his self-delusions comes crashing in.
It's clear that Williams makes the people in his life despair. Members of his band - all young men - admit to his face that they respect and like him, but don't care for being around him. He can't be reasoned with, complains one. Yet a promoter still admits that he can "buy you with his smile."
While I haven't actually tested the hypothesis, it strikes me that a documentary is only going to be as good as its subject. Andre Williams is a brilliant subject. He commands our attention; the camera, as they say, loves him. And why wouldn't it? He lives his life as if it's a performance.
Yet it's the vulnerable soul behind the showman's swagger that supplies the film's true gravity. Williams has been running on the fumes of past glories for too long, and age, health and financial neglect are all catching up with him.
By the end of the period documented by the filmmakers, he seems to be doing better, although he's still battling the bottle. The real question is whether he has the wherewithal to carve out a secure existence in the time he has left.
At one point he tells us that, as long as he can afford a night at a Motel 6 instead of sleeping on the street, he's happy. Not for a moment does he sound like he means it.
Williams is the kind of guy we go to 'authentic' blues bars for. He's the real deal, all right. This documentary may make you feel guilty for craving that kind of authenticity, however.
— Kenton Smith |
Uptown
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