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Aretha
Franklin
in the
lost
gospel
film
"Amazing
Grace"
(Photo:
Alan
Elliott)
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Back in
Church:
A
glorious,
long-lost
Aretha
Franklin
concert
DETROIT
- That
the
Aretha
Franklin
concert
documentary
Amazing
Grace
exists
at all
is
something
of a
miracle.
It was
originally
filmed
by
Sydney
Pollack
to
accompany
the
recording
of her
live
1972
gospel
album of
the same
name.
Franklin’s
album
would go
on to
sell two
million
copies.
The
film,
however,
went
unseen
for 46
years.
Pollack
failed
to use
clapper
boards
during
the
filming
process,
making
it
almost
impossible
to sync
up the
sound
and the
image.
Filmmaker
Alan
Elliott
bought
the
footage
back
from
Warner
Brothers
in 2007
and
fixed it
up, but
legal
troubles
with
Franklin
pushed
the
release
of
Amazing
Grace
further
and
further
back.
Finally,
a
90-minute
version
of
Franklin’s
two-night
show at
the New
Temple
Missionary
Baptist
Church
has seen
the
light of
day, and
the
result,
thank
goodness,
is
glorious.
Much
like
another
long-embattled
music
doc, Les
Blank’s
film
about
Leon
Russell,
A Poem
is a
Naked
Person,
Amazing
Grace
provides
not only
dynamic
music,
but a
detailed
glimpse
into the
time and
place in
which it
was
made.
The
music is
moving,
Franklin
is
stunning,
and the
church
is full
of
characters.
Franklin’s
goal
with
Amazing
Grace
was to
get back
to her
roots,
the
gospel
music
she grew
up
singing
with her
father,
C.L.
Franklin.
Helping
lead the
proceedings
is
Reverend
James
Cleveland,
who
right up
front
informs
the
audience
that
they are
there to
have a
religious
experience.
This
isn’t
just a
concert.
It’s
church.
The
passion
of the
music
and the
active
participation
of the
audience
and
Franklin’s
backing
choir,
truly
carries
that
spirit.
Watching
the film
in a
theater,
as at
Columbia’s
Blue
Note,
where it
opened
this
year’s
True/False
festival,
is an
odd
experience.
Amazing
Grace
requires
involvement,
not just
passive
viewing.
You want
to stomp
your
feet,
clap
your
hands,
get up
and
dance
and
shout
“amen”
every
time
Franklin
belts
out a
line.
Fortunately,
the
folks at
Franklin’s
two live
recordings
do
plenty
of
action
on the
documentary
audience’s
behalf.
They
treat
the
concert
like a
church
service,
especially
during
the
second
performance.
Members
of the
choir
put
their
hands in
the air.
Concertgoers
dance in
the
aisles
and up
to the
stage.
Gospel
legend
Clara
Ward
almost
faints
during
one
number,
seemingly
overcome
by the
power of
the holy
spirit
via
Franklin’s
heavenly
pipes.
It’s
much to
the
film’s
credit
that
Elliott
has
chosen
not to
edit
around
some of
the
rougher
bits in
these
impassioned
moments,
like a
sweaty
hanky
hitting
a camera
lens, or
Pollack’s
brief
concern
when an
older
woman
dances
her way
toward
the
stage.
The
musical
performance
is
incredible,
but
these
little
moments
are what
take it
from a
concert
film to
something
truly
special.
To
that
end,
Amazing
Grace’s
occasional
shots of
the
people
who have
come to
see
Franklin
perform
make a
fantastic
cross-section
of
early-70s
L.A.
With the
exception
of a
surprise
appearance
by
Rolling
Stones
Mick
Jagger
and
Charlie
Watts,
Franklin’s
audience
is
mostly
normal
folks,
and
mostly
African-American.
The
church
isn’t a
gorgeous
cathedral,
but a
normal-looking,
surprisingly
small
room
with
theater
seats
and
acoustic
tile.
There’s
one
woman
with her
hair in
rollers,
and
another
with a
fantastic
floppy
hat who
saunters
in late
without
a care
in the
world.
An
awkward
white
guy sits
by
himself,
completely
enraptured
by the
music.
There
are
young
people,
old
people.
Franklin’s
father
even
appears,
getting
up at
one
point to
wipe off
his
daughter’s
face,
like a
boxing
coach.
At
the
center
of it
all is
Franklin
herself,
who
seems at
once
completely
invested,
and
coolly
removed.
She
avoids
talking
to the
audience,
but
pours
out
emotion
through
her
songs.
That
incredible
voice
appears
to
practically
flow
from her
like a
velvet
river
during
the
first
number,
a cover
of
Marvin
Gaye’s “Wholy
Holy,”
and take
flight
during
“What a
Friend
We Have
in
Jesus.”
Her
performance
of
“Amazing
Grace”
itself
becomes
a
musical
sermon,
directed
from the
pulpit
toward a
gobsmacked
congregation.
The
number
nearly
becomes
a relay
race as
Cleveland,
playing
piano,
has to
take a
break
part of
the way
through.
With
Amazing
Grace,
we
finally
have
access
to
long-lost
concert
film
that
belongs
up there
with the
very
best
examples
of the
form.
The
performance
ranks
alongside
Stop
Making
Sense or
The Last
Waltz in
its
emotion,
command
and
energy.
The
involvement
of
everyday
people,
getting
religion
alongside
a few
notable
figures,
turn it
into a
historical
document.
Seeing
it feels
like a
gift
from
God, and
the fact
that it
almost
never
made it
to
theaters
at all
practically
seems to
confirm
that
sentiment.
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