★★★★★
The Blues Accordin’ to Lightnin’ Hopkins opens in a rural countryside with green fields, a dirt
road and a broken-down wood fence. Incongruously,
a group of what looks like ramshackle farmers is playing music in the road, and
just as unexpectedly, the camera that is watching them swings from one player to another, once even
wandering off the harmonica soloist in obvious anticipation of a guitar solo that
doesn’t come. The camera swings back to
the harmonica. This opening sets up the
rest of the short film: We see the environment that gave birth to Lightin’s
blues, but we see it though a camera that is not only observant but also
engaged. We’re participating in Blank’s
personal involvement with what’s before him.
Fortunately for us, Blank has a knack for putting people at
ease, for picking out nuggets from conversations and for not interfering in
important moments. Early in the film,
the camera is in a simple room with Lightnin’ playing guitar and another man
who is singing. At one point, the singer
goes down on his knees, vocalizing a deep, raw emotion while Lightnin’ continues
to play. The singer is overcome, but it’s
not clear if it’s with happiness or pain, if he’s laughing or crying. But as he sways, it’s still music, Lightnin’
is still playing, and there on the floor of the dingy room, we see the rawness that the
blues is in a way no text could describe it.
Lightin’ later tells us that the blues is a preacher preaching, which
sounds like the not-uncommon formulation that the blues is a secular version of
gospel music. But Blank goes beyond such bromides and enables us to authentically hear what the blues is saying. In one
performance, Lightnin’s words are “she said…,” and then the lyrics drop out for
an intense several bars on his guitar.
Lightnin’s words come back with “…that’s what she said,” an emotion that
was palpably beyond words. As we learn
with Blank, that’s what the blues is.
The Blues Accordin’
to Lightnin’ Hopkins also immerses in the blues by showing us the physical environment that nourishes the music. It’s one of rural poverty and
small clapboard houses, of tiny interiors with shabby furnishings. It’s also one of deep humanity and of the
ability to experience joy. African
American cowgirls dance with their midriffs exposed and a pistol on their hip, African
American cowboys stick on bucking broncos during rodeo competitions. And when Lightnin’s plays, everyone dances, while Blank’s camera lingers on the faces of those in attendance, letting us how
they experience the music.
Another strength of this small film is the way it
acknowledges its own subjectivity.
People look directly at the camera throughout, and we follow Blank’s obviously
subjective gaze as he sees things he’s interested in, like we did in the
opening sequence. Other moments
highlight the elements of film-making. At
one point, we’re watching two men kill a snake by a railroad, and as we see
this, our sound is an interview that was clearly done afterwards. The sound has been edited in from an entirely
different moment of Lightnin’s life. Throughout, The
Blues Accordin’ to Lightnin’ Hopkins isn’t an objective rendering of an
objective reality; it’s a subjective construction of a subjective
experience. And the film is more honest
for that.
The strength of this film lies in the way it gives Lightnin’
Hopkins’ music such authenticity. Blank
watches Hopkins and talks with Hopkins, and he observes the environment Hopkins
lives in. The film unites all Blank’s
discussion and observation into a powerful understanding of what the blues is
and then communicates that understanding to us. Through this short, we get a deep appreciation for the fact that the blues in't a style but a deep, authentic cultural expression.
