If the bulk of your experience with Jon Batiste is seeing him in his role as the cheerful bandleader on Late Night with Steven Colbert, American Symphony will likely be a revelation to you. If you are deeply knowledgeable about Batiste’s musical career outside of Colbert, well, American Symphony will likely be a revelation to you too. The original intent of the film was to show Batiste prepping for what was to be his grand artistic endeavor, ‘American Symphony,’ to be performed one night only at Carnegie Hall.
Standing at the pinnacle of his career with 11 Grammy nominations for his album ‘We Are,’ Batiste was at the commercial prime of his life, and ready to deliver an even bolder musical statement. And then his partner, the very talented author Suleika Januad was diagnosed with leukemia for the second time. Suleika first contracted Leukemia when she was 22, and after ten years in remission her affliction returned.
What might have been a more celebratory documentary of a man’s triumph in his field, instead became a more intimate portrait of a couple under great duress at a time they thought would be among the best of their lives. Batiste continues to work on his symphony while Suleika receives treatment in the form of a bone marrow transplant that will keep her in the hospital for at least a month. It should be noted that it is very much Suleika’s wish that Batiste finish his symphony. She believes in his music just as much as he does.
Alternately joyful as it showcases Batiste’s symphony taking form, and harrowing as Suleika’s day-to-day condition runs the gamut from good day to wretched day, the film American Symphony is a tremendous accomplishment on its own terms. Director Matthew Heineman uses tight close-ups that bring us so near to Batiste and Suleika that there are times when you almost feel like you’re in the room with them, and perhaps you should step away. But Batiste, Suleika, and Heineman clearly intended to bring us so deeply into their space that their sadness and joy relates to the extremes of life, and the film makes you feel it.
And let me be clear, there is great joy in this film. Much of which is found in watching Batiste create. I was only vaguely familiar with Batiste’s work outside of The Late Show, but I’ve always taken note of how light-fingered he is when tinkling the ivories. There is something about Batiste’s hands. They are huge, but the fingers are long, slender, and dexterous. It is as if those hands of his were created to play piano.
What I didn’t know was that Batiste can do almost anything musically. He can sing, he can compose, and he plays more instruments in the film than I could keep track of. He is a truly wondrous talent. As you see him creating his symphony, what you also learn is that bright smile and the ease at which he performed intros, and played along with pop artists on The Late Show gave you no clue of the depth of his imagination.
During rehearsals for the Carnegie Hall performance of American Symphony, you see Batiste stretching himself, feet well off the sand and head just above water, to create something both avant-garde and digestible. When it finally comes time for the Carnegie Hall performance, we get to hear his extraordinary intro in full, and it is astonishing. Then disaster strikes. All the power goes out on stage. None of the monitors or the high-end technology is accessible. Batiste waits for a moment, and then starts playing a solo, turning what seemed like a dire problem into an opportunity. I suppose you could say he’d seen much worse through Saleika’s suffering, and he smoothed this bump in the road over with his improvisational gifts.
As great as that moment is, nothing can quite prepare you for the finale of the performance: an almost cacophonous blend of native-American chants, tribal drums, and a swelling orchestra that sounds like it is pushing so hard to the outer limits of what’s possible that the performance seems to be on the brink of imminent collapse the entire time. But it doesn’t collapse. It holds against what feels like odds most impossible. I thought the shiver down my spine might not ever relent.
The same can be said for Batiste and Suleika. Their world together feels constantly on the brink as well, but as the film ends in low key fashion with the two of them going for a walk, you see that they did not collapse either.
American Symphony is to my mind a titanic achievement. It’s one of the best shot and edited films I’ve ever seen. It is about art, music, and perseverance. But most of all, it is about love. A mighty, mighty love. It is a film that will rob you of your breath, force you to fight back tears, and somehow, despite matters most grim, fill you with a great sense of hope.
There is a moment midway through the film when Batiste is closing out a concert with his band, Stay Human. He tells the crowd that the final song is for Suleika. And then he pauses for what feels like an extraordinary length of time. Heineman’s camera pans up at Batiste’s face and holds. Batiste’s head is tilted upward, his eyes closed, summoning the strength to play. Then the camera pans down to Batiste’s hands as they rest on the keys. Still, he does not play. The camera goes back up and then down again. Finally, Batiste begins. The opening chords are beautiful, but as Batiste continues, he starts to strike the same keys over and over again. Fast, then faster, and then faster still, until his fingers become long, willowy blurs. It’s as if he is trying to send all his pain out of his fingertips and into the piano. I could feel my own heart pounding, like it wanted to leave my chest.
I’ve honestly never seen anything like it. That goes for much of the rest of the film too.
Reel Reframe 