'David Crosby: Remember My Name' Is A Soulful & Intimate Portrait Of Regret [Sundance Review]

Rock documentaries generally skew towards humanizing musical icons and paint portraits of overcoming personal adversity. That’s just the kind of way they lean, complete with a rise and fall and redemption arcs. But the soulful and affecting “David Crosby: Remember My Name” is special nonetheless, managing to break through those tropes as it chronicles a similar architecture of ups and downs, successes and tragedies. Directed by A.J. Eaton, with the help of producer Cameron Crowe, who acts as Crosby’s interlocutor throughout, it’s almost impossible to not be taken by this brutally honest and emotionally vulnerable film about a famous musical icon, who’s also just a man who’s beginning to contemplate his last act in life. It’s moving stuff and regardless of whether you’re a fan or not, chances are this winning doc will hit you hard.

The theme throughout, perhaps a little basic on the surface is the juxtaposition of harmony and discord, but it works. Crosby’s honeyed voice is golden and he’s famously one of the greatest harmonizers that ever lived, but his personal life was anything but melodious.

From his unexpected rise to stardom with The Byrds and then Crosby, Stills and Nash (and sometimes Young),through heartbreakingly regrettable relationships and friendships, and not to mention a descent into hell, courtesy of a severe addiction to heroin and cocaine that landed him in prison, Eaton charts a difficult life as Crosby, now a 77-year-old man, comes to terms with a chronic heart condition. As Crosby relays, he could die at any minute, even on stage, where the film follows him during a short six-city tour through the U.S. He needs the money, but more importantly, performing has the sort of healing power that he needs as he fights his chronic illness. Surprisingly, Crosby’s falsetto-driven voice is still beautifully intact, not as ravaged by alcohol and smoke as his peers.

The sober reflections from Crosby are compulsively watchable. There isn’t a dull story in his repertory, especially when it comes to his memories of the late ’60s and early ’70s, when his political activism isolated him from bandmates, lovers, and fans.

As much as it resembles the stock rock doc on paper, “David Crosby: Remember My Name” just feels much more personal; a crossbreed of cinéma vérité and confessional from a terribly tormented musician. Crosby has a lot of regrets. His past mistakes, most of which he addresses himself, include his famous falling out with fellow bandmate Neil Young. Eaton, through Crowe’s probing, manages to uncover real self-examination and self-critique from Crosby, and it is quite telling there’s rarely any other talking heads. Frankly, there’s barely anyone else on screen through the whole doc.

It’s possible notable music figures in Crosby’s life refused to participate due to ongoing feuds or just bad blood that’s never been cleaned up, but regardless, it makes for a much more piercing portrait to hear it all from him, given he’s so self-critical.

Facing death at his doorstep, Crosby is looking to make amends even if they’re just spiritual ones. He recognizes his faults and that his hardened personality is to blame for his seclusion from old friends and former allies.

Those looking for something hagiographic or a rundown of an iconic discography have come to the wrong place. Taking cues from Crosby’s candidness, Eaton crafts the story of a survivor rather than any congratulatory statement. Having Cameron Crowe, a former rock critic and expert on Crosby doesn’t hurt. Already intimately understanding the musician’s story and demons, his questions are deeply knowledgeable and insightful.

If recent final albums from Leonard Cohen, Glen Campbell, Leon Russell, and David Bowie, have acted as perfect final personal statements from the artists, perhaps Crosby doesn’t need to record one; ‘Remember My Name’ is flawlessly encapsulating.

Despite all the painful self-awareness, and the unflinching rawness that comes through, there’s genuine rich humanity in the depiction of Crosby still pushing himself as a real creative force. Crosby may be in the winter of his years, but he’s not going down without a fight and his ambition to make music to his last dying breath is inspiring.

Not many can attest to the 50-year journey Crosby has had musically, and his firsthand experience of living through the hopeful “free love” age, only to see it all curdle in the toxicity of the cynical ‘70s; cultural despair which touched him personally.

Melancholy in shape, but still hopeful, Crosby’s willingness to bare naked his personal struggles on-camera makes for a truly poignant movie. Eaton and Crowe, no doubt working together closely, compose a beautiful hymnal. It’s as if you’re hearing a powerful and evocative spiritual of remorse sung right before your very ears and eyes. [A]

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