2022 was the best of times, the worst of times for Jon Batiste and Suleika Janouad.
Both. Everywhere. All at once. In every moment.
It was the year the couple married. It was the year Jon left his high-profile gig leading the band on The Late Show with Steven Colbert. He would go on to win five Grammys, including the coveted Album of the Year, which hadn't been won by a Black artist in more than a decade.
Although Suleika's bestselling "Between Two Kingdoms: A Memoir of a Life Interrupted" would be acclaimed as one of the best books of the 2022, she would spend most of the year in hospital beds, receiving chemotherapy, a bone marrow transplant and other treatments for the recurrence of acute myeloid leukemia, a rare condition that had first stricken her a decade earlier.
On September 22 of that year, Jon Batiste premiered his "American Symphony" in Carnegie Hall. His wife was in the audience.
These events provide the framework for Matthew Heineman's powerfully affecting documentary that shares the title of Batiste's musical creation. Its Higher Ground production company was created by Michelle Obama and her husband in 2018 with the goal of lifting diverse voices in the entertainment industry. It's playing on Netflix.
It feels meant to be, writing about "American Symphony" after recent blogs reviewing "Maestro" and "American Fiction." They have a lot in common. Like "Maestro," it presents a loving marriage of creative giants, the husband fulfilling his artistic genius, the wife beset by setbacks and pain beyond belief.
Like "American Fiction," it focuses on a brilliant Black artist staking his creative claim in a society built on a foundation of the enslavement of his race. (The similarity of the films' titles is unfortunate, confusing and diluting each's powerful impact during this awards season.) Except, unlike the other two films, "American Symphony" doesn't have actors. It has the actual people. They're not acting, they're living their lives.
Filmmaker Heineman is the third member of their marriage, capturing an intimacy that rarely makes its way to the screen. He's there with them in their bedroom or her hospital bed, as they grapple with everything coming their way. In one light-hearted interlude, Suleika takes Jon to the snow. He has never sledded before. We ride down the hill with them, lost for a moment in giddy, silly escape.
But not for long.
Pain, isolation and discomfort are givens in Suleika's illness. What's not expected is the resilience, philosophical strength and occasional bursts of humor she finds to face them. In her bed she starts painting giraffes. They quite good, actually.
By her side supporting her, Jon is also up against a different set of challenges. Scion of a New Orleans musical dynasty, his gifts transported him to Juilliard en route to a rarified place in the musical hierarchy where fame itself may become his greatest danger.
Heineman - and his three co-cinematographers - transport us into his brain, recording telephone sessions with Jon's therapist flowing into voice-over commentary that unflinchingly probes his artistic process, and the insecurities besetting artists no matter how much acclaim they achieve.
The documentary was filmed in the time of Covid, but finds endless expressiveness in its characters' eyes. When they remove their masks, their faces are visually striking element in the film's grand design. Jon's smile is sunshine; his dance moves are joy itself.
The creation of Batiste's symphony provides a plot of sorts, as he mines deep ore in all the cultures that have produced "America," beginning with the Indigenous people who were here when the Whites arrived, bringing the Blacks in chains a short time later. He melds their sounds into a musical masterwork that defies labels - classical, jazz, roots, blues, bebop, hip-hop and a hundred others - because it's them all.
But the film's real symphony isn't just the music. It's the two people/ at the center of the story, bravely leading us on this wondrous journey into their souls.
Both. Everywhere. All at once. In every moment.
It was the year the couple married. It was the year Jon left his high-profile gig leading the band on The Late Show with Steven Colbert. He would go on to win five Grammys, including the coveted Album of the Year, which hadn't been won by a Black artist in more than a decade.
Although Suleika's bestselling "Between Two Kingdoms: A Memoir of a Life Interrupted" would be acclaimed as one of the best books of the 2022, she would spend most of the year in hospital beds, receiving chemotherapy, a bone marrow transplant and other treatments for the recurrence of acute myeloid leukemia, a rare condition that had first stricken her a decade earlier.
On September 22 of that year, Jon Batiste premiered his "American Symphony" in Carnegie Hall. His wife was in the audience.
These events provide the framework for Matthew Heineman's powerfully affecting documentary that shares the title of Batiste's musical creation. Its Higher Ground production company was created by Michelle Obama and her husband in 2018 with the goal of lifting diverse voices in the entertainment industry. It's playing on Netflix.
It feels meant to be, writing about "American Symphony" after recent blogs reviewing "Maestro" and "American Fiction." They have a lot in common. Like "Maestro," it presents a loving marriage of creative giants, the husband fulfilling his artistic genius, the wife beset by setbacks and pain beyond belief.
Like "American Fiction," it focuses on a brilliant Black artist staking his creative claim in a society built on a foundation of the enslavement of his race. (The similarity of the films' titles is unfortunate, confusing and diluting each's powerful impact during this awards season.) Except, unlike the other two films, "American Symphony" doesn't have actors. It has the actual people. They're not acting, they're living their lives.
Filmmaker Heineman is the third member of their marriage, capturing an intimacy that rarely makes its way to the screen. He's there with them in their bedroom or her hospital bed, as they grapple with everything coming their way. In one light-hearted interlude, Suleika takes Jon to the snow. He has never sledded before. We ride down the hill with them, lost for a moment in giddy, silly escape.
But not for long.
Pain, isolation and discomfort are givens in Suleika's illness. What's not expected is the resilience, philosophical strength and occasional bursts of humor she finds to face them. In her bed she starts painting giraffes. They quite good, actually.
By her side supporting her, Jon is also up against a different set of challenges. Scion of a New Orleans musical dynasty, his gifts transported him to Juilliard en route to a rarified place in the musical hierarchy where fame itself may become his greatest danger.
Heineman - and his three co-cinematographers - transport us into his brain, recording telephone sessions with Jon's therapist flowing into voice-over commentary that unflinchingly probes his artistic process, and the insecurities besetting artists no matter how much acclaim they achieve.
The documentary was filmed in the time of Covid, but finds endless expressiveness in its characters' eyes. When they remove their masks, their faces are visually striking element in the film's grand design. Jon's smile is sunshine; his dance moves are joy itself.
The creation of Batiste's symphony provides a plot of sorts, as he mines deep ore in all the cultures that have produced "America," beginning with the Indigenous people who were here when the Whites arrived, bringing the Blacks in chains a short time later. He melds their sounds into a musical masterwork that defies labels - classical, jazz, roots, blues, bebop, hip-hop and a hundred others - because it's them all.
But the film's real symphony isn't just the music. It's the two people/ at the center of the story, bravely leading us on this wondrous journey into their souls.