The documentary David Crosby: Remember My Name was one of the breakout hits at Sundance this year, and understandably so: in this film, the pioneering folk-rock musician — who soon will turn 78 — emerges less as a lion in winter than a tiger in full attack mode, as
Legend opens up: David Crosby wants to comeback one more time
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David Crosby poses for a portrait to promote the film David Crosby: Remember My Name during the Sundance Film Festival. Photo / AP
Although Crosby exhibits self-awareness when it comes to his faults — and makes himself vulnerable when he revisits the tragic death of his great love Christine Hinton, whose loss led him to record the cult freak-folk album If I Could Only Remember My Name — there are moments when the viewer craves more, when platitudes such as "They loved me better than I loved them," or "I was an a**hole" feel more like dodges than fearless admissions. But leaving some things unresolved also seems right for a man who, although vexed by numerous health issues and a fear of dying, seems to be enjoying a personal and artistic resurgence despite his own gloom and doom.
Directed with sensitivity and resourcefulness by AJ Eaton, Remember My Name treats viewers to a sensory survey of life in Los Angeles in the 1960s, when Crosby led a group of musicians to settle in the Laurel Canyon hills and form a legendary songwriting colony.
Where the earlier film Echo in the Canyon largely ignored the material and social culture of that time and place, Eaton uses gorgeous archival footage and music to give us a rich, detailed portrait of the era, including a present-day visit to the house where Crosby and Nash first harmonised. (He also includes a prolonged and fascinating sequence on Joni Mitchell, who was unfortunately omitted from Echo.)
Famously prickly, Crosby never gets really angry in Remember My Name, although at one point he yells at Eaton about the filmmaker not being able to set up a good shot (Crosby comes by the expertise honestly: his father, Floyd Crosby, was an Oscar-winning cinematographer.)
He's mellower now and clearly revelling in the music he's making with the young musicians he tours with throughout the film. But the rage simmers just under the surface, especially when it comes to his self-destructive impulses.
"Why me?" he moans towards the end of the film, invoking lost comrades such as Cass Elliot, Janis Joplin and Jimi Hendrix. Well, why not? He has too much left to do to stop now.