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The conceptual and enthusiastic series The Blues brings together prestigious filmmakers like Clint Eastwood, Marc Levin, Mike Figgis and even Scorcese himself (From Mali to Mississippi). Devoured by their passion for the blues, these directors lent themselves to the exercise with each one delivering their vision of this fundamental musical genre. Whatever the angle or the type of narration chosen to evoke this mythical music, the majority of the filmmakers used archives and footage. How to use these archives or more generally documentary resources without the risk of sinking into the sterile fiction of reconstitution, the "biopic" or hagiography? It's this challenge that the ensemble of filmmakers engaged in this complex cinematic project must undertake. Wenders becomes particularly attached to three outstanding blues figures, starting with Blind Willie Johnson, a blind Texan singer and exceptional guitarist for whom music was a means of achieving his evangelical mission. Moreover, the title of Wenders' documentary returns to one of the bluesman's titles recorded for Columbia. Moved by the same religious enthusiasm, Skip James and his exceptional destiny: discovered in the 30's, he sank into oblivion for nearly thirty years before being rediscovered and celebrated by the generations of musicians who followed. Finally J.B Lenoir, a musician of misunderstood genius who influenced figures like jazzman John Mayall. Wenders multiplies the comings and goings between the past and present, confronting the original standards and their covers by musicians like John Spencer Blues Explosion, Cream, Beck, Nick Cave or even Marc Ribot. So that the archived images unceasingly echo the filmed performances of the bands. The cohabitation of these various film mediums takes place with a certain fluidity, with this restriction that little by little the impression of juxtaposition carries it. This "patchwork" side is aggravated by the most horrible idea of filming that the German director could have: for lack of having archived images (in particular of Johnson, who made his debut in 1927), Wenders falsely fabricates!! The result is catastrophic. Wenders even pours in schoolboy humor, by putting himself in the scene under the features of a student impassioned by the music of J.B Lenoir, following the same process of reconstituted archives. Frankly ridiculous, these sequences do not bring anything to the filmmaker's investigation. This one evokes the film Lisbon Story. Here the unfinished film replaces the search for another image: that of the stereotype of Skip James, a few minutes before gets back onstage, thirty years after having recorded a mythical session. Unfortunately, the hybrid structure of the film, wedged between reconstituted fiction and documentary, as well as the proliferation of film mediums, condemn this full-length film, in spite of its beautiful sincerity and a few moments of grace.
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