AMERICAN SYMPHONY - Mark Reviews Movies

American Symphony, Netflix

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Review by Mark Dujsik | November 28, 2023

Some people just have to stay busy, and that seems to be the case with Jon Batiste, a multi-hyphenate musician who's probably best known for his former role as the bandleader on "The Late Show with Stephen Colbert." A scene in an airport in American Symphony, after Batiste won multiple Grammy Awards—including the top prize—the previous night, suggests that Batiste might not be as famous as one might think with that gig and all of those awards, and that's fine by him. He's the kind of person who says he doesn't want to be famous, only working in the music industry because of a genuine love for the art, and we believe him.

After all, Matt Heineman's documentary, which is ostensibly about the writing and rehearsing and performing of the musician's first symphony, isn't entirely about Batiste. It could have been, for sure, since it was filmed at what might have been the height of his career successes and accomplishments up until that point in his life. He had composed an award-winning score for a major animated film. His most recent album was getting all of that industry attention, leading him to receive 11 Grammy nominations, and Batiste found his way to Carnegie Hall for a one-night-only performance of the eponymous symphony, which was only in the planning phase when the gig was set.

Something else was happening in Batiste's life at the time, though—a more private matter amidst all of the publicity and accolades. His romantic partner Suleika Jaouad, a writer, had a relapse of leukemia—a disease that had been in remission for about a decade. She was first diagnosed in her early 20s, underwent treatment, received a bone marrow transplant, and seemingly recovered. In between, the two met, fell in love, saw a lot of individual personal and professional successes, and wound up here.

Heineman's film, then, is almost as much about Jaouad, her new health issues and medical treatments, and her efforts to be supportive to her partner, who becomes her husband over the course of filming, at a time when she needs a lot of support. There's something of an unspoken rule between them here, in that they have their shared life together, while recognizing that each of them has a separate and necessary life to live, as well.

Jaouad's is interrupted at the moment, since the chemotherapy limits her vision and makes writing difficult, but that doesn't mean Batiste's has to stop. He keeps going, spending all of his down time at home in New York City with Jaouad at their apartment and, later, her hospital room, but still recording that daily show, playing venues and doing publicity for his album after those nomination, and working on his symphony, which is meant to incorporate the whole array of American music—mostly from Black and other traditions that have been overlooked or ignored in this realm—into a 40-minute piece.

The key is that Batiste has to do all of this and that Jaouad knows, accepts, and encourages that reality. To watch this film isn't just to watch an artist juggle the many creative, professional, and personal struggles of a single, tumultuous moment of his life. It's also to witness a bond in which so many of the important things go unsaid, because the two are so much in sync about what really matters. That recognition seems to be why they matter so much to each other, and it's quite lovely to behold.

Yes, this means that Heineman's documentary isn't nearly as comprehensive as it might have been with a more singular focus, either on Batiste's professional challenges at the moment or on Jaouad's health crisis happening behind the scenes of that moment. There's a degree of intimacy here, though, that more than compensates for that.

We watch Batiste and Jaouad at home, going through their daily and nightly routines, and in that hospital room, where the two try to find some normalcy amidst the terror and uncertainty of what's about to happen (A scene of them playing a copycat game in the ward's hallway is quietly moving, simply because of that sense). Neither of them knows for sure, and for that matter, neither do any of the doctors or nurses or the rest of Jaouad's family, who know she beat the odds once and don't know what that means for the success or failure of a second transplant.

Both Batiste and Jaouad are so open about their lives here—with him allowing the crew to record over-the-phone therapy sessions and her letting a camera observe moments of illness and fear and treatments—that it feels too raw at times. We know Heineman and the crew aren't violating the privacy of either participant, of course, because both of them want this to be seen, even if everything and anything could go wrong at any moment.

The stakes of the medical crisis, obviously, make many of Batiste's career issues feel slight by comparison. What do awards matter when someone's life is on the line? They do matter, though, because we watch Jaouad watching the ceremony from home, supporting her husband, and finding some hope in it. For Batiste, the work is clearly keeping his mind off those other troubles, as difficult and strange and contradictory as having these two extremes play out at the same time.

It's all about finding balance and, as a musician with a foundation in jazz like Batiste knows, improvising in order to adapt. American Symphony finds its own balance, too—between straightforward biography, backstage portrait, and the account of a steady, sturdy relationship undergoing a crisis. The individual pieces might not be detailed, but the whole they make here is special.

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