Mark Reviews Movies: THE TORCH (2022)

The Torch, IFC Films

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Review by Mark Dujsik | March 17, 2022

Now in his 80s, Buddy Guy feels like the last of the old guard of the blues. The musicians who influenced him, mainly Muddy Waters, are mostly, if not all, dead. Guy doesn't have any delusions of immortality, either, although one could believe he might while watching The Torch.

Filmed in 2019, director Jim Farrell's documentary follows the guitar player and singer as he recalls his personal life, career, and mentorships, and at a club he owns in Chicago, Guy still performs, too. Given his age and his fame and the comfort of playing at a familiar place, one could envision that such a musician might relax or coast or otherwise take it easy, but that's not Guy.

He's up on stage, still nimbly fingering blues licks on his guitar, but there's more to a Guy performance. He'll leave the stage, walk out into lobby, wander outside the club, and make his way back into the audience—playing a lengthy guitar solo the entire time, thanks to a wireless receiver. Someone recalls the time Guy hailed and got into a cab, had the driver go around the block, and didn't stop picking the entire time. It's almost too strange to be believed—the sort of event that feels like an urban legend. Believe it, though. There are pictures to prove it.

Guy possesses no illusions that he'll be doing this forever. He loves it now and can't imagine living any other way, but that could change. His body might prevent him from this one day. While he still can perform, though, Guy will, and when he does perform, it won't just be his songs, either. No matter how many people might complain or heckle, he'll give the audience a bit of history of the music that has brought him so much personal fulfillment and professional success. The crowd will listen to him and the band play songs from Waters, Howlin' Wolf, B.B. King, and the others who taught and influenced him. All of them may be dead, but the blues must continue.

That's the driving force of Guy's life and career now, in performances and also in his relationships with other musicians. This is as it always has been for Guy, whose style, technique, and, at the time of his rise, revolutionary way of playing the blues on what has now become a fairly standard electric guitar has influenced almost too many to count. The big ones among them include Jimi Hendrix, Eric Clapton, and Stevie Ray Vaughn, as well as the music of Led Zeppelin and the Rolling Stones.

Whatever teachings he may have directly or indirectly imparted on those musicians is also a thing of the past now, and Farrell's recognition of that gives this documentary one of its most vital strengths. It acknowledges that past, but this film, just as Guy himself, lives in the present tense. There's still work to be done, and here is the musician doing it.

Most of that work rests in his contemporary students and protégés, who make up the bulk of interview subjects in the film. Key among them is Quinn Sullivan, whom Guy brought up on stage during a show—when the up-and-coming guitarist was only 8 years old. His parents encouraged his affinity for music and bought him a guitar when he was 3, and the rest of it almost seems like preternatural talent.

Over the ensuing years, Sullivan has toured and performed around the world with Guy, played guitar on at least one of the blues man's studio recordings, and, for this documentary, has written and recorded a song with his mentor. "The kid" was about 20 when the documentary was made, and there's clearly a sense of Sullivan trying to go out on his own. One of the interview subjects believes he can do it, for sure, but notes the weird position Sullivan is in now: Everyone is impressed with a wunderkind 17-year-old guitarist, but as soon as that child turns 18, he or she is just another guitar player in the big, wide world.

There are other modern-day musicians whom Guy directly taught or influenced in the film, and most of them—save, perhaps, for Carlos Santana—are likely going to be known by only a niche audience. Farrell didn't ask or couldn't get some of those bigger names, but either way, the end result pays off for the film. The conversations, with musicians like Jonny Lang and Carmen Vandenberg, feel friendlier, more knowledgeable, and more appreciative of Guy than we might have gotten from the likes of a Clapton, Keith Richards, or Jimmy Page, anyway. There's a genuine sense of love and admiration for the man, his music, and his legacy, because, in some way, they are part of that last element.

The present and the legacy matter most to the film, and that should be clear because at no point in this review has there been some detailing of Guy's biography. Farrell doesn't skip that information, but it's engrained into everything else the film is attempting to do. It comes through a return trip home to Louisiana and stories from Guy, of course, although even those anecdotes of hanging out and playing with other musical legends feel like an extension of Guy's mentorship.

He holds court, in a way, with Sullivan and others, passing on history and funny stories and, between the lines, some lessons the next generation should heed. The Torch allows us those moments, as well as some confirmation of Guy's hope that the blues will remain in passionate and able hands.

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