Mark Reviews Movies: ZAPPA (2020)

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Review by Mark Dujsik | November 26, 2020

One can't pigeonhole Frank Zappa, the composer and musician who spent almost 40 years writing and playing whatever he wanted, and Zappa, director Alex Winter's documentary about the man, doesn't try to. It's an extensive film, which covers the entirety of Zappa's life and career, but somehow, it never feels as if it's taking on too much or shortchanging certain aspects of Zappa. We get an idea of the musician as a professional and as a person.

It probably helps that the man himself was almost exclusively defined by his work. That was the way he liked it—what gave him joy and, because he was a perfectionist, some frustration, too. Zappa felt something while writing or performing music. On stage and in archival interviews, we can sense that passion.

Winter's documentary is something of an oddity, in that it follows a pretty straightforward, chronological path (which is always the easiest, although not necessarily the most rewarding, approach), without ever seeming as if that path is straightforward. A lot of that, perhaps, has to do with the subject, who went through multiple stages in his career (a musician, a front man for assorted bands, a solo composer, a movie director, an independent record label executive, a political activist, and even a diplomat for a foreign country) but always possessed a single viewpoint for how he worked.

To Zappa, who died in 1993 at the age of 52, it seems that music was meant to be continuously evolving, through strict composition and relaxed improvisation. His composed pieces are intricate and—inspired, in part, by the composer Edgard Varèse, who implemented percussion, not only for rhythm, but also for melody—use instruments in somewhat strange ways. Accompanied by a drummer, who offers as much tune as time, Zappa band regular Ruth Underwood, playing on the piano, gives us a rousing rendition of her old boss/musical partner's piece "The Black Page. There's also the lovely aftermath of the duet performance, as an off-camera Winter pronounces, "You f------ nailed it!" That little moment, completely unnecessary as it may be, helps to explain why this film is as thorough and thoughtful, about Zappa and his work, as it is. Winter clearly loves this music.

As well-known as the name Zappa is, his music, to put it diplomatically, isn't exactly something that many people love. His records sold, for sure. Zappa, as much a businessman (in an industry in which the business side of things isn't particularly cool) as his other jobs, even started a direct-order service for albums and merchandise, which was a bit of a novelty at the time and made him a good chunk of change. He only had one hit song, though: "Valley Girl," which Zappa recorded with his daughter Moon Unit (His children's names—also Dweezil and Diva and the relatively everyday Ahmet—serve as another one of his claims to fame). She saw writing and recording a song as the only way to spend some time with her workaholic father.

His concerts through the decades were attended by loyal fans, but some of his songs and performance tactics were meant to be off-putting. He had a regular encore piece, which he would play after the crowd called for one more song. After they heard that one, Zappa believed, no one would ever want to listen to any of his music ever again.

In Soviet-controlled Czechoslovakia, the police referred to any kind of rock music as "Zappa music." When the man himself arrived there, following the Velvet Revolution, he was an instant star—not because of his music specifically, but because his name was associated so thoroughly with the music of freedom and revolt.

Essentially, everybody who knows rock music at least knows the name and something about Zappa, but the specifics of his work, on account of the man's own unique approach to music and the lack of popular appeal therein, aren't as familiar. The biggest success of this documentary is both how it gives us a broader idea of the man and his music—beyond the jokes, the vague notoriety, and the general eclecticism—and how it provides a multitude of reasons to appreciate what he accomplished in 38 years of writing, performing, and recording music.

Winter's approach isn't empty biography, either. There's no rote sense of "This happened, and then, that happened."

It's personal and kind of intimate, employing talking-head interviews with people who knew and/or worked with Zappa (The most famous of the regular band members might be guitar virtuoso Steve Vai). The discussions are about specific anecdotes, general impressions of the main subject, and some thoughtful observations about the man's personality and the process of how he created music. Asked why he uses unlikely instruments and covers orchestral pieces from niche composers at a rock concert, Zappa points out that he believes musical education in this country isn't up to snuff, but that doesn't mean he can't help an audience appreciate music they might not have heard before or of which they otherwise wouldn't have become aware.

The ultimate impression is of an intelligent man, whose deep knowledge of music (self-taught, by the way) and thoughts about its purpose almost certainly kept him from becoming as famous as he could have been, and one devoted to the craft, with such focused drive that his personal relationships suffered for it. He was beloved, surely, but as he endures prostate cancer in the final three years of his life, we can't help but see the regret on Zappa's face of how much more work there was to be done as a musician and a human being. That's another admirable thing about Winter's film: Zappa, an honest and touching tribute to the musician, is as frank about his shortcomings as it is about his accomplishments.

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