Let's Get Lost

Warning: watching the early moments of this movie is like having a whole art school shoved up your ass, or at least down your throat. Director Bruce Weber’s fondness for a roving camera over a photo montage does little to make Chet Baker’s story particularly more transparent or compelling—and that’s not a minor detail, because Baker, it turns out, was a really difficult character to get a handle on. The film does gradually but forcefully make the case that Baker was to the mid-twentieth century jazz scene something like what Brian Wilson was to the rock-n-roll revolution: a gifted, brilliant talent who was also remarkably complicated and destructive, both to himself and to others around him. If you are of a certain musical inclination—in terms of what sort of music you prefer—you may (like me) have not ever even heard much about Baker, but the various voices in the bio express such reverence for him—not to mention a range of other reactions, from mild irritation up to genuine venom—that one has to acknowledge that he was in fact one of the central cultural figures of the postwar era. Certainly, Baker represents both the gift of talent, as well as the curse of talent. So too does he stand as an example of the gift and curse of beauty; surely he would never have gotten away with using people to the extent that he apparently did if he had not been so charismatic and handsome. Baker’s life also strongly testifies to nature over nurture; anecdotes from the movie’s interviews report the effortlessness of his ability to make music that enthralled many who heard him. And then, as with Wilson, drugs took their toll (though apparently without the same level of abuse The Beach Boy suffered to set up his downfall). Bundle it all together and you arrive at a portrait of an artist who is very difficult to get a grip on. Ultimately, one supposes, it is the art itself that must have the final say and testify to the fullness of his work, so that the listener can come to a verdict. In service to that fact, the doc does contain a treasury of Baker’s music, both vocal work and trumpet instrumentals, so that the listener and viewer can render an informed decision. Getting lost may be a good thing once in a while, but preventing art from being lost is an even better thing, and this film, though somewhat flawed, does at least give posterity the chance to know Chet and his music. Now that’s hitting the right note.