Sundance 2021 | "The Sparks Brothers" Begin Again. And Again.

6/12 ForReel Score | 2.5/5 Star

There is a boost that comes with introducing someone to new music, to opening up their world and seeing the elation rush in. Seeing music “click” with someone for the first time is almost like living vicariously through them and re-discovering the music for yourself. Edgar Wright, the intrepid and rhythm-minded wunderkind behind Spotify-ready successes like Scott Pilgrim vs. the World and Baby Driver, has arrived at the unique opportunity of unearthing a whole treasure trove of “deep cuts” for a mass audience. California-born brother alt-pop duo Sparks has an illustrious career spanning over five decades, twenty-five studio albums and something like 840 songs, yet they’ve existed in a sub-space nega-sphere outside of chart-topping acclaim all this time. Wright wants for them what Stephen Stills wanted for Sex Bob-Omb: a big break.

Speaking on the inception of his documentary project, Wright said that he was tired of trying to explain to people the story of Sparks over brief sittings, and so he felt it only natural to let a film speak for him. The idea is that the film will speak for Sparks, too, as the band has been notoriously secretive and ardently “outsider,” to the point where they’ve eschewed all conception of household pop darlings. But rather than drill to the bedrock (the “essence”) of Sparks, Wright goes the stubborn route of taking us through every. single. one. of their albums. All twenty-five of them. And each one is elaborated on in detail with historical context, stories of album development, and moments for the singles to shine. Wright also invites everyone and the kitchen sink to sing their praises in talking head interviews (you decide who the kitchen sink might be in this case – Steve Jones from the Sex Pistols, maybe? Mike Myers?).

I wish I could say I was more enamored than exhausted at the end of the film’s almost two-and-a-half hour runtime, but unfortunately, the experience felt more tedious than anything. When you reach the point of about the fourth album in the documentary, you realize the commitment you’ve made – at this point, I truly feel that you have to be a fan of the band to continue on in earnest. For fans of Sparks out there, I’m sure the film delivers: Sparks’ entire discography recounted with genuine zealousness and a touch of flair, the entire story that everyone too wrapped up in their Rolling Stones missed out on. But for the rest of us, those late to the party, you wish Wright had taken a more instantly accessible approach. This could have been accomplished by uncovering more of Ron and Russell Mael, maybe. We are given the briefest of glimpses into their childhoods, a winking inversion of a Q&A, and a quick update on what the brothers have been up to in the past recent years (lots of coffee shops visits), but that’s the extent of it, and the film reads as oddly obtuse as a result.

It is understandable, of course, that Ron and Russell have opted to shy away from the spotlight. The practically inseparable (and by all accounts “clean living”) duo prefer to let their music and stage presences do the talking for them—Russell’s wailing falsetto and Ron’s stoic, sour-faced piano playing—as well as their unceasing work ethic. They’ve also shown an unwillingness to ever “shake things up” in the rock star sense – give us the scandal, the drug addiction, the love affair. Maybe we’re just so used to those dizzying highs and crushing lows associated with those narratives that anything else seems without personality by comparison.

It would be unfair to denounce Sparks the band because they don’t tick these expected boxes, though. Wright is a dyed in the wool Sparks die-hard, and it is clear that he is enamored in their irreverence, determined to show us that mega fandom can exist in quieter, less rowdy circles. The editing in this documentary—a collaboration between Paul Trewartha and Wright—is masterful, nimbly leaping from album to album with the giddy excitement of a partygoer who has commandeered the aux cord (or Bluetooth connection). I said before how the film can get tedious, but it is most certainly never boring. Wright has also dug up plenty of Sparks’ electric performances, as well as details on their many unrealized film projects (those with Jacques Tati and Tim Burton, for example). It’s biggest Achilles heel, at the end of the day, is its stubbornness. Like Sparks, who has failed and succeeded and failed and succeeded, over and over again, always to push forward, so too does this documentary never seem to accept a conclusion. But there has to be a conclusion: Sparks is the band that persists. Sparks does persist. Shouldn’t that be enough?