Amy

I don’t like going to the cinema. I guess I’m just a weirdo valuing comfort of baggy tracksuits and coffee at home over (doubtful) glamour of all those crowded multiplexes where popcorn is perhaps more expensive than tickets. So yep, in general, I’m not a huge fun of a silver screen. However, when it comes to productions anyhow related to music… or basically, any kind of film which I heard has a good piece of music in it, I’m the first one to go to the cinema. I just genuinely appreciate the quality of sounds and pictures altogether. And if I like the film, I keep coming back to see it over and over again, as long as they have it on. Mental, I suppose. But that’s the way it is.

Last month I saw such film and I can’t stop thinking about it ever since.

Some people asked me if I liked it. But it wasn’t a film you could simply ‘like’ or ‘not like’. I haven’t read any reviews on the internet, I haven’t asked about my friends’ opinions but as for me, Amy literally left me heartbroken and devastated.
I cannot say Amy Winehouse has always been my favourite artist. I heard her albums, I liked one more than the other, I had a couple of tunes on my iPod.. but I never was a part of that post Back To Black obsession. I didn’t care much about her personal affairs, I just considered her an exceptionally sensitive and mature, extremely talented singer-songwriter, that was all.
 
 
I even remember that July four years ago when, eating supper in front of the telly, I heard the news on BBC. I was like ‘oh shit, another one’. And she lived just a few houses away from the flat I was staying in when I think of it now. Back then it was sad news, today, putting all the pieces together, I’d rather call it a tragedy. The tragedy of the girl who became a superstar kind of accidentally or rather, unwillingly, the girl who appeared to have gained more haters then fans since her life became public, the girl who was laughed at with no mercy and so publicly rejected while going through her private hell, the girl who was definitely far too young to die.
 
 
What I remember about her despite the music, was her petite body, bad tattoos, enormous beehive, pinup dresses and Cleopatra eyes. She looked a bit like a cartoon character to me. That was Amy I knew from media, never fussy enough to go beyond that on my own. And then I watched the film. And my world collapsed. It’s probably the saddest film I’ve ever seen. I actually find it too bitter to swallow.
 
 
There aren’t many scenes of the production in which she wouldn’t look a wreck. The portrait of Amy Winehouse from the film is very simple and straight-forward. Too simple. Her personal problems have never been a secret but, for goodness sake, she wasn’t all about that! Her talent and music sensitivity should be considered a national treasure and that’s what should be remembered, not a sick, vulnerable person in her darkest days, ripped away of all her dignity.
 
At the end of the day she was someone’s daughter, sister, friend, girlfriend, ex-wife, employee… I mean… It wasn’t one person involved in that film, it wasn’t just one voice to decide if someone’s pain and humiliation should be shared with the rest of the world, was it. How greedy must one be to value money more than basic human rights? Is respect an outdated word, even if we talk about the ones who are no longer with us and have no chance to defend? Can you really sell everything nowadays, including the ones you claim you love? I just don’t get it. And I hope I never will.