With the upcoming Amy Winehouse biopic hitting the big screen in April, it’s time we consider the ethics and morality of further dramatising the, often painful, realities that these films follow.
Following the troubled life and relationships of the ’27 Club’ member Amy Winehouse, Back to Black is the latest in a long line of media created to document the star’s tragic downfall. Her questionable relationship with on-again-off-again partner Blake Fielder-Civil, played by former Skins star, Jack O’Connell, and her struggles with addiction, alcohol abuse and an eating disorder are yet again thrust into the limelight, begging the question of how many times can we rehash such devastation.
Marisa Abela plays Winehouse, who released her final chart-topping album, Back to Black, before her untimely passing in 2006. The album delves into the topics discussed in the film, questioning the need for a further biopic highlighting what we already know about her life. Now, this isn’t the first time that this has happened with a troubled star, Freddie Mercury has also had biopics and documentaries made about his sexuality and lifestyle, such as Bohemian Rhapsody (2018).
A clear distinction must be made between a biopic and a documentary. A biopic has more creative flair, with dramatisation and some fabricated events to entertain the viewer. In contrast, a documentary is factual and often uses ‘found footage’ to show the facts of the subject’s life (or at least, the supposed facts) as opposed to actors playing a role.
The risk directors face in attempting to cover the more ‘entertaining’ aspects of the subject’s life for the audience, while avoiding sensationalising the story and glamorising the struggles often faced by these people, is incredibly difficult to navigate. The celebrities covered in these biopics are nearly always exploited in their life, and this continues when their stories are used for profit in their death. A perfect example of this is Blonde (2022), covering the life of starlet Marilyn Monroe. The film contained distasteful renditions of sexual assault, abortion and her fatal overdose. How can recreating these very real, sensitive subjects help to memorialise these creatives? Wasn’t Monroe’s art enough?
It is often argued that familial consent from the deceased’s estate balances out the criticism, yet can this ever be equivalent to the subject themselves agreeing to be portrayed in some of their most intimate moments on screen? Now, figures like Winehouse, Monroe and Mercury cannot express their opinions as to whether these films are morally righteous – but why run the risk of disfiguring their memory? When comparing this to Rocketman (2019), a biopic on the life of Elton John, there is a stark difference as he was present and able to approve the film’s creation.
Amy Winehouse’s struggles were well documented by the press during her tragically short life, with the media having an undeniable impact on her mental health. The mid-2000s paparazzi and journalists exploited her for headlines and posthumously she has never been let to rest in peace – with her music left behind to tell her story in her own words.
This is not to say all biopics are inherently bad – some can even be considered tasteful. The Theory of Everything (2014) centres around the late Stephen Hawking and his degenerative condition Motor Neurone Disease. Creative liberties were taken in certain areas, such as blending multiple friendships into one character for the narrative’s sake. The beauty of this biopic was its sensitivity to the truth – not exploiting and monopolising his story for pure financial gain (albeit that will always be part of the industry) but exploring his life realistically.
For someone as troubled as Winehouse, the question of morality in filming a biopic around her trauma is highly controversial. Do we need to see a representation of her taking drugs? Of her binging? We know these things happened, and this creates the question – how far can creative license go when turning a real person into a fictitious character?