There are rock stars, and then there is Bono—a man who has spent decades balancing the weight of his myth with the earnestness of a preacher, the swagger of a showman, and the occasional self-awareness of a man who knows he’s been talking about himself for far too long. *Bono: Stories of Surrender*, directed by Andrew Dominik, is not just a concert film; it is a confessional, a theatrical memoir, and a carefully curated glimpse into the mind of one of music’s most enduring figures.
Filmed in stark black and white, the movie strips away the stadium-sized grandeur of U2’s usual performances, leaving Bono alone on stage, illuminated by a string of LED lights that flicker like the remnants of a dream. He sings, reminisces, and reenacts moments from his life with the kind of dramatic flair that suggests he’s spent years perfecting the art of storytelling. The film is based on his one-person show, which was based on his memoir, which was based on a lifetime of carefully constructed narratives.
Dominik, known for his ability to deconstruct larger-than-life figures (Blonde, The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford), approaches Bono with reverence but not necessarily scrutiny. The film is immersive, intimate, and undeniably compelling, but it never quite challenges its subject. Bono remains firmly in control, guiding the audience through his triumphs, tragedies, and reflections on fame, family, and faith.
Musically, the film is a triumph. Bono’s voice, aged like a fine whiskey, carries the weight of decades, and his stripped-down renditions of U2 classics—*Sunday Bloody Sunday*, *Where the Streets Have No Name*, *Beautiful Day*—are hauntingly effective. His backing musicians, including Jacknife Lee, Gemma Doherty, and Kate Ellis, provide a rich, textured sound that complements the film’s introspective tone.
But for all its beauty, *Stories of Surrender* is still, at its core, a controlled exercise in myth-making. Bono acknowledges his self-indulgence, even jokes about it, but never quite dismantles it. He speaks of surrender, of letting go, but the film itself never truly lets go of the carefully crafted image of Bono as the world’s most thoughtful rock star.
But for all its beauty, *Stories of Surrender* is still, at its core, a controlled exercise in myth-making. Bono acknowledges his self-indulgence, even jokes about it, but never quite dismantles it. He speaks of surrender, of letting go, but the film itself never truly lets go of the carefully crafted image of Bono as the world’s most thoughtful rock star.
**Grade: B+**. Streaming on Apple TV+.
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