a‑ha: The Movie

Amer­i­can YouTube review­er Todd in the Shad­ows has a reg­u­lar series called One Hit Won­der­land in which he takes a look ​“at bands and artists known for only one song”; explor­ing their his­to­ry before and after the big hit. His first video in this series was on Nor­we­gian synth-pop group a‑ha’s ​‘Take On Me’, in which he ful­ly acknowl­edges that a‑ha’s mem­bers are absolute­ly not true one hit won­ders just because ​‘Take On Me’ was their only endur­ing hit in the Unit­ed States.

The band has report­ed­ly sold over 55 mil­lion records world­wide. They’re among the best-sell­ing Scan­di­na­vian acts ever. A 1991 gig at the Rock in Rio fes­ti­val earned them a spot in the Guin­ness Book of World Records for draw­ing the largest pay­ing rock con­cert atten­dance (198,000). They still fill sta­di­ums. They did a James Bond theme.

But Todd’s cri­te­ria for inclu­sion isn’t entire­ly inac­cu­rate. It’s not con­tro­ver­sial to call ​‘Take On Me’ one of the best pop songs of the 1980s, while the accom­pa­ny­ing music video by direc­tor Steve Bar­ron jus­ti­fi­ably remains a titan of the form. No mat­ter the sales fig­ures of sub­se­quent sin­gles and albums, ​‘Take On Me’ inar­guably defines a‑ha’s legacy.

The band – front­man Morten Har­ket, gui­tarist Pål Waak­taar-Savoy, key­boardist Magne Furuhol­men – and direc­tors Thomas Rob­sahm and Aslaug Holm attempt to wres­tle with that lega­cy in a‑ha: The Movie, a doc­u­men­tary that shines a light on the toll that astro­nom­i­cal ear­ly suc­cess took on three then very young men.

An ​“eter­nal crescen­do of noise” is how Har­ket describes con­stant­ly being in the spot­light dur­ing their mid-’80s hey­day, bare­ly able to just be with his band­mates who didn’t get near­ly the sort of atten­tion their falset­to singer with movie star good looks did – one archive clip sees Har­ket vis­i­bly uncom­fort­able with an interviewer’s request for him to remove his shirt. Image issues and fraught col­lab­o­ra­tions saw them – naive­ly, they admit on reflec­tion – ​“go with the flow”, allow­ing them­selves to be pigeon-holed as a cheesy teen idol act before attempt­ing to rein­vent them­selves in the ​’90s.

The most com­pelling through­line of a‑ha: The Movie is its lev­el of detail and frank­ness. While the group’s stayed togeth­er for 40 years, through hia­tus­es and solo ven­tures, there’s an impres­sion they’re not espe­cial­ly close. ​“a‑ha was nev­er based on friend­ship,” is said at one point. ​“It’s not the cor­ner­stone, not what brought us togeth­er.” They formed as musi­cians look­ing to hone their craft to achieve the widest pos­si­ble suc­cess, and con­tin­ue as seri­ous-mind­ed col­leagues unafraid to sug­ar-coat disagreements.

A talk­ing heads for­mat is eschewed by oth­er con­trib­u­tors’ input being audio-only dis­em­bod­ied voic­es, effec­tive­ly keep­ing the focus on the band. Explor­ing essen­tial­ly every album of theirs, the doc’s inti­mate style proves some­what insu­lar by the end, as it dawns on you that the only speak­ing con­trib­u­tors have been the band, fam­i­ly mem­bers and a few direct collaborators.

There’s a clip of Coldplay’s Chris Mar­tin cit­ing a‑ha as an influ­ence in the ear­ly 2000s, but if part of this documentary’s aim is to reframe the group’s nar­ra­tive, restrict­ing the new con­tri­bu­tions to their inner cir­cle seems limiting.

Lit­tle White Lies is com­mit­ted to cham­pi­oning great movies and the tal­ent­ed peo­ple who make them.

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