Bil­lie

Inter­view tapes span­ning eight years have been unlocked to tell the tumul­tuous, trans­fix­ing sto­ry of one of Jazz’s most influ­en­tial singers, Bil­lie Hol­i­day. Direc­tor James Ersk­ine curates jour­nal­ist Lin­da Lip­nack Kuehl’s unfin­ished pas­sion project to give in-depth insights into Bil­lie via those who knew her best. These inti­mate accounts may not be the eas­i­est entry point for the unini­ti­at­ed, but they tell an engag­ing, sad tale nonetheless.

I arrived at Erskine’s doc­u­men­tary with knowl­edge of Hol­i­day as a tran­scen­dent Jazz icon, in pos­ses­sion of a dis­tinc­tive style and bold spir­it, illus­trat­ed by her 1939 protest anthem ​‘Strange Fruit’. The doc­u­men­tary cer­tain­ly upholds this pass­ing pro­fi­cien­cy via a trea­sure trove of unheard inter­views with fig­ures such as Charles Min­gus, Tony Ben­nett, Sylvia Syms and Count Basie. Inter­spersed with stun­ning per­for­mances that have been restored in colour for the first time, this intrigu­ing film charts Holiday’s rise from tough begin­nings to a singer who com­mand­ed atten­tion in every room.

This is no puff piece, how­ev­er, as Lip­nack Kuehl’s exten­sive inter­views also pro­vide key moments of con­tention. We hear Jo Jones, a fel­low band­mate, and John Ham­mond, her pro­duc­er, vehe­ment­ly argue against each oth­er, with Jones even becom­ing fired up towards Kuehl over the rea­sons for Holiday’s depar­ture from Count Basie’s band. Ham­mond claims Hol­i­day left after a pay dis­pute with Basie, while Jo con­tend­ed Ham­mond fired her because she wouldn’t sing the Blues. Moments like this high­light not just the exten­sive lev­el of ques­tion­ing but the per­son­al con­nec­tion formed between inter­view­er and interviewee.

The details of Holiday’s ori­gins are com­pelling, yet the doc­u­men­tary is at its most cap­ti­vat­ing when it reveals that, as wild and unapolo­getic as Hol­i­day was in her per­son­al life, she also endured abuse, often at the hands of those from whom she sought affec­tion. This mis­treat­ment accom­pa­nied per­son­al tor­ment and what friends referred to as ​“self inflict­ed suf­fer­ing”. Hol­i­day appears as one of the orig­i­nal tor­ment­ed song­birds, believ­ing her­self unde­serv­ing of the very hap­pi­ness she ached destruc­tive­ly for.

A melan­cholic image of a vod­ka-wield­ing Hol­i­day, tak­en dur­ing her final record­ings, is described as cap­tur­ing ​“the shad­ow of death.” Indeed, Hol­i­day died pen­ni­less in 1959, despite being one the high­est paid Black artists in her life­time. The film clos­es on Holiday’s final TV per­for­mance, a beau­ti­ful reminder of the immense tal­ent that has secured her last­ing lega­cy. Still, it’s dif­fi­cult to escape the sad­ness that hangs in the air even after the cred­its have rolled.