Why Jimmy Page, the Edge and Jack White? If you're going to make a feature film about guitarists, and you seemingly have access to dozens, if not hundreds of players, why would you settle on these three? I raised this question when I first heard about "It Might Get Loud," and by the time the film was under way, I had my answer.

All three are or were innovators. You could argue that Page invented heavy metal (or commercial hard rock or AOR or any number of other formats. The Edge has done as much as anyone to alter the sound of the guitar with electronics and effects, and White has somehow forced the music of 1930s bluesmen onto the radio with an aesthetic that eschews the very things that the Edge advocates. Name three living guitarists who offer as much (and whose commercial success could guarantee that the film would be made. Maybe next time we'll get Thurston Moore, Bill Frisell and Curt Kirkwood).

It's easy to knock the film: the summit among the three is the most contrived part of an otherwise enjoyable film, and what little it yields in interplay among the three is disappointing. It allows these artists to create and nurture their own myths rather than push them to reinterpret themselves. It is laudatory where there is plenty of room for critique. But what it does offer is solid, fascinating and revelatory.

The set-up is simple: These three were brought together for an afternoon in early 2008 to discuss the guitar. Each also is followed in what amount to mini 20-minute career overview/documentaries that are intercut with each other and with footage from the meet-up. These segments are the best part of the movie. The Edge revisits the school where U2 first got together. Page gives a tour of the manor house where Led Zeppelin recorded it's fourth album (clapping to show the reverberations in the foyer that made John Bonham's drums on "When the Levee Breaks" so monstrous) and White shows off his early work when he was still making a living as a reupholsterer.

Each offers revelations. Page chats about the soul-sucking nature of his session work, saying he was essentially creating Muzak before he finally decided to quit and pursue his own music. In an amusing aside, the Edge shows the riff for "Elevation" with and without effects. With, it's a shimmering concoction that sounds like several guitars at once. Without, it's a simple two-chord figure that someone could master in a matter of minutes. White offers the most self-analysis, stating that the black, white and red color scheme and childish ornamentation of his band was a cover that diverted attention from the fact that he wanted to recreate the music of Son House for the masses.

The so-called summit seems promising, but either director Davis Guggenheim didn't want to go in that direction or it yielded so little that he was forced to use other footage. When the three interact, there are interesting exchanges. The Edge asks Page about a chord progression, while Page seems shocked that the Edge plays a certain chord in the seemingly simple intro to "I Will Follow." "So, 'at's a C? You sure about that?" He asks. The three jam a bit on each other's songs, from "I Will Follow" to "Dead Leaves and the Dirty Ground" from the White Stripes (which could earn a killer solo from Page if offered) and "In My Time of Dying" from Led Zeppelin. Much more of this, as each looks for ways to integrate their own sound into the work of the others, would have been fantastic, as would the discussions of guitar that, in the finished film are fleeting. Perhaps we'll need to wait for an extended DVD package for such outtakes.

The film ends with the three playing "The Weight" from the Band. It's an odd choice, a song that is easily mastered and offers little challenge for players of this skill. But it's charming, too, and shows that these three would probably be sitting around doing just this even if they weren't iconic figures of rock.

Overall, it's a testament to the value of taking time to more fully explore a subject in documentary form. There is no shortage of information about these three -- one could surely make a compelling documentary from extant footage alone -- but by allowing these artists to talk about the thing they love most at length, Guggenheim has created a treasure. A flawed treasure that doesn't fulfill its promise, but a treasure nonetheless.

Labels: movies, music