‘Earth, Wind & Fire (To Be Celestial vs That’s the Weight of the World)’ Review: The Tribeca Festival Kicks Off with Questlove’s Indelible Portrait of the Great but Underrated EWF

When Ahmir "Questlove" Thompson unveiled his debut documentary "Summer of Soul (...Or, When the Revolution Could Not Be Televised)," his talent for nonfiction filmmaking was immediately apparent. Yet it's his second feature, "Sly Lives! (aka the Burden of Black Genius)," that fully revealed a distinctive quality in his music films. This quality resonated even more powerfully in "Earth, Wind & Fire (To Be Celestial vs That's the Weight of the World)," the Questlove production that opened the Tribeca Festival tonight with an atmosphere of nostalgic yet timeless joy.

What distinguishes Questlove's filmmaking isn't merely his perspective as a musician, but his scholarly approach to sound. He comprehends music from its core outward, understanding how each note triggers our pleasure centers. This insight proves particularly potent with Earth, Wind & Fire, whose music represented a delectable fusion of influences. As Lionel Richie notes in the film, "The funk was the funk, but the chords were jazz, classical. Meanwhile, it's sitting on this tribal African beat." The group crafted some of the most euphoric songs of their generation, their secret being the seamless blend of funk, soul, and pop. Questlove masterfully illuminates this alchemy.

While music documentaries often benefit from including critic perspectives, as Lisa Cortés's "Little Richard: I Am Everything" demonstrated, "Earth, Wind & Fire" takes a different approach. Though the film features lively commentary from figures like Barack and Michelle Obama, Jimmy Jam, Stevie Wonder, and Flea, Questlove himself fills the critical role. He analyzes the music, identifying what made it bold and beautiful, examining both its sound and significance. Through every edit, needle drop, and meticulously observed detail about the music's creation—with ace editors Andrew Morrow, Matt Cascella, and Tim Ziegler—Questlove proves himself a classicist rather than an innovator. Yet his sharp direction and intoxicating appreciation for his subject allows audiences to experience the music from within. This matters greatly for Earth, Wind & Fire, who despite selling 100 million albums, scoring 16 Top 40 singles, and winning six Grammys, never fully secured their deserved place in the critical canon.

The documentary's central figure is Maurice White, the drummer, lead singer, composer, and producer who founded Earth, Wind & Fire and guided them with virtuosic vision. Born in Memphis in 1941 to a 17-year-old single mother who left him at age five, White was raised by someone called Big Mama before reuniting with his mother in Chicago at 15, suddenly gaining eight siblings. He immersed himself in Chicago's music scene, becoming house drummer at Chess Records—where he collaborated with composer and producer Charles Stepney—and joining the Ramsey Lewis Trio at just 15. Despite his success in jazz, White abandoned it all to move to Los Angeles and pursue his dream of a band named after elements in his astrological chart. His embrace of astrology, meditation, numerology, and Egyptology reflected the hippie metaphysics flourishing in 1970s California. The original Earth, Wind and Fire sounded jazzy and free-form, reminiscent of Sly and the Family Stone crossed with Sun Ra. But White, craving success, fired the entire band and started over, incorporating two siblings. The new EWF found their groove during a Chicago performance where White played the kalimba, a small African harp, with other instruments layered on top.

The band's transformation crystallized in 1975 when White was invited to record the soundtrack for "That's the Way of the World." Bringing in Charles Stepney for collaboration, they created a title song whose sound serves as a balm, with lyrics that distilled the entire Civil Rights era into two lines. The same album featured "Shining Star," which Stevie Wonder shockingly admitted to Questlove heavily influenced his own "I Wish." White's vision for Earth, Wind & Fire grew increasingly ambitious: bigger, tighter, more melodically grand, embracing Afro-futurism's cosmic wonders. He added a horn section, recruited Broadway choreographer George Faison from "The Wiz," and enlisted magician Doug Henning for spectacular stage stunts. The documentary doesn't shy away from White's complexities—his insistence on sleeping around on the road, his exploitative treatment of band members, his conviction that aliens visited him. Philip Bailey, the group's remarkable vocalist, speaks candidly about his anger toward White. Questlove, too much of a humanist to ignore these contradictions, presents them as integral to a story that becomes more indelible because of them. The film culminates in a glorious meditation on "September," presented as the quintessential Earth, Wind & Fire song, with filmmaking that does justice to a pop miracle.