Bad Bunny Wins Emmy for Super Bowl Halftime Show

Liam and Noel Gallagher Raise Fists and Electrify Venice as Oasis Doc Gets 8-Minute Standing Ovation

Mandy Moore on Hilary Duff’s Musical Comeback and Playing an ‘Absolute Bitch’ in Dan Fogelman’s NFL Family Drama ‘The Land’: It’s ‘”Friday Night Lights” and “Succession” All Rolled Into One’

‘Pete Townshend: Behind Blue Eyes’ Review: The Legendary Rocker Gets a Lively Doc That Asks: Who Are You? And Doesn’t Fully Answer It

For Pete Townshend, rock's ultimate power move wasn't the legendary guitar-smashing—though that certainly came close. It was the windmill strum: arm fully extended, sweeping in ever-widening circles, building momentum before crashing the pick across the strings to unleash a thunderous chord. That raw, destructive force driving the gesture later fueled Led Zeppelin's heaviness and punk's rebellion. Audiences can relive this spectacle in "Pete Townshend: Behind Blue Eyes," the energetic yet somewhat disjointed documentary by Frank Marshall and Nigel Sinclair, which debuted at the Telluride Film Festival. As music documentaries go, it offers a solid ride through rock history, packed with previously unseen archival treasures—including footage salvaged from long-lost 16mm reels shot at Holmhurst Manor in 1972, alongside Townshend's personal home movies and outtakes from the Who's 1970 Isle of Wight performance. For those unfamiliar, the Who, formed in London in 1964, became one of the most influential rock bands ever, with hits like "Baba O'Riley" and "Pinball Wizard" cementing their legacy. However, the power-chord side of Townshend takes a backseat here. Instead, the film zeroes in on his brooding, poetic, and anguished persona—the creative genius behind the groundbreaking rock opera "Tommy" (a work nearly as pivotal as "Sgt. Pepper," rooted in Townshend's childhood trauma). It also examines his relentless drive to elevate rock into something grander, bolder, and more confessionally expansive. Townshend, a former Mod who evolved into a rock intellectual while retaining his working-class London cadence, has always been deeply reflective, yet he could slip into doom-laden dramatics. He led the early Who with a ferocity aimed at burning it all down, but he remained perpetually concerned about rock's impact, insisting it should stay positive. The film traces his art school origins—where the idea of guitar-smashing was actually borrowed from avant-garde classical musicians destroying pianos in films shown to students—and his early days with the Who, which began as a lark but quickly made them a West London sensation. A standout clip from 1965 shows them performing "I Can't Explain," its tight, fifties-inflected chords feeling remarkably fresh as Townshend bops along. Notably, the Who's early lineup included John Entwistle on bass, whose virtuosic playing added a distinctive layer to their sound, a detail the film touches on only briefly. Strangely, the documentary glosses over the epochal moment of "My Generation," one of the ten most seismic and influential songs in rock 'n' roll history. When discussing punk, the film notes Townshend's admiration for the scene and his failed attempts to connect with Johnny Rotten, while acknowledging the Who's massive influence on punk—yet never once mentioning the very song that made that influence possible. Other jarring omissions abound: we learn that Keith Moon, the Who's thrash genius drummer, died of a drug overdose (specifically chlomethiazole, a sedative prescribed for alcohol withdrawal symptoms), but the film says nothing about his legendary drinking—perhaps the most prodigious in rock history. Similarly, while we're told Townshend opposed making a film version of "Tommy," the movie ignores the impact of Ken Russell's opulently feverish 1975 adaptation. Given that "The Kids Are Alright" (1979) remains the definitive Who documentary, Marshall and Sinclair may have felt free to skim over the band's career, yet "Behind Blue Eyes," despite being about Townshend, remains heavily Who-centric. For context, "My Generation," released in 1965, famously featured the line "I hope I die before I get old," a defiant anthem that became a generational rallying cry, making its omission here all the more puzzling. Now 81, Townshend sits for extended interviews wearing a red wool cap over his bald head, projecting an open, circumspect gentleness that disarms. He narrates the Who's story—alongside Roger Daltrey, who also sat for the filmmakers—with a ripe appreciation for their towering achievements and a wistful distance from the feuds and valleys that once defined them. The film opens dramatically on the crisis Townshend faced after "Tommy" became a majestic success. He had developed his rock opera concept from the two years, beginning at age four, when his parents abandoned him to live with his sexually debauched grandmother. Though never abused, he describes being so distraught that he literally tuned out reality, becoming that "deaf, dumb and blind kid." Townshend composed and recorded "Tommy"'s music at home in demos later built upon in the studio, by which point the band had become entirely his—he claims the other three members simply wanted to party and sleep around. But once "Tommy" changed everything for the Who, how could they possibly top it? Period footage captures the fear frozen on Townshend's face. The Holmhurst Manor material shows the band gathered at the Jacobean country house in East Sussex that Daltrey purchased in 1970—one of those aristocratic estates where noisy British bands of the '70s loved to record—struggling to figure out their next move. They had no idea, and the chaos they felt is palpable. Success had stranded them creatively, much like U2 before they regrouped to create "Achtung Baby!" The footage also reveals how testy and difficult Townshend could be, a natural consequence of being a leader without a clear direction. Watching it, one might wish someone had made a Townshend biopic thirty years ago starring a young Ralph Fiennes, whose intensity could have captured that restless brilliance. Of course, the Who eventually pulled through, finding new levels of sonic triumph. I've often been lenient with the hagiographic tendencies of music documentaries, reasoning that if a film downplays an artist's dark side but captures their music and career with vibrant appreciation, it can still prove enlightening and captivating. But "Behind Blue Eyes" may be a special case. The film centers itself on Townshend's contradictions, growing pains, turmoil, and complexity as both a human being and rock artist—all commendable. Yet given where it sets the bar, too much remains omitted. We learn extensively about his obsessive struggle to create "Lifehouse," an unfinished science-fiction rock opera that sounds increasingly like something from "Spinal Tap," the classic 1984 mockumentary that satirized rock's excesses. But we learn virtually nothing about his close relationships, notably his two marriages. In 1980, when his first solo single "Rough Boys" was released, Townshend gave interviews acknowledging he had, for a time, led a gay existence—a fact conspicuously absent here. And while we hear gritty details of his addiction period (when he was a junkie drinking three bottles of Cognac daily), what I craved wasn't another bottoming-out-and-getting-sober narrative. Rather, I wanted the movie—and Townshend himself—to delve deeper into why he descended into addiction, perhaps exploring the pressures of fame or unresolved childhood wounds. As a rock biography, "Behind Blue Eyes" feels exploratory yet fuzzy. It lacks the riveting intimacy of "The Kids Are Alright," despite containing consistently great material, and for all its confessional aura, it doesn't leave you feeling you truly know Pete Townshend. Instead, you glimpse him around the edges, never quite touching the bad man, or the sad man, behind blue eyes. Expert opinion suggests that such omissions may stem from a desire to protect his legacy, but for a film aiming at depth, that restraint ultimately undermines its own ambition.

Category:SHOW BIZ NEWS

MSG team 2026-09-06