‘Pretenders’ Review: A Superb Portrait of Chrissie Hynde and Her Legendary Band Captures Their Incandescence…and Tragedy

Chrissie Hynde has long embodied a striking contradiction in rock music: tough yet thoughtful, savage yet restrained. Joss Crowley's riveting documentary Pretenders reveals that this glorious paradox was woven into the fabric of her band from day one. When the Pretenders formed in London in 1978, punk was in the midst of transforming into new wave. Many groups claimed ties to both movements, and Hynde certainly belonged to that group. Tracks like "Precious" still crackle with punk energy, a blistering, fast-paced surge reminiscent of the Ramones, while Hynde's icy defiance and deep sneer preserve the song's rebellious spirit intact. With her messy hair and a bold, androgynous gaze, Hynde had come out of the original punk explosion, having moved to London in her early twenties and even auditioned for the Slits, and that scene left an enduring impact. She was a volatile rocker who would never be anyone's toy.

Yet despite the raw power of a song like "Precious," it's not what I value most about the Pretenders. To be blunt, I have to use a word that sounds almost boring: they were melodic. Emerging from an era of anger, nihilism, spiky hair, and heroin, the songs Hynde composed and the sound the band created had a radiant polish. For years after new wave arrived, rock critics kept searching for fresh ways to capture "jangly guitar." But it was James Honeyman-Scott, the Pretenders' lead guitarist, who truly mastered and arguably originated that resonant, jangly tone. His playing had a bell-like clarity. And Hynde, with her roots firmly in punk, proved to be the most romantic songwriter of her era. I don't mean romantic in a sentimental way, but in how she captured life's sweeping romantic grandeur. Consider "Kid," a song that balances joy and sorrow so perfectly it rivals the Beatles. Pretenders, constructed from remarkable archival footage and an extensive interview with Hynde, also features many compelling figures from her circle, is a film that grasps this about the band: their music was so brilliantly timeless it rose above new-wave aesthetics and then some.

How Chrissie Hynde became that kind of songwriter remains a mystery. Songwriting is one of life's true enigmas: a divine gift given to a select few. But Hynde's vocal ability was equally captivating. She sang as if speaking to you alone, with a distinctive slow vibrato that could fill a single note with sorrow. Born in 1951 and raised in Akron, Ohio, she grew up in what the documentary describes as a "cookie-cutter postwar family." She loved her parents, but their 1950s conformity felt completely alien to her. At Kent State University, she was close to one of the four students killed by the National Guard on May 4, 1970, and by the time she relocated to London in the early '70s, she was prepared for anything. And anything is exactly what she encountered. She was heavily involved with drugs. She became a pop-music critic for New Musical Express, often writing harsh reviews. Yet she couldn't find a band that would accept her! She met Mick Jones and attempted to work together, but he left to form the Clash. She tried to join the Damned, but they rejected her. She eventually joined a group called the Moors Murders, notorious enough that they performed in masks. Even so, she continued writing songs, and her talent was undeniable; we hear her performing a 1976 demo of "Precious," and the Hynde appeal is already fully realized. The only answer was to form her own band, which she did, teaming with bassist Pete Farndon, with whom she was romantically involved, then recruiting James Honeyman-Scott, a crucial addition. Hynde thought she just needed a guitarist, but Honeyman-Scott, only 22, was as innovative a player as The Edge. The fierce drummer Martin Chambers, with his sharp sideburns, completed the four-piece. So there was Hynde, an American woman with an intense stare, alongside three British male bandmates. That might sound like a gimmick, but Hynde commanded the stage with such energy and effortless punk swagger that you didn't notice this was essentially the first time a woman with a guitar had led a rock 'n' roll band. She made it seem as though it had always been that way.

The first single their producer Nick Lowe wanted to release was "Stop Your Sobbing," Hynde's version of a 1964 Kinks song. The original has a country-and-western-meets-British-Invasion stiffness, similar to the somewhat plodding covers on the Beatles' early albums. But Hynde transforms it into something accusatory and grandly symphonic, like a great Phil Spector production. In her rendition, it's a completely new track, aligning with the Pretenders' defining perspective: a realistic longing for love, in all its flaws, to elevate into something greater. As the single was about to be pressed, the band still lacked a name, so Hynde, inspired by the Platters' "The Great Pretender," devised it at the last moment. Here's another aspect of the Chrissie Hynde paradox. At 17, she became a vegetarian, which she still is, largely driven by animal rights. But as she shares in the documentary, she also had a fascination with bikers, and not merely the thrill of riding on the back of a chopper, though she enjoyed that. She associated with biker-gang members who, by her own account, were murderous, and that added to the thrill. So when it came to her embrace of punk danger, this animal-rights vegetarian was utterly serious.

That intensity was the counterpart to her melodic side. She wrote "Brass in Pocket," a jangle masterpiece, and initially didn't want it released as a single, even though it topped the charts and became iconic. What lyrics! The song is so evocative it's like a film, and it's also one of the most romantic tracks I've ever encountered. It could serve as an anthem for a teenage girl ("'Cause I'm…gonna make you see,/There's nobody else here, no one like me"). It could resonate with anyone seeking someone to fall for them. For a time, the Pretenders enjoyed a fulfilling life touring. Hynde was a disciplined performer, and the band members relished rock celebrity perks. But they overindulged. Watching Pretenders, we anticipate the dark turn, and when it comes, it's stark and heartbreaking. Pete Farndon became a heroin addict, deteriorating until they had to remove him from the band. That's part of the rock 'n' roll narrative. He was dismissed from the Pretenders on June 14, 1982. Just two days later, James Honeyman-Scott, who wasn't an addict, just a rock star who partied excessively, died in his sleep from a heart attack. He was 25 and had been awake for four consecutive nights using cocaine. This was a truly shocking rock death. Suddenly, the band…ceased to be a band. As Pretenders vividly shows in its conversations with Chrissie Hynde, she's a blunt truth-teller who can be quite irritable and guarded. She was, and remains, at 75, looking stylish in a black-leather jacket, a swaggering rock star who dislikes watching herself on screen. She broke through rock 'n' roll's glass ceiling before it was even acknowledged, yet she rejects labels like feminist, pioneer, or similar, as she doesn't want to be confined to a role-model archetype. She displayed fierce bravado on stage, but insists she took no pride in her performances; she felt she was just getting away with something. Perhaps that's why she called herself a Pretender? In Pretenders, she's utterly genuine.