Bono – Stories of Surrender review: The life and times of this gifted raconteur is an elegant affair
We might add to this list a night in late 2022 when Bono brought the debut show of his all-singing, all-sharing book tour to the Olympia Theatre.
Marking the release of his memoir Surrender: 40 Songs, One Story, the night was attended by a who's-who of Irish life; everyone from heads of state to broadcasting giants.
What greeted them was a side to the U2 frontman perhaps less seen, part opera star, part seanchaí, relating the knots of his extraordinary life from a stage of rare intimacy.
Stripped-down versions of songs would helix through stories about his parents, his upbringing in Dublin, meeting wife Ali and his eventual bandmates (in the same week), and the globe-gobbling stardom that would eventually come.
Two things seemed to strike anyone lucky enough to get a ticket or an invite that night – the stagecraft of the entire performance, and the sheer dexterity and control of the then 62-year-old's vocal cords.
One music industry friend of mine, someone who has seen all the greats down through the years, put it in the top five things he had ever seen staged anywhere in our capital.
That show's beguiling format of yarns and renditions from one of the most famous people on the planet has been captured on camera without too much in the way of reverence or pomp.
Andrew Dominik's film brings just a slick monochrome sheen and some light digital trickery to proceedings as it swoops about New York's Beacon Theatre.
Accompaniment is provided by producer and occasional U2 collaborator Jacknife Lee, who strips those arena-filling compositions back to their essence with vocal and instrumental help from Crash Ensemble cellist Kate Ellis and harpist Gemma Doherty (of Saint Sister).
That aside, it's just a table, a few chairs, a bit of a lighting rig and a gifted raconteur cherry-picking from his bestselling memoir.
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As with the book, the 'eccentric heart' trouble that hospitalised him in New York in 2016 is a jumping-off point for what is essentially a scenic route through a newfound sense of mortality. And then it's right into Cedarwood Road, The Ramones and a complicated parental dynamic.
More than in the print memoir, Bono's over-arching niggle in Dominik's film is father Bob, the opera-lover who married protestant Iris (much to his own family's disapproval). Following Iris's death when then Paul Hewson was just 14, much head-butting went on between the punkish teenager and the nonchalant, old-school Bob.
All good frontmen carry the 'look at me, Mum' gene, but while Iris's death certainly played a role, it was Bob's reluctance to really acknowledge his pride in the rising superstar that provides the emotional cornerstone for these stories.
By the time Bono is re-enacting their stunted Sunday afternoon conversations in Finnegan's pub, the delicate dynamic is tangible but somehow never mawkish or self-pitying.
Always there is a sense of forward momentum, a dance that, much like the operas his father would sing along to, have their ebbs and flows.
A brilliant mimic who is naturally predisposed to physical showmanship and far-reaching activism, you come to appreciate just what a rare and unusual creature Bono is and how wide of the mark are those tiresome slurs on his character (he does pay taxes, by the way, as do all members of U2 – find a new hobby).
And what of the songs chosen from that imperious back catalogue? Well, there are moments in this show where a classic track bubbles up to the surface of an anecdote – see the penning of debut single Out of Control or Pride (In the Name of Love) – that are so cannily timed they arrive like goosebumps exploding.
Hate them all you like, but there can be no denying that U2 and their singular frontman push buttons that no one else has really found access to.
While an early Christmas present for fans, for everyone else this is an elegant, classy, fun and often poignant one-man opera that revels in the limitations of its setting.
Four stars
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