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Culled strictly from footage shot before and during Zaire '74, Soul Power documents the bass line running under the absurdly politicized, hyper-kinetic boxing match that found Muhammed Ali facing off against then-titan George Forman. No interviews, no voiceovers, and no reenactments here: The only things on the screen are the music and crew, all shot a kinetic groove by cinematographers Albert Maysles, Paul Goldsmith, Roderick Young, and Kevin Keating. The same DPs collaborated on Power's fraternal influence When We Were Kings, Leon Gast's Oscar-nominated chronicling of Ali and the days leading up to the Rumble.
Levy-Hinte's film begins as a series of worries and concerns. A newspaper has announced the festival is starting a day late; the talent might not hold-up their end if contracts are breached; the backers are understandably nervous. This is not to mention the unforgiving heat and the small pharmacy of downers, uppers, and hallucinogens being passed around and swallowed with a lake of booze. But the concert ends up going inconceivably right: The stage is finished ahead of schedule and all the performers put on blazing sets with a packed house for B.B. King.
It opens on The Spinners, in their matching cobalt-blue-and-white suites, doing a lively rendition of 'One of a Kind (Love Affair)' and climaxes with a go-for-broke medley from James Brown. In between: Franco with OK Jazz tearing up the joint, Bill Withers donating an acoustic, sentimental 'Hope She'll Be Happier,' and bongo master Big Black, amongst others. The film is also punctuated by Ali with his oddly good-humored braggadocio. I very much doubt I will witness anything as easily funny as Spinners lead Henry Fambrough taunting and then getting in the ring with the champ.
Amongst a swell of African artists, Brown provided the nation under Mobutu a caterwauling cry of hope, but perhaps the most miraculous thing about Levy-Hinte's work is how he captures the rhythm of Zaire as a whole. Beats and grooves seem to vibrate from the earth, lift into the sky, and infect everyone like an airborne toxin. It's a blast watching the Fania All-Stars jam in the middle of the city with a group of local musicians, but there's a striking moment earlier when a single chant grows into bouncing, acapella funk. Mobutu's kleptocracy wouldn't fall for another 23 years, but the soul and will of the people that eventually overthrew him is apparent in Levy-Hinte's chronicle, which very simply spills over with joy.
Get on up.
