Leonard Cohen in his prime

CYNTHIA RAMSAY

“Each man has a song, and this is my song,” says Leonard Cohen in the recently released DVD Bird on a Wire, which follows Cohen and his band on their 1972 tour of Europe and Israel.

“And if I didn’t have a large public,” he continues, “I would still sing, because I think that everybody understands the songs. We ... don’t understand perfectly what we say to each other in words, but we always understand each other. And it’s the same way with my songs. The texts are sometimes difficult, but even when you sit with somebody and you listen to them speak about their lives, you can’t follow the meaning from word to word or from sentence to sentence. But something else comes through, something of the person himself or herself comes through. And so it is with my work, although the meaning of each line may be obscure.”

The same can be said of Bird on a Wire. British filmmaker Tony Palmer and his crew capture Cohen in all his complexity and, though not always understandable, the person/artist Cohen definitely comes through. The film follows Cohen and his band – Jennifer Warnes and Donna Washburn (vocals), Ron Cornelius (guitar), David O’Connor (guitar), Peter Marshall (bass) and Bob Johnston (organ) – on what seems to have been a tour where almost nothing went right. The film opens at the group’s Tel Aviv concert, where Cohen basically incites a riot, as he encourages the audience to come closer to the stage. On his website, Palmer writes that Cohen objected to this footage, but “I wanted the scenes because they showed Cohen’s power over an audience, not by him shouting, but simply by his presence. Authority doesn’t really describe it; transparent goodness is probably closer. And a profound belief that it is the poet’s responsibility to address the problems of the world, the political problems.” As an example, Palmer gives Cohen’s song “The Story of Isaac.” The live performance of it is included in the DVD, Cohen describing it onstage as being “about those who would sacrifice one generation on behalf of another.” Interspersed with the concert footage are gruesome images of people shot, bombed and mutilated in various conflicts.

The mix of images is sometimes curious, which is perhaps why the initial film didn’t last long in theatres. A version – which Palmer did not edit and only saw in recent years – had a limited run in 1974.

“Had I seen it then,” writes Palmer, “I would have insisted my name be removed, because although it contains about 50 percent of my original film, the structure has been destroyed, the musical editing is crass beyond belief, and the whole purpose of the film ... [is] lost. When I read that Cohen would only promote the film ‘through gritted teeth,’ I think I can understand why.

“As is well known, the film then disappeared,” continues Palmer. “Stupidly, I had never kept a copy of the original version for myself.... When, in 2009, 294 cans of film were discovered in a warehouse in Hollywood ... I believed at first that nothing could be salvaged. The cans did not contain the negative (still lost); some of the prints were in black and white; and much of it had been cut to pieces and/or scratched beyond use. But when I finally opened one box and found most of the original sound dubbing tracks, I knew we had a hope of putting the jigsaw back together.

“So now, taking full advantage of the latest digital technology, this is what we have done, piece by piece, slowly and painstakingly. It has taken months and months, and probably has cost more than the original filming, and, although it’s by no means perfect, it’s very close now to the original.”

The portrait Palmer creates is of a perfectionist artist who can be charming, intellectual and magnanimous – literally taking money from his own pocket to refund audience members after a show ruined by sound problems – but also moody, flighty and stubborn.

In one concert, as Cohen starts strumming a song, the audience begins to clap. Cohen stops playing and says, with humor but also with some annoyance, “Now, listen, you couldn’t possibly know what song that is.” The audience laughs and Cohen jokes, “I start all my songs that way. That’s the only chord I know.” To which someone cries out, “Sing it anyway!” “Pardon?” asks Cohen. “They’re all wonderful songs!” the man yells back. “Oh, thank you. Forgive my ingratitude,” responds Cohen, visibly moved. “Really, that’s ... oh, forgive me.”

There are several such moments in this DVD. Cohen’s constant worry seems to be that he’s cheating the audience because the original feelings with which he wrote the music are no longer there. He almost doesn’t finish the final concert, which takes place in Jerusalem. Even though the crowd is thoroughly enjoying themselves and singing along, Cohen tells them, “Now, look, if it doesn’t get any better, we’ll just end the concert and I’ll refund your money.” He and the band leave the stage, “to profoundly meditate in the dressing room to get ourselves back in shape,” and they almost don’t return, so convinced is Cohen that, “It’s not there, you know. I can’t fake it.” He threatens to leave, but is cajoled back – an im promptu shave somehow reinvigorating his spirit. He is childlike, going from sulky to giddy in moments. When he and his band finally return to the stage, they are welcomed by the audience, who are singing “Shalom Aleichem” –

Cohen is appreciative, listening until the song is complete, then finishing the performance. Backstage afterwards, he breaks down in tears.

When the group is in Jerusalem, Cohen is asked whether he speaks Hebrew – “No. I can read the prayers.... I have a notion what they mean.” When asked if he is a practising Jew, Cohen replies, “I’m always practising. Sometimes I feel the fear of God. I do feel that fear sometimes, that I’ve got to get myself together. I don’t know whether that’s an exclusively Jewish phenomenon, but it’s certainly one that is part of the Jewish training, to sensitize yourself to that kind of direction.” As Cohen is speaking, there are clips of him at the Western Wall, contemplative. When Cohen is asked if he attends synagogue, he answers in the affirmative, and there is a shot of him as a teen, perhaps at his bar mitzvah. How often Cohen goes to synagogue depends on “how good the singing is.”

Released to coincide with Cohen’s 76th birthday (Sept. 21), Bird on a Wire may not be something that he would want to see again, but his fans will find it fascinating. The DVD package includes a booklet of photographs and a reproduction of a postcard and poster (folded) that promoted the movie.

“And maybe what is valuable about the film today is not only that it contains 17 of his greatest songs performed by him in his prime ... but it has a real feel for the rough and tumble and difficulties of life on the road,” writes Palmer about the movie. “I know of few other films where the backstage confusion comes so vividly to life, with Cohen apparently taking no notice whatsoever of the camera. And don’t forget, this film was shot in 1972, with slow celluloid color stock, requiring a lot of light to get any decent exposure at all.... I doubt if today we would be allowed such access.”

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