Say 'My Name'

My Name is Albert Ayler Review

The limited engagement of "My Name is Albert Ayler" at Anthology Film Archives is sadly reminiscent of the less successful periods of Ayler's musical career. In the '60s, Ayler's untamed tenor saxophone pioneered a wild brand of jazz music. He recorded albums for ABC, toured with the Newport Jazz Festival and even played at John Coltrane's funeral, but his talent was as criticized as it was lauded. Sometimes negative public reaction to his work (such as bottles thrown at the stage) led Ayler to prophesy, "If they don't like it now, they will."

Kasper Collin's new documentary on Ayler's brief life (he was found dead in the East River at the age of 34) exploits the minuscule amount of footage available on Ayler like a detailed biopic. He habitually juxtaposes a silent video of a ghost-like, shirtless Ayler looking off-camera along with haunting monologues from the man himself. Ayler's own method of storytelling is enthusiastic and engaging, but Collin's storytelling mostly consists of placing a photo onscreen and slowly zooming in. About halfway through the film, as the archival material becomes less and less available, Collin uses tacky title cards to guide the viewer on a long, unexciting march towards Ayler's death.

To make up for the lack of footage, Collin interviews Ayler's friends and family. The Aylers seems to be less informed about their son than Collin is, but their time in the film - a series of sweetly self-aware speeches - is so touching that one wonders why Collin didn't spend more time with Ayler's family (particularly his brother, who played trumpet with Ayler's band).

The search for the real Albert Ayler could have been the sole focus for the documentary. Collin unfortunately only focuses half-heartedly on the Ayler family's engaging personalities. A few characterizations simply cede to the "black people are wise" stereotype.

At the moments when Collins lets Ayler's music, which avoided the pesky confines of melodic structure, speak for itself, the film reaches its peak of artistic expression. It's impossible not to be enthralled when seeing a television recording of the Ayler brothers blowing their eyes out as a polite and well-dressed crowd of Europeans nervously grins along, or hearing Ayler speak about discovering his own musical possibilities.

But for the rich amount of personalities available, few interviewees attempt to knock Ayler off the mythological pedestal Collin builds for him in the film. "My Name is Albert Ayler" is like too many musical biopics these days. There is fantastic source material, but the film forms its central character around a stale archetype. For those who are familiar with Ayler's music, it's a great complement to prior knowledge, but it's hardly a comprehensive guide to this musician's complex and elusive life.

William Clark is a staff writer. E-mail him at film@nyunews.com.