The English documentary filmmaker Nick Broomfield has established such a distinct signature style that it's ridiculous that there has yet to be a "Documentary Now!" parody of his work. From "Kurt & Courtney" to "Biggie and Tupac" and "Aileen: Life and Death of a Serial Killer," Broomfield inserts himself and his laconic narration into his films in a way that calls attention to the apparatus of filmmaking. Camera fumbles and his Nagra sound recorder serve as storytelling technique, while Broomfield creates himself as a character in the story of how the film is made.
In his latest film, "Marianne & Leonard: Words of Love," Broomfield doesn't have to create himself as a character in the story because he already is one. Within minutes of the deep dive into the long relationship of Marianne Ihlen and Leonard Cohen, Broomfield reveals he was one of Marianne's lovers, having met her on the Greek island of Hydra in 1968 when he was just 20. Nick and Marianne had a casual relationship over a few years, with Marianne visiting the student and fledging filmmaker in the UK and encouraging his work. It's fascinating that the result of his presence means Broomfield leaves himself out of the film far more than he does in his other, less personal films.
There is no mystery to probe, no conspiracy theory to prove, so Broomfield the bumbling provocateur is not necessary. Instead, he positions himself as Marianne's occasional respite during her tumultuous, nearly decadelong relationship with Cohen, whom she met on Hydra as well, in the early '60s. The Canadian writer bashed out his last novel, "Beautiful Losers," before turning to music. If Broomfield has anything to argue, it's the great influence of Marianne in the life of the iconic singer, as lover, inspiration, financial support and muse.
Using archival footage, home movies and recorded interviews with the pair, Broomfield stitches together a visual representation of Marianne and Leonard and their unique, sun-drenched life on Hydra, a haven for ex-pats, bohemians and artists in the '60s. He brings the two back to life in their prime, on sailboats and rocky beaches, crisp white shirts bright against tan, taut skin. It's a singular moment of beauty and cool that could never last, and it doesn't. Leonard was off to become a folk singer in New York, dropping gallons of acid and bedding every woman he could, while maintaining a relationship with Marianne. She followed him to Montreal and New York, but always returned back to Hydra.
Moments in "Marianne & Leonard" feel a bit unfocused, with tangents about the ex-pat families of Hydra, the dramatic story of writing "Hallelujah," Phil Spector and all his guns. They're fascinating tidbits, but they distract from the complicated love story at the center. And although Leonard (and his bandmates) are given a platform to expound on the advantages of 1960s free love, the only rebuttal afforded the women is the representation of their relationship woes.
Through Marianne, by way of Broomfield, the film offers a chance to fall in and out and in love with Leonard Cohen, despite all the sex, drugs and folk. But the lasting impression is of Marianne, whose vitality springs off the screen, and the film is ultimately an impossibly heartfelt portrait of this woman, and her impossible relationship with a brilliant man.
