IN PERFORMANCE

Chicago premiere of 'The Great Flood' overwhelmed by its subject

The Bill Frissell Quartet

The Great Mississippi River Flood of 1927 was worse than Katrina and propelled the Great Migration of Southern blacks to Chicago, changing the sound of American music. On Friday, the Chicago premiere of the film "The Great Flood" at Symphony Center will show previously unseen footage of the disaster, accompanied live by an original jazz score from celebrated guitarist Bill Frisell and his quartet. (October 9, 2012)

In the spring of 1927, the waters of Mississippi River overflowed in spots from New Orleans right up to Cairo, Ill.

Hundreds of people died, almost a million were uprooted and the course of American social history changed, with black sharecroppers pouring into cities in the north, particularly Chicago. The Great Migration, already well underway, gathered additional momentum, and a Southern musical culture that had taken root here blossomed more fully.

The story has been told in literature and in song, but on Friday night it took on another form: A silent documentary film with live jazz accompaniment. Bill Morrison's 90-minute doc "The Great Flood" launched the new season of Symphony Center Presents Jazz, as well as Symphony Center's "Rivers" series, which during the next several months will explore the cultural impact of the waters that surround us.

Despite its epic subject matter (or because of it), Morrison's Chicago premiere of "The Great Flood" proved underwhelming, though alluring in several passages. The live-performance soundtrack from guitarist Bill Frisell's quartet mostly outshone the film it was meant to accompany, making this evening a more rewarding experience for the ear than for the eye.

For starters, the screen onto which the film was projected was too small for both the stage of Orchestra Hall and for the images themselves. The vintage Fox Movietone newsreel footage that filmmaker Morrison took pains to unearth and edit contains compelling detail: scenes of homes nearly submerged, citizens stranded on rooftops, river towns destroyed by water. But the limited screen rendered the images comparatively slight and insignificant, while some visual information was lost .

Moreover, during the first few of the film's 13 vignettes, Frisell's gorgeous score felt emotionally out of sync with the scenes unfolding on the screen. Monumental shots of the waters of the Mississippi raging across the landscape were accompanied by Frisell's serene, austerely beautiful music. Sight and sound conflicted here, slowing the progress of the tale.

It wasn't until the sixth chapter, "Mississippi River, April 1927," that image and music fully cohered and the film began to engage emotionally. Here Frisell's melancholy score gave voice to the unspeaking characters of "The Great Flood," the gripping visual-musical narrative making words unnecessary. From this point forth, "The Great Flood" showed real purpose and forward motion, conjuring the sweep of nature, the helplessness of humans in the face of it and, eventually, a vast social movement born of a cataclysmic event.

To their credit, Morrison and Frisell were able to weave bits of dark humor into the fabric of the story, particularly in the section titled "Politicians." Yes, that title itself stirred a bit of laughter in the house during this election season. But even more effective was the spectacle of pompous, overdressed pols in fedoras and suits accompanied by Frisell's now-jocular score, its melody slithering around the beat, its motifs comical and mocking.

Some viewers might have objected to the decayed nature of some of this film footage, with the margins often frayed and black blotches and other distractions appearing periodically on the screen. But considering the historic nature of the subject itself, the crumbling quality of the visuals only underscored the passage of time and the preciousness of the footage that has survived.

If the film suffered from flaws in structure and emotional tone, Frisell's score occasionally made up for it. Even without the black-and-white scenes flickering on the screen, listeners would have been drawn in by ethereal textures from Frisell's guitar, softly weeping lines from Ron Miles' trumpet and atmospheric fills from bassist Tony Scherr and drummer-percussionist Kenny Wollesen.

At the same time, however, Frisell probably erred in relying so heavily on snippets of Jerome Kern's "Ol' Man River." Though it's a timeless song from a landmark work of American musical theater, "Show Boat," in the context of "The Great Flood" it veered perilously close to sugary cliche.

In the end, "The Great Flood" didn't nearly match the majesty of its story, though it certainly captured glints of it.

hreich@tribune.com

Twitter @howardreich

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