Brat summer has passed only to enter Britpop autumn with the frenzy sparked by the news that Oasis are reuniting after 15 years for a tour. But the season actually began last year when Britpop got another major reunion: a new Blur album accompanied by a tour topped by two big Wembley gigs – possibly the last ever, if we’re pessimistic and take Damon Albarn’s melancholy seriously about how another reunion will only happen “if it’s really needed”.

Blur’s reunion is also the focus of Blur: To the End (2024, dir. Toby L), screened last week at DokStation. The documentary follows the recording of their new album, The Ballad of Darren, some of the gigs, adventures, and preparations leading up to the much-anticipated Wembley moment. While no one could have predicted the Gallagher brothers reconciling (we won’t believe it until we see it), Blur’s return is less surprising, given their first reunion after splitting up happened back in 2009. Toby L’s film, however, struggles to emphasise a narrative where the band members supposedly hadn’t spoken to each other for 10 years, glossing over the 2015 The Magic Whip (which wasn’t exactly a flop) and inflating the supposed “unprecedented” nature of this occasion.

That doesn’t necessarily make the reunion any less emotional, especially as the new album seems to reflect a period if not darker then at least harder for the band members, particularly for frontman Albarn. Without delving into details, we learn that he now lives alone and that The Ballad of Darren is about life after a loss (hinting at a breakup). To the End is quite inferior and much more distant than the film documenting the 2009 reunion and reconciliations, No Distance Left to Run (2010, dir. Dylan Southern, Will Lovelace). Still, there’s a commendable interest in what is the great enemy of rockstar life: ageing. Even though some colourful ’90s footage sneaks in here and there, To the End doesn’t seek to nostalgically revive the glory days but rather focuses on Blur as they are now, in their 50s, facing more mundane (but by no means easier) life problems.

A band like Blur has both the good fortune and the misfortune of being extensively documented: the many images of their ’90s success serve as both a record and an icon – frozen in time and hard to move beyond. Albarn himself identifies the issue, reflecting, somewhat bitterly, on where they are now: people get attached to something you once were, but no longer are. It doesn’t help either that Blur has cultivated a rich visual arsenal through a series of memorable music videos. While other documentaries might have been tempted to further mystify that “past” and celebrate youth, vibrancy, energy, and all the associated buzzwords, To the End aims to contrast all that. Damon Albarn, Graham Coxon, Alex James, and Dave Rowntree emerge from the film as legends (as they should), but not exactly glorious: two of them have bad knees, one shamefully realises he has to explain to his kids what he did in his youth, and another remembers why he quit drinking.

Admittedly, Blur hasn’t exactly disappeared from the public eye to shock us with the fact that they’ve aged; we’ve seen them reach their later years in real-time – Albarn has found success with Gorillaz, Coxon is back with his band The Waeve, Rowntree is involved in politics, and James… is a cheese-maker. What’s surprising about their current state in To the End is how natural it seems to them – both as individuals and as a band – not being stuck in the past or obsessed with any “live forever” philosophy (to borrow Oasis’ terminology). They’re constantly laughing at themselves: they’re not shy about pointing out that, ironically, they’ve all ended up with country houses, despite their scathing song Country House. None of them pretend to be young anymore, though they occasionally behave like lads. During a brief visit to the school where they met, which now has a classroom named after them, Albarn and Coxon manage to embarrass the headmaster, with Albarn suggesting that what the music room really needs is some weed. Inevitably, they also act as lads when it comes to their old-time playful banter: four sweaty guys getting on each other’s nerves, as they affectionately call themselves.

The big downside is that Toby L doesn’t know how to explore all these more serious moments that the band offers up and quickly abandons what could have been more profound – and thus more valuable – leaving Blur to come across as somewhat closed off. Despite a few sparks and some clearly vulnerable moments – for example, Albarn cries while listening to one of the new songs, and the others look at him confused – To the End is afraid of conflict and controversy, glossing over truly tense situations, like Albarn’s obsession with work or James’ relapse into partying and drinking during the tour. The creative process of composing and recording the album is also swiftly passed over, leaving us with very little insight into the motivations behind it and, ultimately, what it sounds like – which is perhaps the biggest failure of all for a music documentary, especially one about a band like Blur, whose musical identity has been strongly defined by the different phases each album has brought as a complete work.

Ultimately, To the End becomes more of a short report on the band’s adventures in 2023, refocusing its entire narrative on the Wembley event and sacrificing much of the emotional depth along the way. The difficult themes of ageing set up in the first act quickly get lost amidst the concert footage, and the band members’ struggles to readjust to touring life after having already built another, “more boring”, more normal life dissipate just as quickly. In that respect, the documentary works more as a teaser for Toby L’s other recent film, Blur Live at Wembley. One might wonder why both films were necessary, as To the End also spends a lot of time with the band on stage without really revealing anything important about what happens behind the scenes.

For Blur fans, any on-screen reunion is obviously special: To the End fulfils its purpose as a commemorative little gift, as we’ll gladly devour whatever’s on offer, and it’s easy to be charmed by their charisma. Who knows when there will be another opportunity? Indeed, many cite the Wembley event as something special, so documenting it for history and the fans’ love for the band is essential. In other words, the value of the documentary image outweighs its aesthetic ambition. However, To the End emerges more as an officially branded promotional document (after all, it’s made in collaboration with the management), rather than an innovative film about Blur and where they are now in their (musical) lives.

Sure, band documentaries are always extensions of the brand, contributing to the band’s promotion – but it’s hard to understand why so many music documentaries fail to capture the spirit of their subjects and settle for shallow biographical reports. A counterexample is the first Blur documentary, Starshaped (1993), which formally and stylistically doubled down on the playful, anarchic, and boyish spirit that was part of the band’s identity back then. Trying to explore the roots of a new Blur and dismantle the old identity, To the End still ends up focusing on personas and images, without communicating anything about the music. Perhaps this is a problem that has to do with the medium – a band manifests itself, in theory, through music, not cinema. Maybe this is why Blur Live at Wembley is a more successful portrayal of who Blur are now, as it sheds the biographical-narrative baggage and focuses on the performance, and therefore music. I hope the end announced by To the End isn’t final, because, as a Blur fan, I feel it’s not worthy enough to be left as an eternal chapter-closing moment, failing to capture the true spirit of this reunion. As the poet said, the book is better than the movie; in this case, the album is better than the film.

Dora Leu

Graduated with a BA in film directing and a MA in film studies from UNATC; she's also studied history of art. Also collaborates with the Acoperisul de Sticla film magazine and is a former coordinator of FILM MENU. She's dedicated herself to '60-'70s Japanese cinema and Irish post-punk music bands. Still keeps a picture of Leslie Cheung in her wallet.