"Gimme Shelter" review by litomnivore

Gimme Shelter is nominally a rockumentary about the Rolling Stones; the film opens with the band performing “Jumpin’ Jack Flash” at Madison Square Garden and credits them in the opening sequence, an immense help to someone like me, who is fond of them conceptually but easily gets the gentlemen themselves confused. But the Maysles Brothers and Charlotte Zwerin came from direct cinema, a school of documentary thought that records reality as it unfolds, instead of investigating, and the reality that they capture here is Altamont. Much has been made about Altamont as the end of the carefree optimism of the sixties, especially the youth culture of the sixties, because of the concert’s death count, which I always found a bit odd contrasted against Woodstock—people died there too, and both concerts shared an organizer, Michael Lang. But, then again, the death of Meredith Lang, stabbed to death by a Hell’s Angel after he drew a revolver, certainly puts things in a very different light then the accidental deaths of Woodstock.

The focus on Altamont is helped by the fact that the Stones themselves don’t have much of a voice here; they rarely speak. Jagger, whose young, mesmerizing, and earthy beauty is captured here, is briefly heard at a press conference, but he answers a boring question (“Are you satisfied?”) flippantly and not terribly well. Otherwise, they’re limited to brief banter on stage, quiet, quick remarks to each other, and silently watching themselves on-screen. For a film that introduces them as the greatest rock and roll band of all time, the focus is much more on the audience.

During the “Jumpin’ Jack Flash” performance at the beginning of the film, there’s a shot situated behind an audience member, whose head obscures the camera as they jump up and down. We’re introduced to the audience as a benign entity, as they calmly listen, moving in unison, losing themselves in the music. But they become an almost sinister force in the documentary early on, as those organizing the concerts discuss the sheer amount of young people moving towards the West Coast, and we soon see them. For the most part, they’re fresh-faced, cheerful, and a bit detached; one young woman points out to the camera that someone is giving birth, as she and her friend wander away towards the stage. But this is in the early morning. By the afternoon, a Hell’s Angel has knocked out Marty Balin of Jefferson Airplane. By the evening, a man dies while the Stones continue to play. The Hell’s Angels aren’t focused on, beyond defending the actions of Alan Passaro, the Hell’s Angel who stabbed Lang; no reason for their presence is given beyond keeping people in line. (And given the conflicting accounts of who hired whom to do what, I don’t think two people had the same reason.)

In hindsight, it’s easy to blame the Hell’s Angels for the violence of Altamont—BBC Two merely describes Lang as “a fan… stabbed to death in the heat of the moment”, glossing over the fact that Lang was brandishing a gun while high. I’m not denying the obvious; they’re a huge factor. But the audience and the Angels, in the footage presented here, feed off each other; the audience demands more and more access to the Stones and the Angels deny them that. When Jagger vanishes into his trailer, a burly Hell’s Angel stands guard as a young woman whines, “When will he come out?”. As the audience and the Angels get drunker and higher, they begin to turn on each other, and it’s here where the violence and the rioting is born. The Stones were afraid to stop playing because they thought it would make things worse, although they threaten to stop. Lang’s stabbing is captured on film here, for those who see it as the moment the sixties died, but I think it’s communicated best through the slow exodus of the audience away from Altamont, especially the first shot. After a freeze frame on Jagger’s face after he reacts to the stabbing footage, we see three people in silhouette, the sunrise behind them, picking their way home. It’s quiet—people have to walk back to their cars and they’re most likely hungover—but there’s something aimless and brave about it. They don’t know it’s over; nobody ever knows that in the moment. Eras of history are imposed by us long after the moment has passed. But it’s definitely new terrain. It's a world totally unlike the world of the Stones’ Madison Square Garden show, which ends with Jagger anointing the audience with rose petals, and they walk calmly and confidently across it, unknowing.