So how does one review "Rattle And Hum", the movie ? As a 'journey into the heart of America'? No, because I can see no way in which that claim could concievably be justified. How about as a particularly fine live film, to rival ''Stop Making Sense"? Yes, because not since that film have I seen something catch the exhilaration and sheer force of a good live gig so completely.

As a documentary "Rattle And Hum" often falls flat due to its haphazard logic ; an interview here, some live footage there, a bit scattered about near the end, no real form to it. But this is makes it work so well as a rock'n'roll movie. Just when you might be getting exhausted from the live sequences, an interview comes in and gives you time to breathe. Black-and-white film has been chosen for no other apparent reason than that it looks good (which is no bad thing) and the effect when the colour comes in is of a part of your brain you never knew existed suddenly, coming into play. Holy Gorrrrd!... ...

So this is a film mostly concerned with surface appearances (the interviews reveal little except how the individual band members might sit on an amp or whatever and since this is what pop music is basically about (surfaces, pure emotion, cool-lookin' bands) the film is fully able to embrace and become its subject... warts and all.

There are some golden moments off-stage: the Gospel choir joining in on 'I Still Haven't Found...' is lovely (you can only imagine how Bono must be feeling while listening to this... the smile on his face gives you a good idea); the scene with B.B. King learning and singing "When Loves Comes To Town" with the band is a memorable one, even though it's marred by the showy cutting that goes from performance to rehearsal to BB talking about the song. It has continuity, but it's irritating not to see the song straight through, uninterrupted.

The worst moment comes during the band's visit to Gracelands, which is pretty cringe-inducing. Phil Joanou states in the book of the movie that he loves films about intensity, like "Taxi Driver" and "Apocalypse Now", but he seems to have forgotten another, fairly important, piece of work considering the circumstances - the ultra-intense "Spinal Tap". Walking around the house, staring at the various artefacts, I half expected them to plunge fingers into their cars and launch into a scuttered version of "Heartbreak Hotel". There are also some contrived shots of the band looking moody beside the Mississippi, displaying the cautious embarrassment of a family laced with a new homemovie camera, and the film would have been tighter, better, if these moments had been left out.

The film's live sequences, however, are, by turn, electric, exhausting, violent, vital, moving, exhilarating, sexy, passionate, visually unbelievable and emotionally draining. From the pure noise of "Helter Skelter" to the hollowed-out music and imagery of "Bullet The Blue Sky", the film keeps, you tense and itching to get out into the aisles and make a complete arsehole of yourself. Several times I had to restrain myself from clapping after a particular song. Even Bono's speeches are concise and worthwhile, especially when he speaks of the lrish-American sending money to aid the 'revolution' so-called, "Fuck the revolution!", he yells. It's an old story, but maybe one Americans will finally catch onto with this film.

Phil Joanou's cameras ditch the Jonathan Dernme approach (slow, steady panning and concentration on incidentals) and jerk, spin and cruise all over the tucking place, matching the band's energy, note-for-note. The lighting is simple but effective, giving the band an undeniably heroic look that doubtless some will sneer at. But Pop music is theatre... and it's part of a band's job to look cool. You know yourselves: who wants to zoom in on a bunch of sheep farmers?

Whether it's The Edge crouching over his guitar and persuading it to scream melodies like several instruments all at once, or Adam Clayton looking like an intellectual thug (a compliment, I promise) or Larry Mullen whacking the drums with the expression of a man who is literally and metaphysically on the job, or Bono just being Bono, they are truly an impressive sight. Bono especially acts as a focus for the music's emotion, bowing with weariness after yelling his heart out during "Helter Skelter" or crooning softly, head down, during "Bad". He is utterly compulsive to watch, and a star in almost every sense of the word. Also, something that has never quite registered till now: the man is an astounding singer.

All this leads to another reservation. I don't quite understand U2's pursuit of some vague idea of rock'n'roll roots. In the case of "Angel Of Harlem" I, this seems to mean that you have to sound like Springsteen circa 1979. As "Rattle And Hum", the movie, confirms, their music (and I'm talking about what began with "The Unforgettable Fire" and led to "The Joshua Tree") is as bleak, beautiful and particular to them as you could wish for. Their objective should be to keep it that way.

"Rattle And Hum" is an event, one hell of a rock film, the only rock film of recent memory to actually move me.

I love it; consider me a fan.

November 1988