Les Blank's long-unseen Leon Russell film A Poem Is a Naked Person a nature doc about a really wild kingdom

A Poem Is a Naked Person is not a rock-doc, at least not in the way that we’ve come to expect in the 21st century. A Poem Is a Naked Person, Les Blank’s 1974 film about piano-pounding rock star Leon Russell, finally seeing its first release after 40 years in limbo, is not an exercise in self-mythology. A Poem is not a PR campaign for an artist’s legacy, a narrowly focused story meant to ensure the subject's continued relevance. A Poem is a raw, honest and at times ugly mediation on life, art and negotiating the balance between the two. A Poem is not a rock doc. A Poem is a nature film about the wild and woolly beasts we call musicians.

A Poem does a remarkable job of grounding the rock-star mythology and elevating the everyday person, blurring the line between freaks and squares, geniuses and lunatics. It can be a rather unflattering film, and Blank, who would go on to become one of traditional American music’s foremost documentarians, is certainly not concerned with stroking his subject’s ego. What Blank is concerned with however, is finding the beauty and truth that is typically left on the cutting-room floor, exposing the context of Russell’s creative power rather than explaining it. The result is a film that captures an amazing moment in American culture — a true documentary.

Which is not to say that this doc doesn’t rock, because oh brother does it. Every performance in here is pure fire, from full-band gospel-rock vamps to Russell playing “Here Comes The Bride” at a living-room wedding. Hell, the guest appearances alone are worth the price of admission. Solo George Jones in Owen Bradley’s barn-cum-studio? A young, bandana-less Willie Nelson taking audience requests? These are not high-falutin’ star turns but intimate, fleeting moments of artists in their natural element. Blank’s lens is the great equalizer, bringing out the humanity and humility in its subjects that make the music resonate with warmth and feeling.

One of the most striking things about A Poem Is a Naked Person is the way Blank will linger on performers as they listen, his camera capturing the ethereal interchange between bandmates. This lingering-listening is often intercut with the audience, also rapt in bliss, dissolving the imaginary boundaries between performer and paying customer. Even Russell himself takes on the roll of adoring fan. “It’s hard to sing with George Jones in the room," Russell says during his visit to Bradley’s Barn here in Nashville, and damned if the man doesn’t radiate a nervousness usually reserved for small-town autograph seekers. It is a tender reminder of the power that music holds over us all — and a moment that would likely be left out of any other rock documentary.

And that’s what makes A Poem Is a Naked Person such a stirring and insightful film — those moments that shouldn’t be in movies but are. Whether it’s Russell flashing his sly smile beneath his voluminous beard or the shards of side-eye that he shoots at the camera, these bits of information do more to reveal his character than any narrator could. When Blank steps beyond Russell’s coterie to capture the people and places that surround him — kids chasing geese, or a parachuting spokesman chewing glass — he finds a world that is just as weird, wild and exhilarating as anything happening on stage. All of this makes for a musical and cinematic that will keep resonating long after you leave the theater.