If you blink during the opening credits of "Legends of the Canyon," you'll miss the name "Crosby, Stills and Nash" above the title, fair, albeit fleeting, warning that filmmaker Jon Brewer's documentary is not so much about the informal yet closely-knit musical community that resided in Laurel Canyon, located in the Hollywood Hills above Sunset Boulevard with its host of musical venues, during the 1960s.
Rather, this oblique, uneven, somewhat deceptive portrait narrows its focus to one "legend" in particular, the classic-rock trio comprising David Crosby, Stephen Stills, and Graham Nash, although its first half does feint toward a more expansive pop-cultural history before it becomes an attenuated, overlong drag about an overrated folk-rock/singer-songwriter group with at best intermittent success and popularity whose trials and tribulations provide variable interest depending on your enthusiasm for CSN.
Indeed, despite the first half's seeming comprehensiveness in recounting the birth of the 1960s folk-rock and the nascent singer-songwriter movement that blossomed by the early 1970s, at least as represented by the Laurel Canyon contingent, viewers may soon glean that that recounting is done exclusively through the lens of Crosby, Stills and Nash and the array of interviewees associated with them.
CSN was among the first "supergroups" with David Crosby previously with the Byrds, Stephen Stills with Buffalo Springfield, and Graham Nash with the Hollies. The Byrds and Buffalo Springfield had been formed in Los Angeles, so Brewer devotes substantial time to their careers. Both Nurit Wilde, a lighting technician at the Troubadour and Whisky A Go Go, and especially Springfield's manager Dickie Davis provide insights into the dynamics and personalities of both bands---particularly the power struggle within Springfield between Stills and Neil Young---that are among the variable highlights of "Canyon." Other interviewees include musicians Michelle Phillips of the Mamas and the Papas and CSN's drummer Dallas Taylor; industry insiders including agent John Hartmann and producer-songwriter Van Dyke Parks; and biographer and Hollywood screenwriter ("Jaws") Carl Gottlieb.
Also spotlighted are singer Cass Elliot of the Mamas and the Papas and singer-songwriter Joni Mitchell, with Elliot depicted as Laurel Canyon's Earth Mother hostess and Mitchell as the Canyon's resident genius regarded with almost quaking awe and reverence. And while Elliot, who died in 1974, obviously could not be interviewed, the question of why Mitchell (or Young, or others) could not or would not be interviewed becomes more salient as "Canyon" goes on. The only apparent answer is their connections to the primary interviewees: Elliot was close friends with Crosby, who clearly comes across as the networker among the three, while Nash was Mitchell's lover in the late 1960s; his song "Our House" was inspired by their cohabitation in the Canyon.
By 1968, Crosby, Stills, and Nash formed their trio that in 1969 released its eponymous debut album, which was at the forefront of the burgeoning singer-songwriter movement, spearheaded by Mitchell and Young, that turned the page on then-contemporary blues-rock and psychedelia toward a folk-acoustic approach highlighted by their harmony singing, particularly between Crosby and Nash, on "Marrakesh Express," "Wooden Ships," and "Suite: Judy Blue Eyes," Stills's impression of his affair with folk-rock singer Judy Collins that seems to play endlessly in the background of the interview segments.
And thus Brewer's intent is revealed: a paean to Crosby, Stills and Nash as a significant force in the development of pop music as recalled by the subjective views of the principals---who are not always in harmony with each other; curiously, the three are never pictured together except in archival material---while drummer Taylor adds his observations including disgruntled commentary on his eventual ouster from the inner circle.
Moreover, although Neil Young had joined CSN intermittently, his involvement is reflected only in the principals' observations. Instead, "Legends of the Canyon" delivers an off-kilter oral history of the folk-rock contingent living in Laurel Canyon before descending into gossipy, occasionally intriguing fanservice for the overhyped Crosby, Stills and Nash, with the much more talented and interesting Neil Young a tossed-off footnote.
In fact, "Legends of the Canyon" would have been much more effective had its focus been on the documentary's most enlightening interviewee: Henry Diltz. Diltz, a folk musician with the Modern Folk Quartet who turned to rock-oriented photography, had taken the cover photo for CSN's first album. (His photography also adorns the cover of the Doors' 1970 album "Morrison Hotel.")
A denizen of Laurel Canyon, Diltz, also heard supplying occasional voiceovers, provides the narrative cohesion and musical and social perspectives that solidify Brewer's scattershot, tangential approach. Animated, articulate, perceptive, and puckishly charming, Henry Diltz is the real legend of the canyon here. Viewing the history of the Laurel Canyon set through his lens would have made for a much more balanced, comprehensive, and unified overview of this occasionally fascinating aspect of Baby Boomer cultural history.
REVIEWER'S NOTE: What makes a review "helpful"? Every reader of course decides that for themselves. For me, a review is helpful if it explains why the reviewer liked or disliked the work or why they thought it was good or not good. Whether I agree with the reviewer's conclusion is irrelevant. "Helpful" reviews tell me how and why the reviewer came to their conclusion, not what that conclusion may be. Differences of opinion are inevitable. I don't need "confirmation bias" for my own conclusions. Do you?
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