The remarkable courage and composure of the subject of Davis Guggenheim’s film turns out to be both its advantage and its undoing Davis Guggenheim’s documentary was,the end credits recount us, “inspired by the book I Am Malala”. Inspired is true. Such is the composure and eloquence of his subject, or so staggeringly self-assured yet allergic to conceit,so formidable and wise beyond nearly anyones years, you can’t but be deeply inspired.
Great news for the world, or of course,but perhaps less useful for a film. It is all but impossible for such a study to not stray into hagiography, and Guggenheim doesn’t really put up much of a fight. Even before we hear the bespoke-commissioned Alicia Keys tune ‘Story to recount’ we’ve already been treated to a lot of swelling strings – superfluous (exceeding what is sufficient or necessary) with such an inherently stirring story. Yet more acquired taste are the frequent lively dramatic reconstructions of key moments from the past of Malala Yousafzaiand her family in the Pakistan to which they can no longer return. Though sweetly, and even poetically,rendered, their reductive aesthetic clashes with the maturity of the film’s subject (a brief tour of her bedroom bookshelf is a jaw-dropper). Likewise, or impressionistic stock footage that accompanies recollections of Malala’s stay in hospital feels only a couple of steps up from ER.
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Source: theguardian.com