It is a testament to Amy Berg’s filmmaking that by the end of It’s Never Over, Jeff Buckley (2025), the musician’s 1997 death at age 30 feels like the loss of a close friend. Through footage of performances, journal entries and voicemails, plus a series of interviews with Buckley’s mother and close friends, Berg paints an intimate portrait of the artist, stripping away the much-mythologised tale of his rise and tragic death. Audiences come to know Buckley as a friend, a son, a lover, and above all else, a fiercely devoted musician.
Buckley tends to be shrouded in tragedy in a manner that artists who die young almost always are, but It’s Never Over refuses indulgence over his death. Instead, for most of the film’s runtime, Berg dwells on how he impacted the lives of friends and girlfriends, who tell of his lively, passionate intensity, his humour, and his faith in the people in his life. I was particularly moved by Berg’s focus on Buckley’s relationship to women — artists like Nina Simone and Judy Garland — who provided inspiration for his music and in his personal life, as the subjects of devotion and fierce protection.
Resistant to the fame that accompanied the release of his debut album, Grace, the film chronicles an all-too-familiar unravelling at the hands of writer’s block and pressures of big-label management. At one point, we hear Buckley describe how he wants to be regarded by fans as “Just the music, because when I’m dead, that’s the only thing that will be around.” There were moments when I wondered whether he would have recoiled or embraced so much of his private life being shared with the public here, but the Jeff Buckley lover within me is selfishly glad it exists. The film is, at its heart, a tribute to the music that obsessed and drove Buckley, and hearing that music in the theatre was a moving reminder of how uniquely powerful and original his music remains.
Photo by Erin Mallinson on Openverse.