‘Brian Wilson: Long Promised Road’ Is Problematic Portrayal Of The Beach Boys’ Songwriting Genius

As the old ad copy line goes, what becomes a legend most? Is it revisiting their greatest works and letting their beauty envelope you like the warmth of the morning sun? Is it pushing them to look inward and explain how they came to be and what drove them to success? Or is it asking their celebrity friends to repeat talking points you’ve heard a thousand times before? The 2021 documentary Brian Wilson: Long Promised Road, which is currently available to rent on a variety of streaming services, relies too much on the latter in trying to pay tribute to the Beach Boy songwriting wunderkind. 

Unfortunately, the problem with doing a proper documentary on Brian Wilson is Wilson himself. Starting in 1964, when the Beach Boys were at their commercial peak, he suffered a nervous breakdown, the first manifestation of mental health problems which persist to this day. Drug abuse and addiction didn’t help matters. While director Brent Wilson (no relation) originally planned to build the film around traditional interviews with Brian, he was unwilling to do so. Instead, Wilson sits shotgun in a car driven by music journalist Jason Fine, who gently draws him into conversation as they re-visit the locations of Wilson’s past in Southern California. 

Even when he’s enjoying himself, Wilson is a man of few words. Whether this is the result of his illness, the medications to treat it, or the damage of drug use is undetermined. In order to flesh things out, Long Promised Road trots out a chorus line of all-star admirers to speak to his musical gifts, including Bruce Springsteen, Elton John, producer Don Was, Nick Jonas, and Foo Fighter Taylor Hawkins among others. If their reverence is genuine, and their insights well spoken, they’re nothing you haven’t already heard before in any discussion of the Beach Boys cultural importance or the towering artistic accomplishment of their landmark 1966 album, Pet Sounds. 

Fine first befriended Wilson after interviewing him for Rolling Stone (he would later become the magazine’s editor). He describes their relationship as “buddies.” Together, they visit a favored deli where Fine says they’ve eaten perhaps 20 times. Wilson says he’s nervous. “I didn’t sleep last night. My head feels wacky.” He says his moods have been “about even…not depressed, not elated, just even.” Fine speaks in a calm, measured tone that puts Wilson at ease. At times, Fine seems more like a caring nurse or a loving grandson than a music journalist.  

The pair drive to neighborhoods where Wilson lived. He gets nervous as they get closer to his childhood home. Archival interviews with younger brother and Beach Boys drummer Dennis Wilson talk of an idyllic childhood where their father Murry was brought to tears by the sound of his three sons harmonizing. Their father was also domineering and physically abusive. The house is no longer there, replaced by a commemorative plaque. When asked what it was like visiting the site, Wilson says, “It scared me a little bit, you know, because it didn’t look the same.”

As we move physically and psychically towards adulthood, drugs enter the picture. “I did an acid trip there,” Wilson says near the home where he lived with his first wife. “It freaked me out.” At another point, Fine mentions brother Dennis’ critically acclaimed 1977 album, Pacific Ocean Blue. Surprisingly, Brian says he’s never heard it. “Is it pretty cool?,“ he asks. “You were really close friends with Dennis?,” Fine asks rhetorically, “…because we snorted cocaine together. He used to buy cocaine for me,” Wilson answers quickly with a disarming candor. 

Wilson’s commercial fortunes and musical gifts waned as the ‘60s turned to the ‘70s and his mental health and drug use worsened. He fell under the spell of celebrity psychologist Eugene Landy, who was controlling and tried to attach himself to Brian’s musical fortunes. With the help of second wife Melinda, Wilson finally pulled himself together and resurrected his career. For the better part of the new century, Wilson has embarked on a number of highly regarded tours revisiting his past masterpieces and the film’s conclusion finds him recording new music with the same attention to detail that informed his ‘60s classics.   

Though I’m sure it was made with the best of intentions by people who love and respect Brian Wilson, the Long Promised Road is difficult viewing. People often describe Wilson as having a childlike innocence but this doesn’t align with the former high school quarterback that was the bandleader and creative force behind one of the most successful pop bands of the 1960s. Anyone who’s ever dealt with mental illness will instantly recognize Wilson’s behavior as symptomatic. While the film is transparent in acknowledging his condition, it’s ultimately an unflattering portrait of a wonderfully talented but sadly troubled man. 

Benjamin H. Smith is a New York based writer, producer and musician. Follow him on Twitter: @BHSmithNYC.