Although recent documentaries such as Woodstock: Three Days That Defined a Generation or Marianne & Leonard: Words of Love certainly tried, it’s disingenuous at best in 2019 to gloss over how sexist and phallocentric the 1960s counterculture was. Produced by Cameron Crowe, A.J. Eaton’s David Crosby: Remember My Name is a bit more lucid than most, if only because Crosby no longer seems interested in mythologizing himself or that decade. At 72 years of age, with a heart full of stents, he’s upfront that he’s still making records and touring due to his love of music and because he has a mortgage to pay, and not necessarily in that order.
The founding member of Crosby, Stills, and Nash seems just as surprised as you are that he’s not dead, and as he goes on a journey through the past — including footage from Neil Young’s 1974 film Journey Through the Past, appropriately enough — Crosby’s honesty is refreshing. He acknowledges that the main reason he or anyone else picked up an electric guitar in the 1960s was to get laid, and stardom made him a selfish, not-good person who hurt a lot of women. Nobody’s perfect, but Crosby’s openness about his imperfection gives him a better shot at real redemption than most, if only his name could be remembered.
Rated R. Opens Friday at the Embarcadero Center Cinema.