Singer Tina Turner dies at 83
Despite Tina Turner’s astonishing artistic achievements, her personal triumph and her role as a feminist icon rest on a life shaped as much by lived experience as by music. Songs such as Proud Mary, Nutbush City Limits, What’s Love Got to Do with It, and Simply the Best read like autobiographical snapshots—moments that frame a life more than mere melodies in a repertoire. Turner broke barriers by becoming the first woman at 45 to join rock’s inner circle, a milestone that reflected both a decline for many women in the field and a fierce ascent for one enduring star. She produced close to 200 million records without always writing her own material, instead transforming others’ songs with an authority that sounded uniquely hers. Her catlike voice, magnetic stage presence, electric wigs, daring skirts, and trance-like dance moves helped redefine rock’s language of power and desire while narrating a saga of surviving abuse and violence.
“I was systematically tortured and died, but I got over it,” the singer says at the outset of the Berlinale documentary Tina. Drawn from both a contemporary interview and a 1981 People interview, she speaks candidly about the horrors she endured. The film unfolds as a thorough life study, built around musical interludes and underscored by the haunting presence of Ike Turner.
She was just 17 when an Ike Turner-led performance of his band drew him to the young singer, leading to their marriage and to Anna Mae Bullock becoming Tina. From the moment The Ike & Tina Turner Revue released A Fool in Love in 1960, Turner reshaped the music scene with a voice that fused the emotional fullness of blues legends with the raw electricity of rock ’n’ roll. Her live presence—often staged with the Ikettes, the band’s backup singers—disrupted the era’s established choreography and offered a stark contrast to Motown’s polished routines. Publicly, Tina appeared to dissolve private torment into performance.
In the documentary, she reflects on manipulation and abuse, recalling moments of coercion and fear. Accounts of Ike Turner’s violence—bloodied confrontations, hot coffee thrown in her face, and brutal punishments—are recounted alongside her most vulnerable admissions, including a 1968 suicide attempt with Valium.
a sadist
Yet the narrative preserves tension: Tina also describes Ike as a flawed genius whose influence on early rock is contested by history. He is credited by some historians with authorship on groundbreaking tracks like Rocket 88, even as others challenged that attribution. The film juxtaposes his performance with Tina’s breakthrough, such as her emotive delivery on River Deep, Mountain High, while producers like Phil Spector are shown shifting focus away from her voice. The couple separated in 1976, and after a period of modest success, she resurfaced with Private Dancer in 1984, a turning point that brought global awards, stadium tours, and a lasting film role. Her personal life—her marriage to Erwin Bach and a long, quiet struggle with past trauma—remains a persistent shadow, even as professional triumphs accumulate.
Across the documentary’s arc, Turner’s resilience is a constant counterpoint to the public’s fascination with her private pain. The film echoes through her autobiographies and cinematic portrayals, including a 1993 biopic and a 2018 musical adaptation, which have broadened the public’s grasp of her life. Although the documentary’s scope offers a powerful portrait, some critics question its breadth and the depth of its official documentation, inviting viewers to weigh the motives behind Turner’s public self-representation. Still, the film underscores her right to tell her story with honesty and authority.
Competition: Hong Sangsoo, no more or less
Hong Sangsoo’s fifth film, Intro, at the Berlinale, serves as a compact lens on Korean cinema’s hallmark traits—unsettling conversations, heavy drinking, abrupt zooms, repeated dialogues and situations—capturing what attracts both supporters and critics. By contrast, Xavier Beauvois’ Albatross balances psychological depth with family drama and social portraiture, focusing on a provincial police officer who witnesses a life collapsing around him. Hungary’s Natural Light offers a reimagined take on The Thin Red Line, injecting a blend of lyricism and grit. Each film presents a distinct approach to storytelling in contemporary cinema.