Entertainment

The Rasta masta

Kevin Macdonald’s documentary about Bob Marley fulfills its great-man agenda. Go in convinced that this towering reggae artist had glaring personal flaws and that the music-documentary format is a bore, and it won’t matter.

The movie has enormous force — because it’s about a genius, yes, but even more so because of the intelligence, passion and wit of the people who knew Marley. They assemble a picture of the man that’s far more nuanced than they probably realized while sitting in front of Macdonald’s camera.

Subtle things help avoid hagiography, such as longtime Marley girlfriend Cindy Breakspeare’s wry descriptions of the male-dominated atmosphere, or the pain still evident in Cedella Marley as she talks about how hard it was to carve out a moment with her father, even as he lay on his deathbed.

Seemingly peripheral figures, such as Marley’s white second cousin and a janitor at the studio where the original Wailers recorded, offer some of the most striking moments.

The musician’s life itself adheres to a pattern — early struggle, triumph, early death — but the work transcended it. “Marley” also rises above its form.