Shaun Munro reviews the SXSW premiere of YouTube’s documentary series Demi Lovato: Dancing with the Devil…
On July 24th, 2018, singer Demi Lovato’s life was turned upside down when she was rushed to hospital following a near-fatal overdose of opioids and fentanyl. This four-part docu-series – effectively a 100-minute film chunked into four parts, set to release on YouTube March 23rd – serves as a heart-on-sleeve retelling of that terrible night, while also following Lovato’s delicate recovery efforts.
The doc was originally conceived by filmmaker Michael D. Ratner as a chronicle of Lovato’s life and career, before filming was suddenly halted and seemingly shelved in the wake of her overdose. But during the spring of 2020, as the COVID-19 pandemic began to ravage the globe, Lovato invited Ratner back so she could tell her story and attempt to own the narrative.
While Lovato is obviously the focal subject and appears throughout, just as much screen time is afforded to the confessionals of her friends, family, and associates – the likes of Christina Aguilera, Elton John, and Will Ferrell even stop by briefly – as they convey the impact the singer has had on their own lives.
Despite the multitude of perspectives on offer and the incendiary nature of the story, Dancing with the Devil somehow avoids feeling like an excessively gawking account of Lovato’s implosion.
Yet it’s clearly important to Lovato that she lay out facts which even her fans may not be aware of, that she didn’t “merely” have an overdose; she had three strokes, a heart attack, suffered multiple organ failure, and was stricken with partial blindness upon awakening. This is without even getting into the fact that she was also raped by her drug dealer the night he administered her the drugs.
The impact this all had on Lovato goes without saying, which when combined with the fact she has a family history of addiction and mental illness, was encouraged to be competitive from a young age, clawed her way to the top in a fierce industry, and had to deal with the pressure of being a role model while struggling herself, ensured she was a powder keg primed to detonate sooner or later, substances or no.
Beyond the singer herself, much of the film trains its focus on the wider impact of her actions on those around her, some racked with guilt and concern, while others, such as Lovato’s tour choreographer, were even blamed by overzealous members of her fanbase, losing other work in the process. To that end the film doesn’t entirely let Lovato off the hook for the knock-on effect of her decisions, utterly in the throes of addiction though they of course were.
All in all, I came away from the film anxious for people like Demi who perhaps lack the same support system and caring inner-circle; not every young, successful artist has such a tight-knit entourage that genuinely cares for their wellbeing beyond the obvious pecuniary concerns.
The inevitable comeback narrative is an uneasy one and not quite what you might expect; there are relapses, and Lovato ultimately settles on a controversial path of moderation, opting to drink and smoke weed rather than go cold turkey. She rightly asserts that there’s no “one size fits all” solution to addiction and survival is a daily process, though several subjects make their objections to this method abundantly clear – most of all Elton John, who insists it flatly doesn’t work. Time will tell, it seems.
Lovato’s recovery eventually collided with the pandemic, forcing her into quarantine like the rest of the world, and while the boredom of lockdown could be a major test of sobriety for anyone, in Lovato’s case it appeared to give her pause to work on herself, even fall in love, get engaged, and break up all before 2020 was over.
This could so easily have felt like a backdoor commercial for new music from the artist, but despite borrowing its title from one of Lovato’s songs, Dancing with the Devil is actually scarcely concerned with her work at all. Though an undeniably subject-approved profile, it graduates to become something far more interesting and powerful – documentary-as-therapy for its star, even if in briefly discussing the Black Lives Matter movement she’s self-aware enough to appreciate “there’s bigger things to talk about” than herself.
Though perhaps a touch too polished at the edges – a fantastical title sequence feels wildly out of place, and the melodramatic piano score is laid on rather thickly – there is an agreeably self-reflexive quality to the series, which riffs occasionally on how the original shelved doc clearly would’ve been a puff piece compared to the brutally honest disclosure we’ve inadvertently ended up with.
As someone with no knowledge of Lovato’s music, I found her story complex and affecting, of a woman desperately trying to grapple her demons into compliance if not outright submission. For her fans, I can only imagine it’ll be essential viewing.
The glossy production values belie the fact that this is a frank, stigma-annihilating portrait of Lovato’s struggles with sobriety and mental health – neither of which have easy answers.
Shaun Munro – Follow me on Twitter for more TV and film rambling.
