THE BOY FROM MEDELLÍN: FILM REVIEW
If The Boy From Medellín has a target audience, it’s people like me — someone who has danced to J Balvin and jammed to LA CANCIÓN in the car but has relatively little knowledge of who José Álvaro Osori Balvin, the man behind this reggaeton superstar alter-ego, is. Heineman’s documentary, The Boy from Medellin, chronicles Balvin’s preparation for his 2019 homecoming concert in Medellín, which came in the midst of intense political turmoil, as Colombians protested President Iván Duque’s government and policies. Growing up in a middle-class family in Medellín, it is clear that Balvin both worked his ass off to explode to the level of fame he has attained now and owes everything to the city he came from. The film also provides a glimpse into Balvin’s struggle with depression and anxiety, documenting him on the brink of multiple panic attacks and taking regular medications to regulate his mental health.
Initially, I was a bit hesitant to recommend this film. I don’t watch behind-the-scenes celebrity documentaries very often because of my skepticism that they are nothing more than just PR stunts. But, although The Boy from Medellín does have its corny and fabricated moments, its angle is quite interesting — acting as a social commentary on the unique role of the artist in an age defined by the internet and social media. Balvin, who undoubtedly cares deeply for Medellín and his people, finds himself in a position where he feels that anything he chooses to do will be criticized. Nothing he does will ever be enough to please everyone: he says too much, posts too little, or comes off to some as uneducated.
When you’re a celebrity, silence is loud, and Balvin’s growing criticism puts a megaphone to the white noise. As the documentary puts the audience in Balvin’s shoes, it becomes apparent how the opinions of others affect him. Balvin scrolls through Twitter and Instagram, pausing to look at stories and posts that point to his glaring inaction. As the day of the concert gets closer and closer, Balvin’s faith that the power of his music will be enough to restore hope and peace dwindles. The problem? Balvin sees himself as José while others expect him to be J Balvin; and even though he has been in the industry for quite a while, these two identities are still difficult to reconcile.
How does Balvin deal with both external and internal pressure as he returns to his beloved hometown where it all began? A number of things, ranging from having a spiritual advisor, to meditating, to regularly taking medication. Although Balvin had previously spoken up about his struggles with depression and anxiety on his social media platforms, The Boy from Medellín shines a new light on this part of Balvin’s day-to-day life. While some may argue that the film attempts to paint an overly empathetic picture of Balvin, the ghastly, creased look on his face and the shakiness of his hands is hard to make up. When Balvin is tense, it is obvious, as it completely dominates both his usually easy-going mood and paralyzes his actions.
Although some encounters in The Boy from Medellín do feel a bit forced — such as when manager Scooter Braun sits Balvin down to give him advice on speaking up about the protests —the film as a whole succeeds in documenting a celebrity’s meditation on what it means to have a platform and how to balance putting out information that is both informed and educated, ensuring that what he says is what he believes will be best for the people. Even if it may be a PR stunt, The Boy from Medellín entertains well. It closes with a montage of the Medellín concert, and after watching it, you want nothing more than to google how to buy tickets for his next post-COVID performance.
