SXSW 2022: In the Court of the Crimson King

Whenever I find myself with writer’s block, I have one solution: I pull out a yoga mat, unroll it, and lay down on the floor with my headphones on. I close my eyes and crank up the volume as loud as I can take it. Then, I hit play on the album In the Court of the Crimson King and wait. I’ve always found something powerful in the music of King Crimson, a creative energy beyond my understanding. Toby Amies’ documentary In the Court of the Crimson King sets out to find exactly that, through conversations with current and former members of the band about what Crimson has meant to them. 

Though typical in its format, the documentary is an effective and emotional meditation on what Crimson is, where it came from, and what it may become, due in large part to Amies’ willingness to acknowledge that he is actively recording and not an invisible bystander accompanying Crimson on their 2019 European tour. It’s a necessary violation of typical documentary ethics at the very least, given that Amies spends much of his time with original Crimson member and current de facto band leader Robert Fripp and Bill Rieflin, a close friend and bandmate of Fripp’s who is battling cancer throughout the documentary process. By pairing them together as central figures, Amies illustrates the dichotomy that exists within Crimson’s cult following: those who see the band and their music as pseudo-divine, and those who see Crimson as overwhelmingly human.

Fripp is a fascinating documentary subject. He often interacts with Amies behind the camera, bouncing between a hyper-awareness of being recorded and a complete blindness to him. He often tells jokes about Amies missing crucial moments that would “reveal the whole history, origins, and future of Crimson all at once,” while at other times growing deeply personal, acknowledging his own responsibilities in the exits of past Crimson members. When two founding members of the band, Ian McDonald and Michael Giles, decided to leave because of Robert’s egotism, Robert insisted that he would have left if they stayed engaged. To his credit, Ian McDonald is also interviewed in addressing their exit, delivering a teary-eyed apology to Robert for “breaking [his] heart.” It’s one of the many moments that separate In the Court of the Crimson King from other music documentaries of its ilk: it acknowledges that Crimson is more than an extension of a singular visionary’s ego, even if that ego is also a part of the organism. 

I say organism here because it becomes overwhelmingly clear from the outset that that is how every member of Crimson views it: not as a band, or a group of individuals playing music together, but as a living, ever-evolving unique organism in its own right. Interviewees always seem to refer to the band as “Crimson,” a proper noun denoting the name of a being, not a disparate group with a tumultuous membership history. It’s a habit I have taken to in this review, because there truly is no other way to describe Crimson. Crimson is an ever-evolving macro-organism whose central theme is change, be it rotating membership or changing music. Fripp insists that “one small thing changes everything, the equilibrium of the body. Speaking to you [Toby Amies] for the last couple of days affected my playing last night.” 

On the other side of the coin is the far more down-to-earth Bill Rieflin, who Toby Amies interviews throughout the film. It is with Bill that Amie’s willingness to acknowledge himself and the camera becomes most effective, as Amies does his best to be transparent with Bill about setting limits on what is and isn’t recorded as Bill struggles with colon cancer. In his final visit, one that concludes the documentary, Amies acknowledges what he feels is his duty as the documentarian when faced with the fact that Bill’s cancer has become terminal: “I have a duty to do right by you.” Bill responds with a laugh. “Oh, that’s alright. No one will care anymore.” If Crimson is an organism, Bill is the beating heart. For all of Robert Fripp’s grandstanding about the nature of Crimson as an ephemeral being, a place outside ourselves, and a transcendental musical experience all at once, Bill is much more grounded in his explanation of what Crimson means to him. When Amies asks why Bill is part of Crimson, all Bill has to say is that it is what he does. 

Where Bill is the heart, Fripp is the mind of Crimson. However, even when Amies uses Bill’s battle with cancer to frame the band’s larger conversation with age as its membership all approaches the later years of their lives, Fripp is not above meditations on mortality. Unlike Amies’ conversations with Bill, however, Fripp is more distant about his emotions, even when it’s clear that these feelings are always present. Different roadies and fans that Amies interacts with will acknowledge that despite Fripp’s elusiveness, they have come to know him as someone who is inseparable from the work to the point of extremity, with one crew member noting how Fripp will spend frivolously whenever he has enough money to retire, just to ensure that he has to keep touring. There is a singular moment that Fripp lets the veil of artistic visionary slip, as he recounts a seemingly trivial story about his desire to attend a certain school where he approached the headmaster and expressed this wish. He pauses for a long time, and Amies never stops recording. Fripp sits in silence for a full minute as a tear rolls down his cheek. He croaks out the phrase that has stopped the words in his throat: “And [he] said, ‘I will remember you.’” 

Amies’ documentary is a work of ultimate passion, his every question so thoughtful and specific that they burn with a clear longing to understand what makes King Crimson King Crimson. This manifests in every aspect of the film, the way it is presented, and Amies’ excruciating awareness of when he is (and isn’t) recording. After all, the band famously doesn’t allow recording of any kind during their live performances: it’s about the experience, above all else. When talking to fans, Crimson is everything: a friend, a companion, a mystery. There is no answer to what makes Crimson Crimson. Amies’ documentary reveals that Crimson isn’t about the band, its members, or sometimes even the music itself. It’s about feeling seen as a person, and seeing the band as people. In the Court of the Crimson King is a project on human connection as much as the band itself is, exploring the impact King Crimson has had on generations and generations of fans. Perhaps the best way to describe it is a description given by a nun who Toby interviews about her relationship to the band: “Looking at King Crimson is like looking at a man. You know the wrinkles, but what stays and never changes is the depth in the eyes. And aging is beautiful. This is really beautiful.”