The galvanizing effect of one offhand statement from singer Natalie Maines on a London concert stage in 2003 turned the Dixie Chicks, the highly popular crossover country-pop trio, into a corn-belt pariah and a lightning rod for anti-Bush sentiments. Veteran documentarian Barbara Kopple, along with co-director Cecilia Peck (daughter of Gregory), cover the incident in question with minimum fuss in this 2006 film, but what they do quite well is show how much effort it has taken the group to ride the firestorm and get their career back on track with the music. Kopple and Peck spent three years with the band, and the resulting sense of intimacy makes this one of the better backstage-type documentaries.
The film's chief takeaway is that the sisterhood between Maines and bandmates Emily Robison and Martie Maguire is genuine. As they ride the torrent of death threats, hate mail, boycotts and plummeting record sales and canceled tour stops, they never appear at serious odds with each other. There is one honest scene where Maguire suggests that she and her sister separate themselves from the remark to minimize the impact, but they all eventually realize there is more strength to be had in staying together through it. Much of the intractable bond has to do with each woman's efforts at balancing work and family, and a lot of credit seems due to their longtime manager Simon Renshaw.
Unsurprisingly, Maines come across as the sharp-tongued, unapologetic contrarian of the group, a fountain of impulsive outbursts, but her instincts often prove right as they find triumph with their last album produced by the indefatigable, comeback-savvy Rick Rubin, who looks and acts a bit like Brian Wilson during his acid-saturated days. The mob mentality that builds against the group provide the most visceral scenes in the movie, although given the trio's abundant talent and the fact that most of the protests were concentrated in the country radio market, one can't help but feel there is something of a tempest in a teapot about the whole story. Credited to no less than seven cameramen, the cinematography is vivid, and the print condition on the 2007 DVD is pristine. The only extra is the theatrical trailer.
The film's chief takeaway is that the sisterhood between Maines and bandmates Emily Robison and Martie Maguire is genuine. As they ride the torrent of death threats, hate mail, boycotts and plummeting record sales and canceled tour stops, they never appear at serious odds with each other. There is one honest scene where Maguire suggests that she and her sister separate themselves from the remark to minimize the impact, but they all eventually realize there is more strength to be had in staying together through it. Much of the intractable bond has to do with each woman's efforts at balancing work and family, and a lot of credit seems due to their longtime manager Simon Renshaw.
Unsurprisingly, Maines come across as the sharp-tongued, unapologetic contrarian of the group, a fountain of impulsive outbursts, but her instincts often prove right as they find triumph with their last album produced by the indefatigable, comeback-savvy Rick Rubin, who looks and acts a bit like Brian Wilson during his acid-saturated days. The mob mentality that builds against the group provide the most visceral scenes in the movie, although given the trio's abundant talent and the fact that most of the protests were concentrated in the country radio market, one can't help but feel there is something of a tempest in a teapot about the whole story. Credited to no less than seven cameramen, the cinematography is vivid, and the print condition on the 2007 DVD is pristine. The only extra is the theatrical trailer.