Almost Open, but Always in Control

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MOVIE REVIEW
Bono: Stories of Surrender
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Genre: Documentary
Year Released: 2025
Runtime: 1h 26m
Director(s): Andrew Dominik
Where to Watch: available on Apple TV+ May 30, 2025

RAVING REVIEW: There’s a difference between pulling back the curtain and being the one stepping behind it. BONO: STORIES OF SURRENDER never quite decides what it’s doing. It sells itself as stripped down, honest, even disarmingly human. But what unfolds is a performance built from the bones of self-awareness, carefully choreographed vulnerability, and just enough mischief to keep the illusion of spontaneity intact. It’s like watching someone audition for the role of themselves—and in many ways, that’s exactly what this is.

Built on the foundation of his one-person stage show and autobiography, this performance-doc hybrid leans heavily into theater. Director Andrew Dominik treats Bono less like a rock star and more like a lone narrator stuck in a minimalist dreamscape. In a tightly controlled black-and-white aesthetic, the film intentionally strips away color to spotlight its subject. But while the monochrome look is stylish, it also starts to feel like an overcompensating mood filter—seriousness by design, not always by depth.

The setup is deceptively bare: one stage, one man, a table, five chairs, and a few musicians who float in and out of the spotlight with harp, cello, and synth in hand. There’s no concert energy here. The songs are fragments, interludes, and punctuation marks for stories that wander through Bono’s childhood, relationship with his father, marriage, near-death experiences, and moral wrestling over the causes he’s championed. If that sounds a bit sprawling, it is—but it’s also very controlled. There’s a script, even if it’s delivered with smirks and pauses that hint at improv.

To be fair, the structure almost works. It mirrors something like a therapy session, peeling back layers and occasionally bumping up against something real. Bono reenacts past conversations using empty chairs, turns anecdotes into parables, and at one point even breaks the fourth wall just to comment on how much he’s breaking the fourth wall. There are moments, particularly in stories about loss or strained family dynamics, where the shield of performance briefly drops, and he becomes more than just the frontman of a world-famous band. Unfortunately, those moments don’t stick around.

Songs aren’t performed so much as referenced. Bono will launch into a verse, let a line hang, then slip back into storytelling. The music is background here, not the main event. Longtime fans might enjoy the stripped-down renditions, though those expecting deep cuts or major musical reinvention won’t find much to hang onto. The cello and harp accompaniments add texture but underscore how calculated everything feels. These aren’t spontaneous bursts of feeling—they’re arranged beats in a carefully staged production.

That sense of curation extends to how the film handles Bono’s activism and public image. He acknowledges criticism, including doubts about whether his efforts were more about ego than actual change. But these confessions are fleeting. He raises the question, then leaves it unanswered, returning to safer territory. It’s like watching someone almost tell the truth before remembering the camera is still rolling. The real conflict—the messy, complicated kind that doesn’t resolve in 90 minutes—is left mostly untouched.

For fans, this project might play like a victory lap with a softer tone. There’s an intimacy here that U2’s arena shows could never offer. However, for those less invested in Bono’s mythology, the experience is a mixed bag. The sincerity sometimes feels manufactured, the humility rehearsed. It’s hard to shake the sense that you’re watching someone trying very hard to be seen as not trying too hard.

Still, something is fascinating about the attempt. It feels like there’s genuine effort to connect, reflect, and say something personal (somewhere in here). But that effort is undercut by how much is held back. What could have been a deeper excavation ends up being a stylized monologue. It’s not without merit. There are insights, emotions, and a few observations. But they’re diluted by the film’s unwillingness to commit to the messier truths.

If anything, BONO: STORIES OF SURRENDER is a case study in performance management. It shows us how a public figure might try to reclaim control over their narrative, even if that means trading vulnerability for the illusion of it. Whether that’s satisfying will depend entirely on how much trust you bring into the theater—or in this case, your living room. Because in the end, this isn’t about surrendering control. It’s about holding onto it long enough to convince you otherwise.

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