Bono: Stories of Surrender

In Bono: Stories of Surrender, the U2 frontman transforms his memoirs into a kind of staged spiritual exorcism, a black-and-white ritual blending reflection, performance, and theatrical confession that flirts with the sublime. Captured by director Andrew Dominik in a film adaptation of Bono's solo show and based on his 2022 memoir, Surrender: 40 Songs, One Story, the film refuses to be confined to a single genre. It's not quite a concert, not quite a documentary, not quite a theatrical monologue. It's something stranger, more hybrid: an ambitious project with unexpected emotional weight, a parade of rock star legacy tinged with guilt and grace, and a stunning visual experience in monochrome memory. In the hands of a seasoned artist and a director gifted at creating musical myths, this film becomes a moving, sometimes surprising, and undeniably unique experience. Andrew Dominik's style relies heavily on expressionistic minimalism, with striking black-and-white images shot by Oscar-winning cinematographer Erik Messerschmidt (Mank, Ferrari).

The lighting design is as important as the music: it doesn't just illuminate, it isolates. Alone on a sparsely furnished stage, with a few chairs and a simple table, Bono performs like a seasoned actor, shifting from one character to another, from one accent to another, and from one era to another. At times he is Bono, the rock star, at times Paul Hewson, the grieving son, and sometimes even his own father as he dramatizes pub conversations with a simple nod of the head and a change of tone. The emotional pivot of the show lies in these imaginary exchanges with Bob Hewson, a stoic opera lover whose affection was always implied rather than expressed. These segments, in which Bono recreates their weekly visits to the pub and their one-sided conversations, are not just theatrical devices, but also deeply psychological elements. When Bono recites his father's rare compliments ("I heard your song ‘Pride’ on the radio the other day. I might have felt something"), it feels like a seismic revelation in an otherwise sober scene. It is in these quiet reconstructions, more than in any grandiloquent musical interlude, that the heart of the show beats most vulnerably.

Although the production is elegantly understated, the ambition is enormous. Bono recounts a life marked by traumatic experiences: the sudden death of his mother at the age of 14, his unlikely teenage romance with Ali Stewart (who would become his wife), the explosive formation of U2 in a Dublin classroom, and the band's rise to global stardom. He discusses his philanthropic activities and encounters with history, recounting surreal encounters with figures such as Luciano Pavarotti and Princess Diana. Each anecdote is told with self-deprecating humor and theatrical verve, often culminating in stripped-down renditions of U2 classics, including “With or Without You,” “Pride (In the Name of Love),” “Vertigo,” and “Sunday Bloody Sunday.” The songs are not performed in their entirety or in their usual form. They are reinvented, shortened, often sung halfway through, their iconic grandiloquence giving way to intimacy. Accompanied by cellist Kate Ellis, harpist Gemma Doherty, and producer Jacknife Lee, these interpretations are like skeletons of what they once were, revealing the emotional heart of lyrics often overshadowed by the grandiose soundscapes of the original versions. While some purists may miss The Edge's inimitable guitar, these more understated reinterpretations offer something rare: the chance to hear these songs again, perhaps for the first time in decades.

What's particularly fascinating is how Bonon: Stories of Surrender uses its own limitations to expand Bono's personality. Yes, the film is inherently performative—Bono himself jokes that it's not a one-man show, but a quarter-man show, pointing to the empty chairs representing his bandmates. But within this minimalist framework, he finds a freedom he has rarely had on stage with U2. He is funny, self-aware, and very eloquent. He embraces criticism—his ego, his showmanship, his penchant for preaching—and turns it into a tool. These are the stories of a small rock star, he says with a wink. And yet his humility is not always self-effacing. At one point, he directly addresses the hypocrisy of being a rich rock star who fights against poverty. He doesn't shy away from the question. So what if I'm a hypocrite? he asks. The question isn't what my motivations are, but what the results are. It's a complex statement that hangs in the air. It doesn't excuse the contradictions, it simply names them and challenges the audience to accept them.

Yet even Bono's most ardent detractors would be hard-pressed to deny the emotional power of this production. In its most poignant moments, Bono: Stories of Surrender feels less like a showcase for ego than a man making peace with his life in the twilight of his fame. There is great authenticity in the way he recalls lying next to his father on his deathbed, miming the words of an opera in Italian as a final tribute. There is also a certain vulnerability in the story of Bono's open-heart surgery in 2016, which opens the show melodramatically but sets the tone for a broader reflection on mortality. These scenes function less as autobiography than as a spiritual reckoning, a confrontation between the man he is, the man his father wanted him to be, and the man the world has long perceived him to be.

But this is Bono, after all, and the film can't help but end on a high note. In its final act, the black-and-white aesthetic dissolves into bright colors as the show moves from New York's Beacon Theatre to Naples' Teatro di San Carlo, the world's oldest opera house. It's a deliberately operatic gesture, aligning Bono not only with rock tradition but also with grand European theatricality. For an artist who has always fused the sacred and the spectacular, it's a fitting final note.

Bono: Stories of Surrender is less about U2 than it is about the paradoxes of its leader. It deals with humility in performance, confession as spectacle, and the rock star as family man, jester, prophet, and prodigal son. It is a film that acknowledges its own artifice while seeking authenticity. And while it won't convert the skeptics, it offers those willing to sit down and listen a rich, multifaceted portrait of an artist whose greatest talent may not be his voice, but his ability to tell a story that feels intimate enough to be true. Whether it is or not, we surrender anyway.

Bono: Stories of Surrender
Director: Andrew Dominik
Production: Meredith Bennett, Dede Gardner, Jon Kamen, Jeremy Kleiner, Brad Pitt, Alec Sash, Dave Sirulnick
Cast: Bono
Cinematography: Erik Messerschmidt
Editing: Lasse Järvi
Production companies: Apple Original Films, Plan B Entertainment, RadicalMedia
Distribution: Apple TV+
Theatrical release: May 16, 2025 (Cannes), May 30, 2025 (Apple TV+)
Running time: 86 minutes

Viewed on May 30, 2025

Mulder's Mark: