Netflix set to drop major Led Zeppelin documentary that's missing one key part

Metro

3 days ago

If you're a Led Zeppelin superfan who's already watched all the available online footage of their early days, you're probably going to love Becoming Led Zeppelin.
If you want to listen to hits from 1968 to 1970 for two hours and 17 minutes, you'll also have a great time watching the documentary, which is set to drop on Netflix on Saturday, June 7.
Hell, if you just want to marvel at the sheer volume and movement of young Robert Plant's golden curls, there's plenty in the film for you.
But if you want to hear the true story of a band that was as controversial as it was popular, you've come to the wrong place.
Full of never-before-seen footage of the band's first 18 months, interviews with John Paul Jones, Jimmy Page, Robert Plant, and new audio from the late John Bonham, the first authorised documentary about the best hard rock band to ever do it assumes a lot about what its audience already knows.
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Rarely bothering to even put names on the screen during interviews, the documentary feels so tightly controlled that often, what's not being said feels louder than what is. For stopping its narrative in 1970, before the band even reached their Stairway to Heaven era, the documentary manages to pack very little into a long run time.
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There is almost no mention of the troubling culture that famous rock journalist Mick Farren described as 'running in semen and beer and unpleasantness,' noting that he witnessed members of the band 'getting their d—- sucked by 13-year-olds under the table.' When there are references to the band's notorious rock n roll lifestyle, they come off as footnotes.
Of course, no one is asking the band to treat the documentary as a confessional in which to unpack all their dirtiest secrets and inter-band feuds. Still, the absolute refusal to engage with anything that could possibly reflect poorly on their legacy makes the film colorless and impersonal.
But one can't really blame the director, Bernard MacMahon, for this sanitisation of rock's infamous bad boys. Page – who is rightly depicted in the film as the beating heart of the band, handling much of their early business transactions, production, songwriting, and overall brand – is famously protective of Zepp's image.
It's a miracle that an authorised documentary about the band was made at all, given that every attempt to make one over the years has been thoroughly thwarted.
Page told Metro in a recent interview that countless people have approached him about a film: 'Yeah…Warner Brothers, who were trying to float this idea with an absolute idiot. We had a meeting, and he was saying, 'Oh, well, it starts off at the Continental Hyatt Hotel. And it's in the lobby and there's lots of groupies and then you come down in the lift…' Excuse me? What group is it you think are doing this? You're not talking to Led Zeppelin? Is it Mötley Crüe? Or Quiet Riot?'
This kind of derision is common for the famous perfectionist, who describes the members of Led Zeppelin finding each other when they did with an air of mythos verging on biblical throughout the film.
His pride is warranted and even admirable, but it's evident throughout that Page remains the ultimate authority over all things related to the band, and his desire to be the arbiter of how they're remembered leaves very little room for anything but insight into specific guitar riffs and concert footage.
If you didn't know better, you might think the guys of Led Zeppelin were a group of adoring husbands who pined for their wives in tidy hotel rooms while on tour during the summer of love.
The doc is at its best during the moments of vulnerability that slip through the cracks of the carefully plastered facade. Its a treat to watch complex emotions play across the musician's faces as they listen to Bonham's voice in a rare uncovered audio interview from '71.
John Paul Jones, in particular, seems genuinely connected to the memory of his lost friend, offering quips like 'I was in love with that man's right foot.'
But one doesn't leave the theatre feeling like they know the late drummer – who died in 1980 of pulmonary aspiration after drinking himself comatose – any better. More Trending
Of course, seeing an early performance of a Whole Lotta Love in IMAX with surround sound is a chill-inducing, almost religious experience that just about makes up for the stubbornly lifeless aspects of the film.
The life and energy ripping from every pore on Robert Plant's body in the archival performance footage is worth the price of admission, even if he comes across as a marionette controlled by his lead guitarist in the interview portions.
Ultimately, this film is about the music, which would be fine if the music wasn't a product of the culture the doc completely ignores.
A version of this article was first published on February 20, 2025.
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