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Getting up close and personal with Bono

8:10am Thursday 28th February 2008

U2 3D
IMAX, National Media Museum

I once stood next to U2 manager Paul McGuinness in a Manchester bar. He left before finishing his pint and handed it to me, saying something about not letting it go to waste. I took a sip and passed it around my friends, as if it was the Holy Grail.

An hour later, with the taste of the holy beer still in my mouth, we were watching U2 in the relatively intimate setting of a Greenpeace benefit gig. I thought it would be the closest I'd ever get to them.

And, true enough, whenever I saw the band after that they were the size of Lego men in the distance. Bono would pull a girl out of the audience and dance on stage with her and I'd quietly seethe, standing what seemed like several miles away.

But watching U2 3D, I felt as though I was on stage with them. Shot during the South American leg of the band's Vertigo tour, the film provides an unprecedented 3D experience that sweeps you up and hurls you right into the thick of the performance. It reminded me of why I fell in love with this band when I was 17.

I'm an unashamed fan of the tub-thumping, breast-beating, anthemic passion of U2's stadium rock.

Arena concerts often come under fire for being corporate and soulless, but anyone who has seen U2 live will know it's a far from soulless experience.

What unites the tours is an infectious, engaging passion; the songs which have become the soundtrack to our lives set to startling visual effects.

In U2 3D the band takes this further, creating a more intimate kind of passion. They may be performing for 80,000 people but we see the band interacting in a way you'd never normally see.

Sweat pours down Larry Mullen's brow as he pounds away on the drums, the silver bracelet on The Edge's wrist catches the light as he strums the opening chords of With Or Without You, the veins on Bono's neck stick out as he sings the operatic bit in Miss Sarajevo.

This is a band whose affection for each other has never waned, which makes for a particularly moving aspect of the film. When Bono spontaneously kisses Adam Clayton's face you feel the joy fuelling him. Seeing up close the emotion etched onto his face during Sometimes You Can't Make It On Your Own, dedicated to his father, you feel as if you're intruding on his grief.

Then there are fun details like the ashtray and pint of iced juice at the side of Mullen's drum-kit, ice cubes rattling to each beat, and the set list taped to the floor next to Bono's mic stand.

The film is so slick you almost forget you're watching 3D. It's a smooth, natural-looking process that doesn't rely on gimmicky jump-out-at-you shots.

In a way it's too slick; I wasn't content with just sitting there wearing funny glasses watching the band on a huge screen, I wanted to be part of the sweaty, happy throng of thousands singing along to the songs. I had to stop myself from clapping.

It's a must-see, not just for fans of U2 but for anyone intrigued by how a gig of this scale unfolds and the impact it has not just on the happy throng of thousands, but on the four men standing on stage.

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