For decades, television was the undisputed king of news. And here in the UK, the men and women who delivered that news – from Trevor McDonald to Fiona Bruce, Moira Stuart to Angela Rippon – held an almost unique position of trust with the British public. On Channel 4, one man defined their coverage: Jon Snow. Over the course of 50 years in broadcasting, Snow became a familiar face, blending his signature low-key delivery with an expression that could switch subtly between curiosity and cynicism. Now he returns to Channel 4, five years after his retirement, to front a feature-length documentary, Jon Snow: A Last Big Story.
“Strange old business, life,” Snow muses at the outset. He has been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease, a degenerative neurological disorder that causes, among numerous symptoms, short-term memory loss. As he looks back at clips from his broadcasting career – standing among the rubble of the World Trade Center or the Bhopal pesticide plant, interviewing the Israeli ambassador Mark Regev or the freed South African leader, Nelson Mandela – he looks sharp and engaged. “I feel I’ve witnessed a great deal,” he observes with classic understatement. But the show unfurls a portrait of someone increasingly lost in the current moment. At a consultation with his neurologist, Jonathan Rohrer, he is asked to retain the words “bus, door and rose” for a few minutes. But when asked to repeat them, they have disappeared. The contrast between the long view, backwards, of his career, and this new perpetual present, is stark.
Jon Snow: A Last Big Story is actually two big stories. Firstly, it is a portrait of someone adjusting to the limitations of life with Alzheimer’s and spreading awareness of the condition. But secondly, and intriguingly, it is a genuine vehicle for breaking news. On one of his regular trips to Africa with his Zimbabwean wife, Precious Lunga, Snow is informed of the details of a dam collapse at a Chinese-owned copper mine in Zambia, which has leaked toxic waste into the Kafue River and is causing environmental disaster. “You don’t often go on one story and find you’ve found another,” he muses. And so, alongside his old producer Ben from Channel 4, he sets out to cover the story and bring justice to the affected communities. Through a combination of his journalistic persistence and stature in the industry, the crisis receives global attention.
The basic structure of the documentary is an inspired creative decision. It gives its subject an autonomy and dignity that can be hard to find in stories like this. “Hiding him away would be stifling his life before it’s time,” Lunga observes, and the sight of Snow striding into battle (still wearing his impeccable suit and tie, even in the heat of the African sun) is heartwarming. Yet the show does not shy away from the reality of his condition. In a sequence with Katie Razzall, a protege of his at Channel 4, he seems not to remember that he himself has been investigating this story in Zambia. “I just suddenly thought I was going to cry,” she confesses. It is a bleak moment but, crucially, it feels real. The balance of this story might’ve felt confected to give Snow another shot at the headlines. Small moments like this ground it in the difficult reality.
A few of the aesthetic decisions are less successful. The film is shot in a smudgy, blown-out colour palette, and largely on handheld cameras, perhaps to evoke the destabilising impact of dementia. Unfortunately, it makes some of the shots look schmaltzy, like flashback sequences in a bad Hollywood movie. Shots of Snow at the piano may also test viewers’ tolerance for the sentimental. But most of the film’s risks pay off. “Have you thought about what the future holds?” his doctor asks him. But this testament exists in the here and now. It is evidence of a life lived and living, and understands that the best way to celebrate a virtuoso is to give them one last chance to perform.
