'Everyman's Journey': Don't Believe Everything You Hear
The disparity between Journey's mercenary nature and Pineda's inspiring triumph over adversity comes through starkly in Everyman's Journey, but director Ramona S. Diaz doesn't seem conscious of it. She gets terrific footage of Pineda's rough initial studio sessions with the band, when he struggled to harness his voice, and of his first night on tour in Chile, where the adrenaline rush of performing before thousands of screaming fans had him zipping wildly around the stage. But in both cases, Journey members and management take a coolly analytical view of Pineda's flaws: His excitement is getting in the way of the pristine vocals the band (and its fans, presumably) has come to expect.
Sticking close to Pineda, Diaz hears heartbreaking stories of his broken family and deep poverty, including a period where he slept in a public park and literally sang for his supper. Had a fan not spent hours in an Internet cafe uploading grainy videos to YouTube, Pineda might still be belting out covers in the lounges of Manila, so he's understandably thunderstruck by the opportunity when Schon contacts him from out of the blue.
It's a dream come true — but it comes with a set of anxieties, too: Perry's shoes wouldn't be easy for any singer to fill, but for a poor young man from an underdeveloped country, the expectations of the band — and those of thousands of skeptical fans — are difficult to bear. Everyman's Journey glances at some of Pineda's problems on the tour, from a pesky cold to bouts of homesickness to the ugly specter of racist Journey fans, but it papers over them too quickly. Diaz insists on selling Pineda's promo-friendly myth at the expense of the richer, more complicated story of a dreamer who learns to become the durable professional his bandmates expect.
It's a cold-blooded business — and all sentiment aside, it's clear that Pineda is as replaceable as anyone.