Still Standing: The Life and Songs of Joaquín Sabina

Joaquín Sabina has always lived as if tomorrow were optional. His songs feel like confessions scribbled at closing time, truths told with a crooked smile and a trembling hand. Still Standing: The Life and Songs of Joaquín Sabina opens the door to that long, bruised, brilliant night and invites us to sit beside one of Spanish music’s most unclassifiable voices.The documentary does not rush to explain Sabina. Instead, it lets him exist—gravelly voice, wary eyes, and all the accumulated weight of decades lived loudly. From the very first moments, it is clear this is not a sanitized portrait of a legend, but a human story shaped by excess, poetry, fear, and survival.Sabina’s early years emerge as a restless search for meaning and mischief. Exile, politics, and rebellion form the background of a young man discovering that words could wound, heal, and seduce all at once. The film treats these beginnings not as mythology, but as the raw material that forged his lyrical worldview.Music, for Sabina, has never been separate from life. The documentary traces how love affairs, friendships, addictions, and disappointments seeped directly into his verses. Songs are shown not as polished products, but as scars that learned how to sing. Each lyric feels earned, paid for with nights that went on too long.The Madrid of bars, smoke, and sleepless conversations becomes a character of its own. Through archival footage and intimate recollections, the city appears as both refuge and accomplice. It is where Sabina lost himself repeatedly—and where he always found another song waiting.Illness and collapse mark a turning point in the film’s emotional center. Sabina’s stroke and subsequent fragility are handled with tenderness, never exploitation. Watching a man known for bravado confront his own limits adds a quiet gravity to the story, reminding us that survival itself can be an act of rebellion.What makes Still Standing resonate is its refusal to turn pain into spectacle. Sabina speaks of fear, aging, and vulnerability with disarming honesty. The bravest moments are not on stage, but in silence, when he admits uncertainty about the future and gratitude for still being here at all.The documentary also honors the community around him. Fellow musicians, writers, and friends do not canonize Sabina—they recognize him. Their stories paint a portrait of loyalty, stubbornness, generosity, and chaos, revealing how deeply his presence shaped those who walked beside him.Visually, the film leans into shadows and warmth, mirroring Sabina’s own contradictions. Concert lights blur into handwritten lyrics, smoke drifts through memories, and time feels elastic. It is less a timeline than a mood, unfolding like a song that refuses a neat ending.Perhaps the greatest achievement of the documentary is how it frames legacy. Sabina is not presented as a monument, but as a man still negotiating with his past. His influence is undeniable, yet the film insists that what matters most is not what he represents, but what he continues to feel and create.There is humor throughout—dry, self-deprecating, unmistakably Sabina. Even when discussing dark chapters, he disarms tragedy with wit, reminding us that laughter has always been one of his survival tools. The film understands that to remove humor from Sabina’s story would be to misunderstand him entirely.In the end, Still Standing: The Life and Songs of Joaquín Sabina is not about victory or redemption. It is about endurance. About staying upright after the falls, singing after the voice cracks, and choosing honesty over comfort. It leaves us with the sense that Sabina’s greatest song may not be any single track, but the stubborn act of continuing to live—and to write—against all odds.