The history of popular music in South Africa continues to interest documentary filmmakers. Of recent offerings, two films stand out: “Punk in Africa,” about the history of the genre in Southern Africa since the 1970s (the word is it’s a bit unfocused), and Daniel Yon’s beautiful film about jazz singer Sathima Benjamin, “Sathima’s Windsong.”  I’ve also just gotten word of “Searching for Sugar Man,” about a 1970s Detroit-based Mexican-American musician, Sixto Rodriguez, who was unknown at home in the US but became very famous among young white South Africans then.

Rodriguez had staged his suicide on stage after he had released two albums with little popular success and had vanished from the music scene. Meanwhile, in South Africa, his music had developed a cult following, especially among white conscripts fighting Apartheid’s wars in the late 1970s and throughout the 1980s. (It also turns out he was popular among suburban high school kids in South Africa in the 1990s.)

In an interview with director Malik Bendjelloul by Sundance TV around the time the film made its US debut and was picked up by Sony Classic Pictures for distribution, we get a sense of its marketing. Bendjelloul and the film’s PR are prone to exaggeration. For example, the music did not resonate with all South Africans or galvanize a movement against Apartheid (that’s news to me), but I suppose they won’t let that get in the way of a good story.

Not everyone is convinced the film will become a sleeper hit. The Hollywood Reporter’s critic, for example, was not impressed:

Despite an affecting soundtrack featuring Rodriquez’s wistful music and penetrating lyrics, the unexpected twist late in the film struggles to overcome flagging narrative momentum following 60 minutes of interviews and largely unrelated cutaways showcasing attractive South African landscapes and gritty Detroit street scenes. An early, moody and well-executed animated sequence is never picked up later in the film and while all the interview subjects are enthusiastic, the overall lack of familiarity with Rodriquez’s personal background and career collapse begin to drag.

While it’s unquestionable that Rodriquez is long past receiving his due as an inspiring and accomplished musician, it’s unlikely that even re-editing some footage could improve the pacing, since there probably isn’t much worthwhile material to add, and so the film’s remarkable revelations come too late to relieve the creeping inertia.

Africa Is a Country blogger Tom tells me he had never heard of Rodriguez — that is, not before hanging out with former South African conscripts, white men in their early 40s (as part of his PhD project) but agrees with Malik Bendjelloul: Rodriguez’ albums are masterpieces (at times on par with some of Bob Dylan’s work). Here’s Rodriguez playing one of his songs, “Inner City Blues.”