VeteranLight I don't have all the words right now but this film is a work of art.

Chirphymium It's entirely possible that sending the audience out feeling lousy was intentional

Voxitype Good films always raise compelling questions, whether the format is fiction or documentary fact.

Allison Davies The film never slows down or bores, plunging from one harrowing sequence to the next.

andmatch The concert is everything in this film, and in itself, is well worth sitting through the by now very dated little dream sequences that "illustrate" the band members' personae. But remember, this was the 70's and well before the video clip sophistication to come, so although some viewers might smirk at all the mystical medieval references, the more indulgent fans will have no problem with the outmoded visuals. (Actually, Page's personal time travel trip is not too bad, and Bonham's unabashed simplicity and adhesion to the basics: drive fast, work hard, have fun, and make those drums go boom is kind of endearing.) Well, try to get past the "movie" part and concentrate on the concert; it's a thrilling show and a rare document; Led Zep at their summit doing some of their best songs (I vote for "Since I've been Loving You") and giving their fans what they want: long, elaborate Jimmy Page solos, a big thump and bump bottom line by Jones and especially Bonham, and for the ladies (and some guys, no doubt) Robert Plant in all his glory, wearing them on the left and belting out the most unforgettable vocals in the history of rock.

brando647 I've become a major Led Zeppelin fan and, since I was born in the 80's, I will never get the chance to see them live in concert. So, being born as late in the century as I was, this concert film was a godsend and gave me an awesome chance to watch one of my favorite rock bands working their magic on stage. The film is collected from footage over three days during their 1973 performances in Madison Square Garden in New York City. The band performs some of their greatest pieces, including "Whole Lotta Love", "Since I've Been Loving You", and "Stairway to Heaven". Now I see that Zeppelin seemed to have a great energy and stage presence; it's a shame I'll never been able to experience it in person. Jimmy Page is incredible to watch and John Bonham has some killer moments (i.e. his killer drum solo during "Moby Dick").The music is, of course, incredible, but the movie has some flaws. I didn't really care for the fantasy sequences, though I don't regret their inclusion. I loved the fact that each member of the band was given the chance to visualize their own segment and it was a cool glimpse into their creativity. I just didn't feel the movie needed the sequences. They may have been better as additional supplemental material. Also, the movie is an endurance challenge to watch in it's entirety. At 2.5 hours, good music or not, it gets to be a bit difficult to watch in a straight run. A 2.5 performance in person with the ideal sound and atmosphere is one thing, it's different when you're viewing it on a television screen. Regardless, I loved this movie. Led Zeppelin is one of the rock legends and now I've gotten to experience them in concert (even if it was in limited format).

jimmygeekrock What can you say about this flick? Zeppelin are the undisputed kings of hard rock and heavy metal (despite what Black Sabbath fans might claim). They make it all look effortless.SONG captures them in all their hedonistic glory, swaggering their way through their greatest hits. In seventies tradition, everyone receives a ridiculously long solo...and these can be painful to sit through. Do we really need a 15 minute drum solo, for instance? Granted, John Bonham may be rock's greatest drummer (all apologies to Keith Moon) but enough is enough.There are also the dream sequences to deal with. While I'd like to think they were committed to celluloid on a lark, their presence gives the production a ridiculous overtone. These might have been cool in the seventies, before the days of music video, but they just look dated and nonsensical today.Forget these minor quibbles, however, and enjoy the concert footage. This is grand stuff, the type you don't see anymore. These guys were the real deal!

hillsack Without meaning to offend the more sensible amongst you, what is it about the American psyche which makes shrines out of this rubbish? It's impossible to get nostalgic about this just because it happened a long time ago: hype will always be hype.The town goes wild as the bloated ego of the dirigible floats into town. As the group goes through the predictable motions yet again, we're treated to another robotic roller coaster ride to the tune of "look how well we can play our instruments"; yes, it's virtuoso time once more, like a tale told by an idiot, a screeching, cacophonous din full of sound and fury, going nowhere and signifying nothing – except any old mystical interpretation you choose to slap on it, of course. This is overlong, fortified, dreary muck forked out of the old Yardbirds' stable, accompanied by the same old borrowed mindset reflected in feeble, misogynist lyrics about women being unobtainable goddesses or vassals of Satan, low harlots to be bedded before they abandon their lover to turn the next trick. Led Zeppelin: the sniggering rugby club of narcissistic cock rock.Meanwhile, backstage, charmless manager-bully Peter Grant fuels the stupid mythology and rehearses his fatal heart attack by huffing and puffing himself up, roundly abusing the polite local staff and nearly bursting into tears at discovering a black guy selling old photos of the band for a few bob at an unlicensed stall. "Nobody makes a crooked buck from my boys, etc, etc." Poor quiet John Paul Jones! No wonder he occasionally got sick to death of it all! Such a waste of an excellent musician, too.Perhaps my introductory question can be partly answered by the extraordinary visual appeal Zeppelin holds for the Big Hero Worshipper, the spoilt suburban brat and the clueless Walter Mitty who tenses his pectorals in the bathroom mirror and wishes his groin were girded by a gaggle of gorgeous, grovelling groupies, all of them gagging for it! Yeah, yeah, baby, push, push. So, while the weighty wish-fulfilment of the fantasy sequences is laughably childish, it's no surprise that Robert Plant's preening posturing hits the embarrassment jackpot, together with his sing-talking in the middle of "Whole Lotta Love", in which he ingratiates himself with the audience by adopting the famous false American accent, much derided, and deservedly so, by the British punk rockers of the day.But there is a moral, or at least a message to the film; it is an unpalatable foretaste of the message sent by the even more monstrous example of Michael Jackson in the following decade: even if you're pushing thirty, provided that you have a seemingly inexhaustible income and you are mollycoddled and protected by ruthless muscle, you can spend time in a plastic bubble fantasy world of undiluted puerility, whilst penning the next constipated opus which you bequeath fit for an awestruck and ever-grateful public.