It’s Never Over, Jeff Buckley Review: How to Mourn a Legend

“No one has ever loved me more or better than he.” Those words from Jeff Buckley’s mother arrive before the title card for It’s Never Over, Jeff Buckley appears—a sobering reminder from Mary Guibert, still grieving the son she lost when he was 30. It’s a gut punch that establishes exactly what kind of film you’re experiencing: not just a recounting of Buckley’s brief, brilliant career, but an intimate excavation of a life lived too fast and ended far too soon.

Directed by Amy Berg (Deliver Us from Evil, West of Memphis), this documentary demonstrates her gift for finding the human pulse beneath legendary subjects. Berg has built her reputation examining complex figures with hidden depths. While Buckley doesn’t harbor scandalous secrets, she recognizes his compelling story deserves thorough documentation. Her approach feels generous rather than exploitative, allowing vulnerability from interview subjects who clearly remain affected by Buckley’s loss.

The film draws from Buckley’s personal archives, featuring never-before-seen footage, unheard voicemails to his mother, and handwritten letters to romantic partners. These intimate glimpses speak to his passion and empathy while providing insight into the family, friends, and influences Berg interviews. The supporting cast includes his mother Mary, former partners singer-songwriter Rebecca Moore and musician Joan Wasser (who releases music as Joan As Police Woman), bandmates Michael Tighe and Parker Kindred, plus respected peers like Ben Harper and Aimee Mann. Together, they create a fully rounded picture of Buckley’s reach and impact.

What makes It’s Never Over, Jeff Buckley particularly effective is its accessibility. For devoted fans, there’s rare gold here—archival material that feels genuinely arresting. But it’s equally built for viewers like myself: someone who knew the name, had heard Grace, but couldn’t ace a Buckley trivia night to save my life. Berg’s instinct for compelling storytelling makes the material welcoming to both audiences, never assuming knowledge while rewarding deeper familiarity.

Buckley’s haunting vocals serve as emotional punctuation. It might seem obvious, but the effect is overwhelming in the best way. His voice—still so pure, so transcendent—haunts every frame like a presence you can hear but not touch. When interview subjects tear up onscreen, his music is right there with them, creating moments that feel both nostalgic and immediate. Berg knows when to lean into emotion and when to let silence speak, crafting sequences where you genuinely feel what it must be like for those closest to him who still sense his spirit lingering.

The documentary follows familiar tragic artist patterns—early promise, meteoric rise, inner turmoil, untimely death. But Berg understands that formulaic structure only matters if the center holds. And this center is magnetic. Even in grainy VHS footage, Buckley radiates quiet, glowing charisma that explains why people still discuss him as if he might walk through the door. The film lets its talking heads feel rather than perform, avoiding PR polish or glossy hero-worship in favor of real people grappling with lasting echoes.

Berg’s handling of Buckley’s 1997 death feels appropriately cautious without being evasive. Rather than sensationalizing his final moments, she invites reflection about what he accomplished with just one album. The film raises haunting questions about artistic legacy: Did Buckley’s influence grow because of his early death, or would it have endured regardless? These questions resist easy answers, but the quality and uniqueness of his talent proves undeniable throughout Berg’s examination.

The documentary succeeds because Berg balances creative work with human story beautifully. She captures both Buckley’s otherworldly artistry and his capacity for deep personal connections, creating a portrait that honors his genius while revealing his vulnerability. By the film’s end, you don’t think of Jeff Buckley as a ghost—you think of him as someone who was vibrantly, memorably here.

It’s Never Over, Jeff Buckley stands as an informative, emotional, and enlightening entry in music documentary filmmaking. It serves as both proper introduction for newcomers and deeper exploration for existing fans. Some artists’ impacts truly never fade—they simply find new audiences ready to be moved by voices that transcend their brief time on earth.