Bono & The Edge: A Sort of Homecoming, review: Letterman’s surprisingly charming film isn't just for die-hards

Aside from politicians desperate for a photo-op, it’s hard to imagine anyone clamouring to spend an entire day with Bono. A similar point could be made about David Letterman, the grumpy American chat show host who – occasional Netflix appearance aside – has devoted most of his time since retirement to growing a beard that looms at the end of his face like a depressed baguette.

So it’s a surprise how much charm Oscar-winning documentarian Morgan Neville conjures with Bono & The Edge: A Sort of Homecoming with Dave Letterman (Disney+). The mouthful of a title is the most over-baked thing about a likably breezy film which gently plugs U2’s new album – middling covers of their older material – while delivering a love letter to their Dublin roots.

U2’s music is Marmite, if Marmite wanted to save the world. Neville’s innovation is to brush past the bombast and explore their life and times in the context of the social changes sweeping Ireland through the 1970s and 1980s.

Bono and company broke through as the country was moving “from black and white into colour”, says the 62-year-old lead singer. This fascinates Letterman. As does the story of how the quartet acquired their colourful stage names when hanging around with an arty collective at their non-denominational secondary school. The artist formerly known as Paul Hewson was happy with “Bono” – however, bassist Adam Clayton refused to run with his alter-ego of “Mrs Burns”.

Cautious viewers may wonder when Bono is going back to the day job of setting their teeth on edge. Don’t worry, it’s coming. He whips out an iPad and tries to explain the Troubles to Letterman with a squidgy sketch of Ireland. There’s the Republic, there’s the North and – uh oh – there’s the Border. “Who should I dislike?” queries Letterman. “Should I dislike the British?” Bono doesn’t have an answer.

There’s lots of Letterman wandering Dublin, though his timing could have been better, it has to be said. A Sort of Homecoming was shot last December when the Irish capital was deep in its winter funk. Credit to Morgan, then, for finding – somehow – a sparse beauty in the Irish midwinter. He has his work cut out: the skies are 50 shades of glum, even the pigeons look miserable. And yet, as Letterman tours the coast by suburban rail it’s hard not to be struck by the mournful cragginess – that’s just his care-worn travelling companion, musician Glen Hansard.

For U2 die-hards there is the Bono bonus of a live performance from the Ambassador, a former flea-pit cinema at the top of O’Connell Street. Later, in a pub, the singer and guitarist are joined by musical pals such as Imelda May, Dermot Kennedy and Grian Chatten of Fontaines DC for a boozy singalong. But where the film shines is in exploring the friendship between Bono and the Edge.

U2’s coolest members, Clayton and drummer Larry Mullen Jr, are sitting out the project and so the focus is on the dynamic between the group’s super-ego and its musical furnace. Bono admits his campaigning work has caused strife in the ranks. He recalls the Edge pleading with him not to invite right-wing American politician Jesse Helms to a U2 concert only for Bono to do so anyway.

Still, the Edge obviously has great affection for his annoying pal. Maybe that’s because Bono makes no secret of envying the Edge’s musical abilities and radiates naked awe in his presence. The Edge, for his part, appreciates Bono's flair for the grandiose. He is no doubt aware that without it U2 might merely be one more 1980s new-wave band, to be filed alongside Simple Minds and Echo and the Bunnymen.

A Sort of Homecoming ends with a rendition of Forty Foot Man, a ditty Bono and the Edge wrote for Letterman inspired by his visit to the famous south Dublin swimming location of the same name. As Letterman dons a wetsuit and steps into the freezing water the song chugs enthusiastically.

U2 have struggled to put out truly memorable material in the past decade or so but this is lovely, with sweet humour and a nicely chiming guitar. After 84 minutes of looking over their shoulders, it suggests Bono and chums may not be ripe for the scrapheap just yet.