Based upon the book, Neon Angel by Cherie Currie
*** ½ (three and a half stars)
“...they will ruin rock and roll and strangle everything we love about it….And that’s what they want! And it’s happening right now! I’m telling you, you’re coming along at a very dangerous time for rock and roll. The war is over. They won.”
-Lester Bangs
“Almost Famous”
“…bring me a girl
they’re always the best
you put ‘em on stage
and you have ‘em undress
some angel whore who can learn a guitar lick
hey, that’s what I call…MUSIC!!!”
-Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers
”Joe”
Believe it or not, dear readers, there is an art form that your favorite film enthusiast loves even more than the cinema. Its true. When he thinks of all areas of his life, and the very things aside from family and friends that speak to and sustain his soul, this item is the one thing he is unable to conceive of having a life without. That one thing is…Music. I have often gone many days without reading a novel or even involving myself in the soul-filling act of writing. Obviously, I have often gone for days without even watching one film. But, to go for even one day without music is something I cannot fathom. It has been a part of my being and something that my soul has responded to from the very beginnings of my life. If I possessed a certain musical proficiency (and of course, had the resources), I would definitely be a musician or at least, have the tools to create musical soundscapes at will. At least, I have been given the gift of a certain ability.
When I was around six or seven years old, I began to channel whatever was inside of me into learning how to play the drums. I took lessons for many years and by the eighth grade, I was asked to join a rock band in my school. For those that know me best, I am not one to self-promote or place myself out in the open terribly much. It is not my strong suit to publicly display myself too far out of my comfort zone. But, the idea of playing drums seemed to be the safest route as I could express myself (loudly) and exist behind the band members as well as a drum kit. No one was directly looking at me. Even so, there was one thing that made me feel competitive, anxious and itching to reveal myself.
By the time other kids discovered that I was a new member of the band that would eventually name itself Ground Zero (complete with the self-designed nihilistic mushroom cloud t-shirts) there were a few who were skeptical of my talents. Not due to any musical ability. It was entirely because of my race. Being an African American to play straight rock and roll was just too foreign a concept to visualize in 1983 (and in many ways, it still is) and as one kid pointed out to me, “black kids can’t get into the metal.” That one short-sighted statement made me furious as I was a devotee of the many rock drummers who saturated the Chicago classic rock stations, where I would first learn about some of the most favorite music of my life. I studied at the feet of Bonham, Moon, Collins, Peart and Copeland, among others and while I knew I was nowhere within their league, maybe I could possibly visit their neighborhood for a song or two. I wanted to get behind my kit and musically shove my drums sticks down the collective throats of the people who felt that this black kid couldn’t rock. I wanted to blow them through the back wall of the school cafeteria where many bands performed lunchtime concerts. And I indeed broke many pairs of drum sticks and drum heads to prove it.
During my recent screening of “The Runaways,” the debut feature film from music video director Floria Sigismondi, I could not help but to identify with the angst of a teen aged Joan Jett, circa 1975, as she is consistently discouraged and told that girls just don’t play electric guitars. How I immediately latched onto her seething urge for creative self-expression as well as her desire to launch a forceful guitar blast in the face of anyone who would dare defy her. Thankfully, this film as a whole, not only serves as a tribute to the pioneering band of the same name, it carries the energy of that forceful guitar blast and transforms it into a highly entertaining film whose combined power of rock and teen aged female empowerment is palpable.
As “The Runaways” opens, the male driven rock music scene has hit a stylistic crossroads as the androgynous glam rock began to sing its swan song and the dawn of brutal punk rock was just emerging. Los Angeles teens Joan Jett (Kristen Stewart) and Cherie Currie (Dakota Fanning) have discovered their own equal yet separate crossroads as well. When we first meet Jett, she’s a 15-year-old guitar slinger, who frequents seedy rock clubs, like Rodney Bingenheimer’s English Disco, and has just spent her every last cent upon a men’s leather jacket. Nursing dreams of starting her own all female rock band, Jett bravely descends upon the hulking, intimidating glam frame of Kim Fowley (Michael Shannon), famous record producer and impresario, who skulks and scours the L.A. streets for new talent. After a brief introduction to teen drummer Sandy West (played by Stella Maeve), the two girls align themselves and begin to hammer out new raging hymns for their restless adolescent hearts inside of an ancient trailer in the woods. As Fowley continues to assemble the band, which will soon include 17-year-old guitar whiz Lita Ford (Scout Taylor-Compton) and bassist Robin (Alia Shawkat), the search is on for a lead singer to tie all of the pieces together.
Painfully shy yet steadfast in her boldness, we are introduced to Cherie Currie, whom we first see being heckled, as she lip syncs to David Bowie's "Lady Grinning Soul," (wearing full “Aladdin Sane” regalia), in a high school talent show. Cherie’s home life is a broken, sad affair as Dad is an absent alcoholic and Mom has taken up with a new man, with plans to marry and abscond to Indonesia. With only her sister Marie (played by Riley Keough) as her confidant and support, Cherie struggles to discover not only her creative voice, but her overall place in her ever changing world. One night at the English Disco, fate intervenes as Fowley spots the feathered haired cherubic beauty standing alone amidst the blaring glitter rock, introduces her to Jett and invites her to an audition. Arriving without a prepared song to sing, the band composes the now-classic “Cherry Bomb” on the spot, giving Cherie a newfound identity as not only a 15-year-old front woman, but as a jail bait sexual tease for the predominantly male audience. From here, the film details the band’s ascension from house parties and sleazy L.A. rock clubs to endless major tours just as the band’s infrastructure implodes due to inner turmoil, band member jealousies and especially, deep resentment directed at the show business of Cherie’s rising sexual star at the expense of the band’s artistic vision.
“The Runaways,” in large portions, is a strong success as it functions as a coming-of-age film, music biopic, family drama and cultural commentary all in one and deftly juggles all aspects with supreme confidence. Additionally, the film serves as an acutely observed period piece as it displays a strong attention to a time and place that delves deeper than 70's cosmetic window dressing. We are given a dirty, filthy, narcotically enhanced ground level view of Los Angeles where the stars and dreams rise from the unwashed, underfed denizens of the streets. You can almost receive a contact high from the screen. It seems more than fitting that the film’s first shot is of a drop of Cherie’s menstrual blood hitting the sidewalk pavement, as Sigismondi has carved out a raw, wild and unleashed rock drama. For me, this film fits snuggly with other recent 1970’s rock period pieces, like Writer/Director Todd Haynes’ “Velvet Goldmine” (1998) or Writer/Director Richard Linlater's "Dazed and Confused" (1993) and it also feels like the scuzzy, bratty cousin of Cameron Crowe's great “Almost Famous” (2000). It even aligns itself very closely with films from the period, most notably, Director Jonathon Kaplan’s “Over The Edge” (1979) with its depiction of feral, alienated teens.
What worked best for me are the extended tour sequences, including one of Japan, where The Runaways over consume and constantly battle ferociously resentful male musicians along the way. There is not much attention at all given to where and when the band happens to be performing and that particular lack of detail actually works in the film's favor. The endless nature approximates what it must have felt like for these girls (and any musicians, really) to soldier on their particular treadmill. One concert date seeps and bleeds into the next, resulting in one long trip. Yes, the film is loaded with the standard rock and roll excess, including Cherie's severe descent, but it is much less concerned about the degradation and debauchery and much more focused as a portrait of kids in an adult world, forced to make the adult decisions and suffer consequences they are desperately not ready for. It is a dark world where responsible adults are scant, if visible at all. It is the age of latch-key kids, the first generation that had to raise themselves and here are five girls given the keys to the kingdom that is more than ready to eat them alive. We witness the damaging toll it places upon them and within them. Like those fun-loving teens from cinema's Ridgemont High, who had to deal with job pressures and abortions along with their midterms, the girls of The Runaways are indeed living in times too fast for them to handle successfully, and least of all, responsibly.
While Kristen Stewart has thankfully crawled out from the rubble known as her performance in “The Twilight Saga: New Moon,” her role as Joan Jett is more than credible, yet not revelatory. Her performance is most impressive in its rock swagger and physicality, as she carves out a strong persona of a teenage girl with a desperate urge for self-expression, rock integrity, artistry, and a “sleeps-with-my-guitar” mystique to go along with her extremely petulant slouch. Her striking resemblance to the real Joan Jett certainly helps too. Yet, as with most of her film roles, she has been very well cast and her representation of Joan Jett is the latest in her arsenal of sullen, sour girls. Perhaps her lack of dramatic range was evident to the filmmakers as Jett is seen mostly as an observer throughout the film and Stewart is not required to handle most of the heavier dramatic lifting.
Although Stewart may hold the film’s top billing, “The Runaways” is far and away Dakota Fanning’s movie. Fanning has consistently been an actress who has possessed an almost eerie sense of professionalism as she has easily held her own with no less than Tom Cruise (2005’s “War Of The Worlds”), Sean Penn (2001’s “I Am Sam”) and Denzel Washington (2004's “Man On Fire”) with strong, rich performances. For her first major role as she transitions from child to slightly more adult actress, Fanning, (who is currently 15 years old) is pitch perfect as Cherie Currie. And what a tightrope she has to walk.
Fanning is presented and performs as an on-stage sexual tease without ever becoming even slightly pornographic. She is so in touch with Cherie Currie’s overall humanity and vulnerability, which in large portions includes her deep solidarity with her sister and her equally deep need for her father’s attention and love. Through Fanning, we are witness to Cherie Currie’s collection of clashing personas. We see her rapid descent into a messy drug induced downward spiral as well as her aforementioned turn as an alluring pin-up girl who also carries a soft spot for the songs of Don McLean (much to the chagrin of her bandmates). It feels as if we are witnessing a child trying on different costumes: the sister, the vamp, the dutiful daughter, and so on and we wonder if any of these roles are extensions of Cherie or simply roles needed for her emotional survival and acceptance from others. When she does finally take that first step in honor of her own needs, the effect is seismic for the band, as well as herself. Dakota Fanning delivers a multi-layered performance on a level that will definitely make her an actress to be reckoned with as she ages.
As terrific as she is, truth be told, Michael Shannon nearly steals the film out from under both Stewart and Fanning with his performance as Kim Fowley. He is an insane P.T. Barnum, supremely vulgar Svengali taskmaster, sinister businessman and hedonistic exploiter of the teenage girl's nubile flesh all in one man. His grueling band rehearsals, littered with the crudest of verbal abuse, takes on the tone of a rock “boot camp” as he teaches the girls how to deal with the inevitable fallout from male musicians as well as drunken, sexist, horrific audience members who have no interest in hearing a bunch of girls attempt to play hard rock. Most of all, Shannon creates a character that represents the very spot in time when the business began to overshadow the art. For Fowley, it is the concept …not the music of The Runaways that will sell them to the masses and if they happen to carve out strong artistic material while he makes his fortune through their exploitation, then it is a means to an end. Fowley, while shown having a charismatic presence, is not a nice man in any regards. The audience never loses sight of the fact that it is in his best interest to treat these girls as ciphers and commodities rather than musicians or, at least as people! His insidious nature is always the wolf at the door for the girls, if they dare try to exude a sense of independence from him. As with Fanning, Michael Shannon is obviously having a ball with the over the top nature of this outlandish character but it is also a multi-layered performance that gives this film the proper weight and tension.
The film is not without its flaws, however. There has been some criticism launched against the film claiming that for a band that broke new musical ground, challenged rock music's sexual politics and paved the way for the likes of The Go-Go's, The Bangles, Bikini Kill, Veruca Salt, Hole and even Madonna, to name a few, the film's structure is more than a little pedestrian. While I concede that Sigismondi did indeed follow the well-worn path of the "rise and fall" arc, there was much on her mind beneath the surface that distinguished this film greatly from others of its ilk. That said, the film's faults lie in other areas as there is a fair amount of false information presented in the name of "artistic license," and that unfortunately punctures a hole in the film's authenticity.
For openers, I am unsure as to why the film is even titled "The Runaways" as it is obviously more concerned with the dynamics between Jett, Currie and Fowley rather than all five band members as a musical unit. Despite the obvious affection for drummer Sandy West (who passed away from cancer in 2006), the other three band members barely register. Lita Ford only exists as an antagonist and worst of all is bassist Robin, who I do not recall uttering even one (or more than one) line of dialogue, a decision which completely wasted the talents of actress Alia Shawkat, who was so charming in Drew Barrymore's "Whip It." Was the bassist a composite of the band's several bass players during their brief, intense existence and why was The Runaways' primary bass player Jackie Fox never mentioned even once in the film? I couldn't help but to wonder if there are still long running resentments between the former band members that affected the completed work. Whatever the reasons, perhaps "Neon Angels On the Road To Ruin," (or at least an abbreviated version of that song title) would have served the film better.
And then, there's the film's final exchange between Jett and Currie. It is a short sequence I will, of course, not spoil but it is one where the real Cherie Currie has publicly expressed never happened the way it was presented in the film. Why did Sigismondi choose to not present it the way it really occurred? As it stands, this otherwise roaring film concludes on a limp and slightly false note.
Regardless of those critiques, I was hugely rewarded with "The Runaways," as it spoke to a spirit that remains kindred to those shown on screen. Every note I was able to perform with my friends all of those years ago was a blessing as well as a much needed teenage explosion of my creative spirit. These days, I do not play in a band but every so often, I travel to music stores around my city with the sole purpose of bashing away on a set of either acoustic or electronic drums. And sometimes, I'll spot from the corner of my eye, a kid peeking at me. Sensing that they may want to try it out, I'll remove myself, offer the drum sticks and hand them over. I'll take a few steps away to give them their personal space but I have to see that initial moment, the one where their faces burst into a smile of wonderment at the sounds they are able to create themselves. I cannot help but to wonder, as I regard these young people trying out this aspect of their own creative spirits, which one of them may take that amazing free fall into music...and perhaps change the world.
The collective free fall into music and remaining legacy of Joan Jett, Cherie Currie, Lita Ford, Sandy West and Jackie Fox cannot be questioned or emphasized enough and "The Runaways" is a fine testament to their enduring and raging inspiration.
No comments:
Post a Comment