A special
Tribute to the Advertising of Hedwig and the Angry Inch, which
uses Rolling Stone for 3 separate quotes (out of 6)
Hey whore,
how's the whoring?
Rolling Stone says
"The Best Rock Movie Ever!"
Rolling Stone says
"Clever, funny, and wildly inventive!"
Rolling Stone says
"Hedwig is a cause for celebration!"
Right, we'll get
to that right after Kwanza and Boxing Day
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©2001 by
Randy Shandis Enterprises. All rights fucking reserved.
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This week:
Rock Star
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Filthy says:
"If you like Warrant's Cherry Pie..." |
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Rock Star is a lot like being cornered by Worm at the
Arvada Tavern. First, you'd have to have a lot of booze in you
to not have the wherewithal to avoid it. Second, when Worm starts
talking, it sounds like he's going to tell a tired-ass jokes,
but he never gets to the punchline. Instead, what starts out
with "a man walks into a bar," devolves into a rehash
of miserable sidenotes about why he thinks his neighbor killed
his cat, the time he hung his baby out the window in a bassinet
tied to fishing line, "those God damn cops," the "fucking
liberals" and how Kirby from the trailer two lots down steals
his Arvada Sentinel, the weekly voice of reason in this fair
city.
Of course, Rock Star doesn't have much to say about
the baby or the liberals, but it's the same sort of bait and
switch. It's supposed to be a gag, an easy parody of metal, but
it's too fucking sad, tired and serious to make me laugh, until
later when I'm by myself, and even then, not at the story, but
at the people telling it. Like Worm, Director Stephen Herek is
so fucking sincere that I feel bad for him; he isn't smart or
clever enough to figure out his story's been told before, and
that I didn't care the last time either.
Marky Mark, the all-grown-up version of Freddie Prinze, Jr.
is Chris Cole, a dimbulb wannabe rock star who lives at home,
fixes copiers by day and fronts a "Steel Dragon" cover
band by night. When his band wants to expand and do their own
material, he resists, wanting nothing more than to perfect "Stand
up and Shout." In other words, he's just like those guys
in their thirties with long hair who still live with their parents.
Of course, nobody has ever seen those guys riding their BMX bikes
around the neighborhood and thought "Oh, to be a fly on
his wall." With good reason.
So, why in the world would a whole fucking movie be made about
one of these guys? I assume that hundreds of competent technicians
were used, real film and delicious, catered meals. The production
company probably financed orgies and handed out Vicodin like
Reese's Pieces on the set. But why this story? I mean, as long
as Hollywood is blowing money on the stories of uninteresting
losers, I'd rather hear more about the kid who shit his pants
during homeroom down at Arvada West last week. Oh, to be a fly
on his pants.
Anyway, after being kicked out of his little play band, Mr.
Mark is called by the real Steel Dragon. They have booted out
their gay crooner and are looking for someone who knows the lyrics
to all the songs and sounds and acts exactly like the dispatched
singer. From that point, the movie just careens from retreaded
plot point to plot point: He almost fails in his first concert
but bounces back to become a huge success; he lets it go to his
head; he parties too hard, putting a strain on his relationship
with his girlfriend (Jennifer Aniston in a role so underwritten
she might as well not exist); she leaves; he discovers his mistake
and quits the band to win back his girl; he becomes a Dave Matthews-esque
overly-earnest shit-and-mud-rocker in Seattle; he wins the girl
back.
Yeah, right, dipshit glam-rockers become annoying jam banders
when they grow up. Not likely. They mostly become metalworkers
with crystal meth problems. But the deluded middle-aged screenwriters
with their names on this dog think that's how it works. And later,
when the glam-rockers are middle aged, they become Phillip Glass,
finally emerging from their cocoons to be Leonard Bernstein before
death.
In between the obligatory plot points, it's shit. Major moments
and sections of time are completely missing, such as a break
from touring during which Mr. Mark discovers he does want to
write songs and be more than a lead singer, which is all to the
contrary of what he says throughout the movie to this point,
and it leads to his dissatisfaction with being in the band. Or,
any sort of romantic connection between Mr. Mark and Anniston.
Instead, we see sub-Behind the Scenes vignettes of glam
rockers partying and trashing hotel rooms, multiple lazy montages
of concert stages being set up, and, most inexplicably of all,
of Mr. Mark driving around in the Batmobile. I swear to Holy
God up in heaven boning the angels. Where the fuck did he get
the Batmobile? Maybe that's the movie we should have seen; how
a national treasure got into the hands of a moron. I think it's
supposed to indicate some sort of excess and foolishness, but
this movie isn't worth doing the work the director and writers
couldn't do themselves to make it complete.
There is no character development, and a couple dozen scenes
that ended leaving me wondering "did the second half of
that scene get stained with the editor's bongwater? The dumbass
that dumbass Mr. Mark plays is just too fucking stupid, and his
dream of becoming an imitation of a glam rocker is too fucking
lame to root for. Well, wasn't all glam rock too stupid to root
for? I mean, wasn't this a bunch of guys who wore makeup, sang
unbelievably dumb songs with double entendres about hair pie,
cherry pie and big dicks? Wasn't their whole existence based
entirely in the present, where they were fucking groupies and
blowing wads of cash with no concern for the future? Hell, these
hair bands were inconsequential in the mid-80s, so why would
we care about them now, other than that they remember to include
an extra packet of honey mustard with my chicken nuggets?
It could be laughed at, but that's not how this movie aims.
That would require something clever and something original. A
joke not already told in This is Spinal Tap. But, although
this movie is more serious, it's way less authentic. It was written
by lazy fucking Hollywood dicklickers who got their ideas from
videos and didn't even see Decline of Western Civilization,
Part 2.
Beyond Mr. Mark's burnout, the rest of the cast is as dull.
Anniston's character is less involving than toasting a Pop Tart,
and apparently took about as long to write. The rest of Steel
Dragon is so fucking lame that they don't see the departure of
their lead singer as an opportunity to try anything new, but
as an opportunity to hire someone who sounds exactly like him.
Which uninteresting longhairs are we supposed to root for? Which
are we supposed to feel sorry for? Personally, I will feel sorry
for a dumb person who tries, but these fuckers just soak in their
stupidity like a drunk stewing in his urine. And believe me,
I know something about that.
And wasn't the whole point of glam rock to get laid? Then
why don't we see more tits and screwing? It's crap. It's a waste
of our time, like Worm, or like the worthless music that spawned
it. Who fucking cares? One Finger.
Got 12 minutes? Check out my writing
and acting debut, Presto, P.I. Don't worry, it's free.
Want
to tell Filthy something?
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