Spank's LFF Diary, Wednesday 01/11/2000
7.30pm: Opening Gala: Almost Famous
As an event, this sucked arse.
Where to start? Probably at the crash barriers. I think it was Sue Townshend who pointed out that all you need to do is erect crash barriers anywhere in London, and people will stand behind them regardless, without having the faintest idea of what they're meant to be looking at. It's one of the things that makes the LFF Opening Gala so exciting to attend: you can walk down this long passageway of gawping tourists towards the front door of the Odeon Leicester Square, and they all think for a few seconds that you must be some sort of minor celebrity or other.
The point is this. In previous years, the barriers have gone all the way up to Pizza Hut. This year they only went as far as Chiquitos. That's a good ten yards less of tourists for me to pose in front of. Frankly, I expect more for my £16.50 than that. Besides, there wasn't much of a risk of being mistaken for a celebrity, given the apparent absence of them at this event. The LFF website was promising John Malkovich, Ian Hart, Terry Gilliam and others, but we never saw them: or at least they hadn't turned up by 7.15, when we decided it was too cold to be waiting outside and went into the Odeon.
Inside, organist Donald McKenzie did his usual sterling job on the mighty Compton, although by now you'd have thought someone could have found a way to pump the organ through the cinema's Dolby Surround-EX sound system and give him a bit more of the old Eli Wallachs. The usual dull self-congratulatory opening speeches followed, by BFI Chair Joan Bakewell, LFF Director Adrian Wootton and Office Rental Bloke Mark Dixon. The visiting talent from the movie (apart from a fuzzy video message from director Cameron Crowe) was limited to stars Patrick Fugit, Kate Hudson and Noah Taylor doing a quick wave from the stage at the start and end of the film, the latter an obvious diversionary tactic to keep us plebs in our stalls seats while they herded the VIPs out of the circle and into their limos.
And one final winge. Office Rental Bloke's influence has percolated as far as the LFF trailer, the short intro film shown before every screening. This year's just feels a little too much like an advert for office rental with some LFF branding attached, rather than the other way round: a feeble collection of shots of movie footage projected onto the front of office buildings. Some of us are going to have to see this clip over forty times over the next couple of weeks, and on first glimpse it doesn't have any of the depth or level of detail that helped sustain previous trailers over multiple viewings. So if you attend a screening this year and you hear someone with his hands over his eyes yelling "la la la I'm not listening" over the LFF trailer, you'll know who it is.
Yes, as an event, this sucked arse. But luckily, as a movie, it rocked like a bastard.
"A film director, like me, who was a teenage rock journalist, like I was, loses his virginity in a three-way at age 15, like the audience will think I did."
- from The Top 15 Actual Hollywood Movie Pitches, as published on The Top Five List
It's true: before Cameron Crowe became a scriptwriter and director, he was a rock journalist for Rolling Stone magazine in the early seventies, while he was still only 15. And Almost Famous is a fictionalised version of that period in his life. The surrogate Crowe in the movie is William Miller (Patrick Fugit), a teenage boy living with his mother Elaine (Frances McDormand). Simultaneously progressive and suffocating, Elaine tries to raise William to be an individual, but does it by banning him from all outside communal influences such as rock music. Of course, she can't keep this up forever, and once William gets his first exposure to The Who's Tommy he's hooked for life.
William starts moving into the world of rock journalism, aided by the legendary editor of Creem, Lester Bangs (Philip Seymour Hoffman). On an assignment for Bangs he meets up with Stillwater, a second-division band led by the volatile duo of vocalist Jeff Bebe (Jason Lee) and guitarist Russell Hammond (Billy Crudup). He also encounters the band's female hangers-on ("we're not groupies, we're band-aids"), led by the mysterious Penny Lane (Kate Hudson). When Rolling Stone calls and offers him his big break, William decides to go on tour with Stillwater and write a feature about them, though it's painfully obvious that he's mainly doing it because of his infatuation with Penny. The movie follows William as he builds his friendship with the band members on the tour, despite Bangs' insistence that that's the most dangerous thing a journalist can do...
I didn't really care all that much for Crowe's last film Jerry Maguire, a would-be smart romantic comedy with a heart of pure mush. Almost Famous, however, has him back on form again and getting the balance right: a slightly sentimental coming-of-age story undercut with irony and humour. The character of William's mum Elaine is a perfect example: she's obviously got his best interests at heart, but will insist on causing maximum embarrassment to William as he makes his journey into a new life. ("DON'T TAKE DRUGS!", she yells to him in front of several hundred Black Sabbath fans.) All of the characters feel genuine rather than easy 70's stereotypes, and the writing is excellent, notably in a tremendous confessional scene near the end that manages to be terrifying, heartfelt and hilarious all at the same time. Some of the usual rock biopic cliches are there - drug overdose, on-stage electrocution - but Crowe always ensures that they don't develop in the way you'd expect.
He's helped out here by a great ensemble cast. The bulk of the honours here have to go to Patrick Fugit and Kate Hudson as the leads: the former doing the boy-to-man-in-two-hours bit to perfection, the latter starting what could well be a life-long love affair with the camera. Frances McDormand has a lovely time with the role of the mother, Philip Seymour Hoffman has nearly as much fun in his relatively small cameo, and Billy Crudup delivers on the promise he showed in Jesus' Son at last year's Festival.
The soundtrack is a wonderful blend of genuine period classics and specially written new songs (this film has an even longer music credits list than Something Wild, and that's saying something). And the 20/20 hindsight gags are kept to a bare minimum, but the few that are there are excellent: Rolling Stone boasts that its New York office has a new machine that can transmit pages over the telephone "in only eighteen minutes". I suspect nothing Crowe does will ever top the sheer iconic power of John Cusack serenading Ione Skye with a ghettoblaster and a Peter Gabriel tape in Say Anything..., but if he can keep getting as close as this, I'll be happy.
Notes From Spank's Pals
Suspiciously quiet so far.
November 2nd 2000
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