Nine (2009).

The Scoop:
Rob Marshall tries to recapture some of the magic of "Chicago" with "Nine," the film version of Arthur Kopit and Maury Yeston's 1982 Broadway musical, but is ultimately sabotaged by the thin source material.

At the center of the story is Daniel Day-Lewis playing Guido Contini, a world famous Italian film director who deals with personal and professional crises by turning to the many women in his life. If that plot sounds familiar, that's because it is swiped wholesale from Federico Fellini's much better "8 1/2."

The women who parade through Contini's life and fantasies -- each offering their brutally honest advice while belting out big musical numbers -- are his wife (Marion Cotillard), mistress (Penélope Cruz), mother (Sophia Loren), leading lady (Nicole Kidman), costume designer/confidant (Judi Dench), fondly remembered first sex partner (Fergie) and a novice American reporter (Kate Hudson). Cotillard and Cruz really steal the show here (which isn't hard to do against Day-Lewis' mopey screen presence) and Dench has some nice moments as well. Kidman is bland, Hudson is out of her league, Fergie doesn't do much but sing and dance (thankfully), and frankly I'm not sure how the glorious Loren got through this with a straight face.

The songs are fun but insubstantial, except for Cotillard's great "Take It All," which was written specifically for the film. However, Marshall, cinematographer Dion Beebe and choreographer John Deluca redeem even the weakest numbers with some energetic stagings.

But besides Cotillard and Cruz, the real stars of the show are art directors Simon Lamont, Peter Findley and Phil Harvey, and costume designer Colleen Atwood who create a vibrant, detailed and glamorous simulation of mod 1960s Rome. "Nine" may not have much going on under the surface, but thanks to them it's wonderful to look at.

Best Bit:
Cotillard laying it all out for the Oscar-nominated "Take It All."

Side Note:
Oddly enough, the play's title song "Nine" was one of several musical numbers cut from the film.

Companion Viewing:
"8 1/2" (1963), if you want to see this sort of thing done right the first time.

Links:
IMDb.
Official site.

Take a Look:
The trailer:


"Take It All":


The music video for Kate Hudson's "Cinema Italiano":

Grace of My Heart (1996).

The Scoop:
This film got dismissed by a lot of critics, but it probably is writer/director Allison Anders' best work.

The story follows the emotional journey of a Carole King-ish songwriter (Ileana Douglas) who goes through years of turmoil throughout the 1960s and 1970s before finally finding her own voice, both personally and professionally. The men in her life are played by Matt Dillon, Eric Stoltz and John Turturro, but it's Douglas, who isn't nearly as big of a star as she should be, who steals the show. She gives a wonderful performance, to compliment Anders' fine script. And the original songs, written by Burt Bacharach and Elvis Costello, capture the sounds of the times wonderfully and will have you humming them long after the movie is over.

There is also more fun to be had by trying to figure out which characters are based on which real-life music industry figures from the '60s and '70s. An all-around winner.

Best Line:
"He smokes some grass. He uses some psychedelics. He uses peyote, but he is down on hard drugs."

Side Note:
The list of cameos in this film seems to go on forever, including Bridget and Peter Fonda, and a host of rock/folk musicians -- Chris Isaak, J Mascis (from Dinosaur Jr.), Jill Sobule, Shawn Colvin, China Kantner and members of Redd Kross.

Companion Viewing:
"Gas Food Lodging" (1992).

Links:
IMDb.
Watch it on Hulu.

Take a Look:
A fan-made trailer:


"God Give Me Strength," which should've won an Oscar but didn't. (Vocals by Kristen Vigard):


"My Secret Love":

Cannibal! The Musical (1996).

The Scoop:
This ultra-low budget parody of 1950s movie musicals, released by Troma, is an early effort by "South Park" creator Trey Parker. It plays very fast and loose with the real-life story of frontiersman Alferd Packer, who killed and ate the rest of his traveling party while snowbound in the Rocky Mountains in the winter of 1882-83. And, true to the title, there are musical numbers (including a love song to a horse), though not nearly enough to sustain the somewhat amateurish storytelling. While there are some pretty funny parts (the Japanese Indian tribe, for instance), the quality of humor is nowhere near the brilliant levels Parker and co-conspirator Matt Stone later reached in "South Park." It's worth a look for hardcore fans, but otherwise a bit tedious. For great non-"South Park" work from Parker and Stone, check out "Orgazmo" instead.

Best Line:
"Fudge, Packer?"

Side Note:
Parker and Matt Stone were students together at the University of Colorado at Boulder while filming this movie in 1993. The short order grill at the university student union is named after Packer.

Companion Viewing:
"Orgazmo" (1997) and "South Park: Bigger, Longer and Uncut" (1999).

Links:
IMDb.
Official site.
Badmovies.org.
The Independent.

Take a Look:
"That's All I'm Asking For":


"Shpadoinkle":


"When I Was On Top of You":

Ocean's 11 (1960).

The Scoop:
It's Vegas, baby! The Rat Pack was groovy, and this film presents them at their height.

All the usual suspects are here (Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis, Jr., Angie Dickinson, Joey Bishop, Peter Lawford) as well as a few other familiar ones (Cesar Romero, Norman Fell, Henry Silva, Akim Tamiroff), in this tale of Danny Ocean (Sinatra at his coolest) who brings together his old army buddies to pull off a daring heist -- robbing the five major Las Vegas casinos simultaneously at the stroke of midnight on New Year's Eve. Director Lewis Milestone keeps the pace lively and fun, and the camaraderie between the Rat Packers is palpable on screen. Even though it clocks in at more than two hours, it flies by when you feel like you're in the company of old friends.

If you're a fan of old school Vegas or vintage midcentury modernism, this film has everything you need. Sure, Steven Soderbergh's 2001 remake might have had some good action and the presence of Clooney, Pitt, Damon, et al., but it still can't touch the original for great music, plenty of swingin' attitude and vintage Vegas atmosphere.

Best Line:
"I'm so drunk, I don't think I could lie down without holding on!" (This is a punchline to an old Dean Martin routine, which was borrowed by Shirley MacLaine when she ad-libbed her cameo appearance.)

Side Note:
Because all the stars were such good pals, they ad-libbed big chunks of the dialogue, with a lot of the material coming from in jokes and private references.

Companion Viewing:
"Swingers" (1996) and "Ocean's 11" (2001).

Links:
IMDb.
Fan page with sound bites.

Take a Look:
The trailer:


Sammy Davis Jr. sings "Ee-O 11":

Mister Rock and Roll (1957).

The Scoop:
Plot? Who needs plot?

This celebrity vehicle for pioneering rock 'n' roll deejay Alan Freed keeps only the barest essentials of a plot in what is essentially a film version of his radio show. Freed, playing himself, announces each song, then the performers lip sync their way through their numbers. And what a lineup it is - Chuck Berry, Little Richard, Frankie Lymon and the Teenagers, LaVern Baker, Shaye Cogan and, for some reason, Lionel Hampton.

There are also a couple of inconsequential scenes of a magazine writer who gets herself involved with a clean cut rock singer, but you can safely skip those. It's all about the music.

Freed seriously tones down the raucousness of early rock music, but the film does get points for showcasing both black and white acts, a rarity in the old days. "Mister Rock and Roll" isn't the best of the early rock movies, but there are some essential performances.

Best Line:
"If I'm guilty of anything, I'm guilty of being present at the birth of rock 'n' roll!"

Side Note:
Directed by Charles S. Dubin, best known for his long career in telvision, having directed episodes of "Murder, She Wrote," "Matlock" and "The Father Dowling Mysteries."

Companion Viewing:
"Go, Johnny, Go!" (1958).

Links:
IMDb.
An introduction to Alan Freed on RareSoul.

Take a Look:
The trailer:


The whole film (part 1):

Festival Express (1970).

The Scoop:
The stretch from about 1967 to 1971 was a hotbed for innovative music, and it was the heyday of the festival concert. But it was also the heyday of the concert film, and every festival worth its name – Woodstock, Monterey Pop, Big Sur, even Altamont – had a film attached. The result of this huge archive of film, of course, is a valuable time capsule of that era. “Festival Express” is a latter-day addition to that genre.

In the summer of 1970, a short festival tour was organized across Canada, featuring the Grateful Dead, The Band, Janis Joplin, Buddy Guy, Ian & Sylvia, the Flying Burrito Brothers, Bonnie & Delaney, Sha Na Na and Mashmakhan. (Traffic and Ten Years After also were part of the tour, but don't appear in the film due to a conflict over music rights.) Everyone on the bill traveled together by train across country. It was an arrangement that was clearly a hit with the performers, who created a traveling commune, spending the long days living, eating and, most importantly, jamming together. And the film crew was there for all of it.

The tour itself was a financial disaster, not just because of the expense of the train, but also because it was dogged by protests and bad press along the way from kids who demanded that all the shows be free. The business side wound up in chaos, which is why all the film footage of the tour ended up on the shelf for more than 30 years. Which is a shame, because the footage is fantastic.

With the benefit of three decades of hindsight, director Bob Smeaton includes new interviews with the promoters and many of the performers to put the footage in context. But at times the interviews intrude too much. The film is at its best when the footage from 1970 speaks for itself. The live performances are uniformly excellent, as the musicians were obviously energized by the creative cauldron inside that train (which a couple of the interviewees describe as “heaven”). But the real treat is the train footage, which is full of great jamming from a host of talented musicians, and which also offers an extensive offstage glimpse of the people involved – something the other classic concert films of the era can’t match.

Especially poignant are the performances by Joplin. She was at the top of her game, and because she died shortly after the tour, these are among her last ever performances.

Regardless of whether you’re a fan of the era, “Festival Express” is still a must-see if you’re a fan of live music. Plus, there’s lots of rail footage too if you’re a fan of train movies, so everyone wins!

Best Bit:
The liquor run in Saskatoon.

Side Note:
The guitar used by Jerry Garcia during "C.C. Rider" is the same one that was played by George Harrison during the Beatles' rooftop farewell performance the year before.

Companion Viewing:
"Woodstock" (1970) and "Monterey Pop" (1968).

Links:
IMDb.
Official site.
DocumentaryFilms.net.

Take a Look:
The Grateful Dead perform "C.C. Rider" with Ian & Sylvia and others:


The Band doing "Slippin' and Slidin'":


Rick Danko, Janis Joplin, Jerry Garcia, Bob Weir and others jam on "Ain't No More Cane":

Can't Stop the Music (1980).

The Scoop:
Forget "Vegas in Space." Forget "Paris is Burning." Hell, even forget "Purple Rain." This is officially the gayest movie ever made.

It's the same old trying-to-be-a-star plot that's been rehashed far too many times, but this time is stars the Village People on the downside of their popularity. And the fact that they seem to be trying so hard to convince the world that they're not gay just makes the flames coming out of the screen that much more obvious. Add to that the bad dialogue, flashy disco costumes (which, the film would have us believe, the guys wear in their daily lives, too) and the career launch of Steve Gutenberg as a struggling composer, and you've got a righteous stinker. A flaming stinker, even.

Want to know who to blame? How about producer/writer Allen Carr, director Nancy Walker, and of course the Village People's musical svengali, Jacques Morali.

This is one of the quintessential bad movies.

Best Line:
"James is the name, and flame's my game!"

Best Musical Number:
The deliriously campy "Y.M.C.A." number, which is (sadly) the only one of their good hits that made it into the film.

Side Note:
Gutenberg's character, Jack Morrell, is just a thinly-veiled version Morali.

Companion Viewing:
"Breaking 2: Electric Boogaloo" (1984), "Purple Rain" (1984) and "Glitter" (2001).

Links:
IMDb.
Cool Cinema Trash.

Take a Look:
The fabulous trailer!


Do the Milshake!


Let's do the Y.M.C.A.!

Love's Labour's Lost (2000).

The Scoop:
One of the joys of seeing Shakespeare on stage, even after 400 years' worth of productions, is the range of experimentation that is still possible with the material, even if the risks don't always pay off. On film, however, the risks have traditionally been kept to a minimum, with most productions being set either in a generic 19th century European countryside, or in Elizabethan dress.

So, on that level, it's a breath of fresh air to watch Kenneth Branagh's take on "Love's Labour's Lost," which he stages as a 1930s movie musical. For all of Branagh's Shakespearean bonafides, it's a bold move to have the Bard's words broken up by musical numbers set to the songs of George Gershwin, Jerome Kern, Cole Porter and others. However, this is one experiment that falls flat.

But first, for the uninitiated, here's the story in a nutshell. The King of Naverre (Alessandro Nivola) and his three buddies (Matthew Lillard, Adrian Lester and Branagh) agree to give up the company of women for three years to devote themselves to their studies. However, the French princess (Alicia Silverstone) shows up on a diplomatic mission with her attendants (Natasha McElhone, Carmen Ejogo and Emily Mortimer). As you might guess, various wackiness ensues before a bittersweet ending. The play is one of Shakespeare's early comedies that doesn't carry the weight or beauty of his later, more famous work.

The biggest problem with the film is that Branagh's concept requires such wildly different skill sets from his cast that none of them can do it all. So, despite the presence of a talented ensemble, nothing quite hangs together. The actors are either good at the poetry (Branagh, McElhone and the wonderful old pro Richard Briers) or the song and dance (Lester and Nathan Lane, who seems to be channeling all four Marx Brothers). And then there are the unfortunate few (namely, Silverstone and Lillard) who can handle neither. As a result, every scene seems strained as everyone on screen is trying too hard to reach out of their comfort zone to deliver something they may not have training in. And then there's the performance of Timothy Spall as Don Armado, who chews the scenery into tiny pieces.

But for all of that, it is still a lovely film to look at, thanks to the art direction of Mark Raggett, the costumes by Anna Buruma and Alex Thomson's excellent cinematography. There are even a few good directorial touches from Branagh. It's not quite enough to offset the problems with the acting, but it's still good to see a play from outside the usual cinematic Shakespearean canon on the big screen, even if most of the text has been cut.

Best Bit:
The best Shakespearean bit is Branagh's dynamite delivery of the "From women's eyes" soliloquy. The best musical bit is the Gene Kelly-ish sensuality and bravado of the "Let's Face the Music and Dance" number.

Side Note:
Shakespeare's ending to "Love's Labour's Lost" is notoriously inconclusive, which is something Branagh addresses with a montage showing what happened to the characters after the end of the story. However, many scholars now believe that this play is just the first part of the story, which was finished by Shakespeare in a play called "Love's Labour's Won" that is now lost to history.

Companion Viewing:
"Pennies From Heaven" (1981) and "Everybody Says I Love You" (1996).

Links:
IMDb.
The complete play.

Take a Look:
"I Won't Dance":


Branagh doing what he does best (by which I mean the soliloquizing, not the tap dancing):


Nathan Lane doing what he does best (by which I mean the Broadway-zing, not the soliloquizing):


"Let's Face the Music and Dance" (complete with Spanish subtitles):


Behind the scenes featurette:

Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band (1978).

The Scoop:
With Beatles Rockband coming out tomorrow, we're in the midst of another one of those periodic waves that flood our culture celebrating the Beatles' legacy. It is most definitely a legacy that deserves celebrating, but sometimes it's worth remembering that not every appropriation of the Beatles is a work of genius.

Take, for instance, this... thing. How was this ever a good idea? Pop stars of the '70s (including the Bee Gees, Peter Frampton and Earth, Wind & Fire) gather to cover Beatles songs and participate in some sort of plot cobbled together from references to Beatles lyrics. And the resulting film is even worse than the description sounds.

It was directed by Michael Schultz (who was also responsible for "Car Wash" and "Carbon Copy"), written by Henry Edwards (who had no other film credits after this) and the non-musical cast includes George Burns, Donald Pleasance, Sandy Farina and Steve Martin.

Despite an interesting touch or two (such as the inspired casting of Aerosmith as the evil enemy band), this is only good for unintentional laughs and not much else. Provided you can stomach the desecration of such great music.

Best Line:
"Could Billy survive 10,000 volts? It was a lot more than normally came through his guitar. Frankly, he was shocked. Stunned and unconscious, only the power of true love could revive the injured Billy."

Side Note:
The "Guests of Heartland" read like a who's who of the mid-1970s pop charts, including Leif Garrett, Jose Feliciano, Donovan, Yvonne Elliman, Rick Derringer, Seals and Crofts, Dr. John and dozens of others. Hidden in the crowd - and carefully omitted from the end credits - are George Harrison and Paul and Linda McCartney.

Companion Viewing:
"Xanadu" (1980) and "Across the Universe" (2007).

Links:
IMDb.
Fan site.
Trading cards!.
The history of the trumpet.

Take a Look:
The trailer:


Sandy Farina plays Strawberry Fields, singing "Strawberry Fields Forever":

Summer Rerun: 200 Motels (1971).

The busy minions at Desuko World HQ are taking a well-deserved summer vacation, so in the meantime, enjoy these favorite posts from the past. [Originally published Jan. 6, 2009]

The Scoop:
Part rock opera, part tour exposé, part vanity project, part absurdist theater, part experiemental music video -- Frank Zappa's "200 Motels" can be a tough nut to crack.

Zappa and the early-1970s version of his band, the Mothers of Invention, had an ongoing fascination with the life of a touring rock band. This fascination found its way into their music, and their shows became increasingly elaborate musical theater pieces full of songs, skits and jokes centered around sex, drugs and other outrageous behavior. It was all based on things they had done themselves, or on the stories that made the rounds among other groups. This exploration of the lifestyle finally culminated in "200 Motels."

Beneath all the madness and surrealism of the film, there is a plot of sorts -- Zappa (played by Ringo Starr) and the Mothers (who all play themselves) roll into the generic American town of Centerville looking for a good time. There, they cross paths with a pair of groupies (Janet Ferguson and Lucy Offerall), the devil (Theodore Bikel), a nun (Keith Moon) and a host of other strange characters.

Many of the situations come right from the Mothers' tour experiences, and much of the dialogue is based on transcripts of conversations captured by Zappa and his cassette recorder during downtime on the road. The result is surprisingly genuine, despited the intentionally stilted delivery of the troupe of non-actors and Zappa's notorious ironic detachment from his material.

Musically, the work here comes from one of Zappa's most fertile periods, and it finds following two different creative strands. With the Mothers, he creates some straight-ahead, powerful blues rock that would not sound out of place alongside the Allman Brothers, Zeppelin or even Sabbath. These songs are interspersed with FZ's more experimental compositions, performed by the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra. These pieces represent a turning point in his avant garde career, both looking back to the studio-bound "sound sculptures" of his early albums and also foreshadowing the orchestral work he would do in earnest a decade later.

For Zappa neophytes, "200 Motels" (both the film and the soundtrack album) is probably not the best introduction to the man's work. But for fans it is essential and rewards close, repeated viewings.

Best Line:
"The fuckin' devil's got an English accent. I seen him three weeks ago on TV. So you know, you can just take this big needle here and hang it in your ass as far as I'm concerned!"

Side Note:
Offerall and Pamela Miller (who plays the Interviewer) were members of the GTO's (Girls Together Outrageously), a groupie collective/performance art troupe/singing group whose music was produced by Zappa. Miller would go on to become Pamela Des Barres, author of the infamous memoir "I'm With the Band."

Companion Viewing:
"Head" (1968).

Links:
IMDb.
Understanding 200 Motels.

Take a Look:
The trailer:


Welcome to Centerville (a real nice place to raise your kids up)!


Jimmy Carl Black (the Indian of the group) performs "Lonesome Cowboy Burt":

Derailroaded: Inside the Mind of Larry "Wild Man" Fischer (2004).

The Scoop:
If you haven’t become acquainted with Larry “Wild Man” Fischer, this is an excellent opportunity to do so.

Fischer was born with the double whammy of manic depression and paranoid schizophrenia, but buried inside that troubled mind is a strongly melodic musical sensibility. After an adolescence filled with family troubles and a stay in a mental institution, Larry found himself on the streets of Hollywood in the mid-1960s, where he survived by offering his songs – frenzied, a cappella outbursts of childlike enthusiasm mixed with the pathos of his life story – to passersby for a dime. He was found and befriended by Frank Zappa, who helped corral Fischer’s chaotic musical (and personal) energy for his memorable, if not always listenable, 1968 debut album, “An Evening With Larry ‘Wild Man’ Fischer.” After falling out with Zappa, the Wild Man continued his music career through partnerships with Rhino Records and Barnes & Barnes, punctuated by troubled interpersonal relationships and a growing cult of fans.

This documentary, by Josh Rubin and Jeremy Lubin, covers all this rich history, following the 60-year-old Fischer through his transient daily life as he tells stories, makes up songs, spins his paranoid theories and occasionally acts out. There are also revealing interviews with Wild Man acquaintances and fans, such as Mark Mothersbaugh, Billy Mumy and Robert Haimer of Barnes & Barnes, Dr. Demento, Weird Al Yankovic, Irwin Chusid and Gail Zappa.

Listening to Fischer’s music can be a difficult experience. Even those songs with professional backing sound raw, primal and disturbing. But they can also be fun and catchy; once you get one in your head, you’ll be humming it for days.

And therein lies the trouble, not just in considering Fischer, but also other mentally ill songwriters like Daniel Johnston, Roky Erickson or Wesley Willis. How much are fans and collaborators supporting the efforts of talented (although troubled) musicians, or how much are they simply exploiting the talents of people who can’t otherwise look out for themselves? And how much of their musical talent is merely a manifestation of untreated mental illness?

These are questions with no easy answers, and ones which Rubin and Lubin mostly choose to ignore. “Derailroaded” is a fascinating look at the inner workings of a talented, but very difficult man. But any insights into the larger questions will have to wait for another time.

Best Bit:
Wild Man's two performances of the title song. When he sings it on the beach at the beginning of the film, it comes off as just a fun, catchy little earworm. But when we see him do it again in concert near the end, it becomes something more, a desperate cry of pain from someone who has no tools to articulate it properly.

Side Note:
Because of his split with Zappa (allegedly prompted by Fischer throwing a glass bottle at then-infant Moon Unit), his debut album has not been re-released on any format since 1968. If you want to hear it, you have to either spend big bucks on eBay, or hunt it down on a torrent site.

Companion Viewing:
"The Devil and Daniel Johnston" (2005) and "You're Gonna Miss Me" (2005).

Links:
IMDb.
Official site.
eFilmCritic interview.
The Wild Man discography.

Take a Look:
The strange four-way conspiracy between Wild Man, Weird Al, Dr. Demento and Barnes & Barnes, that exists only in Larry's mind:


"Merry Go Round," Fischer's biggest hit:

Puttin' on the Ritz (1930).

The Scoop:
This dreary, stagy backstage musical chronicles the life of a vaudeville singer (played by real life vaudeville star Harry Richman) who hits the big time, forgets the little people who helped him, then eventually goes blind after drinking bad alcohol. Oh dear god, will the melodrama never stop?

Richman isn't a bad singer, although his style, typical of the vaudeville stage at the time, seems a little foreign to modern ears. His acting is a little over the top, though. But his costars -- including Joan Bennett and James Gleason -- hold their own better. The film was directed by Edward Sloman and the story was supplied by John W. Considine Jr., with the script by William K. Wells and Gleason.

Released during the depths the Great Depression, this surely did nothing to cheer up its audiences. Even the greatness of Irving Berlin's title song can't help it, although it was the first in a long line of films to use it. But at least the '30s slang is really goofy.

Best Line:
"Yer lettin' a society dame make a chump outta ya!"

Side Note:
Richman tried to create a movie career for himself with this film -- obviously, it didn't work. He only starred in two other movies. Unimaginatively enough, every character he played was named Harry.

Companion Viewing:
"Comet Over Broadway" (1938).

Links:
IMDb.

Take a Look:
In one of the few peppy moments of the film, Richman performs the title tune:

Purple Rain (1984).

The Scoop:
It's hard to tell who should get top billing for this film -- Prince or his momumental ego.

In this excessively transparent vanity project, The Artist Then Still Known as Prince plays "The Kid," a Minnesota rocker on the rise. All the co-stars (including Morris Day, Apollonia and most of the rest of Prince's extended entourage) pretty much play themselves. It's supposed to have some basis in Prince's real life rise to fame, but that's probably pretty tenuous at best. The situations are full of age-old entertainment biopic clichés, and quite frankly, Prince's character comes off as a major asshole. (Then again, that last part might be entirely true.)

But the plot is beside the point anyway; "Purple Rain" is all about the music, and it features one of the best soundtracks albums out there. Besides the title track, there's "When Doves Cry," "Let's Go Crazy," "I Would Die 4 U" -- it's a virtual greatest hits album. And the versions used in the film were all recorded live, giving them an urgency that could only be supplied by Prince and the Revolution at their creative peak.

There may be a lot of creaky backstage melodrama and Prince-puffery to wade through, but at least there's great wall-to-wall music and those kooky '80s fashions to keep you occupied. "Purple Rain" is a classic in its own idiosyncratic way.

Best Bit:
The oh-so-wacky "What's the password" bit. Come to think of it, that's probably the worst bit, too.

Side Note:
The symbol painted on the side of the gas tank on Prince's motorcycle is actually an early version of his "unpronounceable symbol" name.

Companion Viewing:
"Krush Groove" (1985).

Links:
IMDb.
The screenplay.
The '80s Movie Rewind.

Take a Look:
The trailer:


Who's on first?

Celebration at Big Sur (1971).

The Scoop:
"Celebration at Big Sur" is another one of those rock festival documentaries that came in waves in the late 1960s and early 1970s. But it is one of the better ones, and definitely worth a look.

This film, much like the concert it chronicles, is a sort of mini-Woodstock. The bill featured a lot of the same music (although strictly focused on folk rock this time around), many of the same performers, and the same peace-and-love vibe. The film, too, carries a similar aesthetic as the "Woodstock" film. There are also several moments in the Big Sur festival (and film) that are conscious, or maybe not-so-conscious, looks back at that weekend at Yasgur's farm.

From 1964 to 1971, the Esalen Institute at Big Sur hosted an annual music festival, which drew the luminaries of the folk rock world. This film chronicles the sixth festival, held on Sept. 13-14, 1969, just a month after Woodstock. There are great performances from the likes of Joan Baez, John Sebastian, Crosby Stills & Nash, and Joni Mitchell, as well as scenic shots of the beautiful Northern California coast.

The relatively small size of the crowd, coupled with the fact that the musicians all perform next to a swimming pool, gives the concert the feel of a backyard party. It is this intimacy in particular that sets "Celebration at Big Sur" apart from the other hippie festival flicks, which all feature the performers onstage towering above crowds of thousands of kids.

This rarity, still sadly unavailable on DVD, is worth the effort of tracking down.

Best Bit:
Neil Young dropping in on his buddies Crosby Stills & Nash for a show-stopping version of "Down By the River."

Side Note:
This concert featured Joni Mitchell's public debut of her song "Woodstock," which was later popularized by Crosby Stills & Nash.

Companion Viewing:
"Woodstock" (1970).

Links:
IMDb.
Big Sur Festival, 1964-1971.

Take a Look:
Down by the deep end of the pool... er, I mean "Down by the River":


Joni Mitchell performs "Woodstock":


Joni and friends belt out that hippie chestnut, "Get Together":

Rock Around the Clock (1956).

The Scoop:
Rock 'n' roll music helped gain its legitimacy with this film, the first-ever rock 'n' roll movie. Bill Haley and the Comets play themselves in a story chronicling a small-town band with a new sound on its way to success. (The story, of course, had nothing at all to do with the band's real career path, but that's beside the point.)

There's plenty of music, provided not only by the Comets, but also by the Platters, Tony Martinez, and Freddie Bell and his Bellboys. Pioneering deejay Alan Freed is also along for the ride. The non-musical parts of the film (written pseudonymously by Robert E. Kent, directed by Fred F. Sears and starring Johnny Johnston, and Alix Talton) is strictly routine. But it is at least executed competently and doesn't drag the film down.

The box office success of this film launched the wave of '50s rock films, and it's still one of the best, filled with great music and great dancing.

Best Line:
Visitor: "Hey sister, what do you call that exercise you're getting?" / Dancing Girl: "It's rock 'n' roll, brother, and we're rockin' tonight!"

Side Note:
Although this was the first rock 'n' roll film, it was actually the second to feature a rock 'n' roll song on its soundtrack. The first was "Blackboard Jungle" (1955) whose opening credit theme was, of course, "Rock Around the Clock." It was delirious reaction to that film by teen audiences that helped get this film made.

Companion Viewing:
The whole wave of '50s rock 'n' roll films, including "Mister Rock and Roll" (1957), "Go, Johnny, Go!" (1958) and "Rock Rock Rock" (1956).

Links:
IMDb.
Hollywood Teen Movies.
Haley's Rock 'n' Roll Hall of Fame page.

Take a Look:
The trailer:

Find more videos like this on www.truveo.com.

Bill Haley and the Comets are discovered while performing "See You Later Alligator":


Freddie Bell and the Bellboys do "Giddy Up a Ding Dong":

Listening to You: The Who at the Isle of Wight (1970).

The Scoop:
A critic once said that watching Pete Townshend play the opening notes of "Pinball Wizard" was like watching John Hancock sign his name. But forget a simple autograph -- with this performance, Townshend and his bandmates wrote their manifesto.

The Who made the rounds of all the big rock festivals of the late '60s and early '70s, even turning up elsewhere on film with memorable performances in "Woodstock" and "Monterey Pop." But it's at the Isle of Wight where Townshend, Roger Daltrey, John Entwistle and Keith Moon hit their collective peak. Caught between the epic reach of 1969's "Tommy" and the power of 1971's "Who's Next," the band rips through a muscular set of early material, covers of '50s rockers and a mostly-full rendition of "Tommy."

It is brilliant, powerful, melodic stuff that could be used as a how-to guide on being a rock band.

What's more, producer/director Murray Lerner and his crew do the music justice by capturing the spirit of the performance without imposing themselves on the material. You just get The Who, unfiltered, which is what a good concert film should be.

Best Bit:
"Shakin' All Over" (originally by Johnny Kidd and the Pirates) is a barnburner to begin with, and it gets a fierce treatment here.

Side Note:
Lerner's filmography is kind of thin outside of various Isle of Wight Festival movies, but he did win an Oscar for Best Documentary Feature for "From Mao to Mozart: Isaac Stern in China" (1981).

Companion Viewing:
"Woodstock:" (1969) and "Jimi Hendrix at the Isle of Wight" (1991).

Links:
IMDb.
Isle of Wight Festival.

Take a Look:
"Young Man Blues":


"Substitute":


The finale of "Tommy":

200 Motels (1971).

The Scoop:
Part rock opera, part tour exposé, part vanity project, part absurdist theater, part experiemental music video -- Frank Zappa's "200 Motels" can be a tough nut to crack.

Zappa and the early-1970s version of his band, the Mothers of Invention, had an ongoing fascination with the life of a touring rock band. This fascination found its way into their music, and their shows became increasingly elaborate musical theater pieces full of songs, skits and jokes centered around sex, drugs and other outrageous behavior. It was all based on things they had done themselves, or on the stories that made the rounds among other groups. This exploration of the lifestyle finally culminated in "200 Motels."

Beneath all the madness and surrealism of the film, there is a plot of sorts -- Zappa (played by Ringo Starr) and the Mothers (who all play themselves) roll into the generic American town of Centerville looking for a good time. There, they cross paths with a pair of groupies (Janet Ferguson and Lucy Offerall), the devil (Theodore Bikel), a nun (Keith Moon) and a host of other strange characters.

Many of the situations come right from the Mothers' tour experiences, and much of the dialogue is based on transcripts of conversations captured by Zappa and his cassette recorder during downtime on the road. The result is surprisingly genuine, despited the intentionally stilted delivery of the troupe of non-actors and Zappa's notorious ironic detachment from his material.

Musically, the work here comes from one of Zappa's most fertile periods, and it finds following two different creative strands. With the Mothers, he creates some straight-ahead, powerful blues rock that would not sound out of place alongside the Allman Brothers, Zeppelin or even Sabbath. These songs are interspersed with FZ's more experimental compositions, performed by the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra. These pieces represent a turning point in his avant garde career, both looking back to the studio-bound "sound sculptures" of his early albums and also foreshadowing the orchestral work he would do in earnest a decade later.

For Zappa neophytes, "200 Motels" (both the film and the soundtrack album) is probably not the best introduction to the man's work. But for fans it is essential and rewards close, repeated viewings.

Best Line:
"The fuckin' devil's got an English accent. I seen him three weeks ago on TV. So you know, you can just take this big needle here and hang it in your ass as far as I'm concerned!"

Side Note:
Offerall and Pamela Miller (who plays the Interviewer) were members of the GTO's (Girls Together Outrageously), a groupie collective/performance art troupe/singing group whose music was produced by Zappa. Miller would go on to become Pamela Des Barres, author of the infamous memoir "I'm With the Band."

Companion Viewing:
"Head" (1968).

Links:
IMDb.
Understanding 200 Motels.

Take a Look:
The trailer:


Welcome to Centerville (a real nice place to raise your kids up)!


Jimmy Carl Black (the Indian of the group) performs "Lonesome Cowboy Burt":

Moulin Rouge! (2001).

The Scoop:
Just look at those happy, cloying faces. So full of happiness and song, so eager to keep you entertained...

Baz Luhrmann's extravagant, self-aggrandizing, over-the-top redefinition of the movie musical is a stunning, landmark achievement despite its narrative shortcomings. Despite having an overlong running time and getting mired down in its tedious, melodramatic love story in its latter half, "Moulin Rouge!" (yes, the exclamation point is an essential part of the title) works best as a summation and celebration of all the popular music and culture of the last century. Set at the turn of the 20th century and using all the flash, glamour and storytelling magic of the turn of the 21st century, the narrative is propelled by a fascinating potpourri of music, in which hard rock, showtunes, jazz and opera are blended together seamlessly. It is as if Busby Berkeley, Rodgers and Hammerstein, and Nirvana all came together in a gloriously campy fever dream. (In fact, the soundtrack features vocal contributions from both Placido Domingo and Ozzy Osbourne.)

The story, such as it is, concerns the growing love triangle between sensitive poet Christian (Ewan MacGregor), cabaret performer Satine (Nicole Kidman) and the diabolic Duke (Richard Roxburgh). It takes place in and around the titular nightclub, the turn of the century Paris hotspot popularized by the art of Henri Toulouse-Lautrec (played here by John Leguizamo on his knees). The cast, not to mention the seemingly endless parade of extras, all are in fine voice and give fun, high-energy performances, but it is Jim Broadbent who tops them all as Harold Zidler, the ringmaster of the club's exuberant extravagance.

The film's billing as "a sensual ravishment" is an apt description -- especially in the sense that "ravishment" is a polite euphemism for "rape." Luhrmann fully crystalizes the vision he had shown earlier glimpses of in "Swing Kids" and "William Shakespeare's Romeo + Juliet" by assaulting the viewers with a kaleidescope of color, sound, editing and exuberance that is truly breathtaking. When it works, as in the first half of the film, particularly during Christian and friends' first visit to the nightclub, it is a knockout, a stunning work of genius. But as the paper-thin story begins to stray from that light-heartedness and into the turgid dramatics of the play-within-the-movie and the love triangle, the approach becomes both sappy and overbearing.

In spite of its problems, though, "Moulin Rouge!" remains a must-see film. Not only is it entertaining, but it also revived the art of the movie musical and its visual style has influenced the "baroque cabaret" styles of fashion and pop music that have persisted throughout the decade.

Best Bit:
It's a toss-up between Broadbent singing "Like a Virgin" and Kylie Minogue popping up as the green absinthe fairy.

Side Note:
During the shoot, Nicole Kidman broke two ribs and twisted a knee in one of the dance sequences. In many of the shots that wound up in the finished film, she performed in a wheelchair.

Companion Viewing:
"Moulin Rouge" (1952), "42nd Street" (1933), "Singin' in the Rain" (1952), "American Pop" (1981) and any number of Panic at the Disco music videos.

Links:
IMDb.
Hollywood Teen Movies.
LazyDork's "Moulin Rouge" Drinking Game.

Take a Look:
The trailer:


Ewan MacGregor sweeps all the ladies off their feet with "Your Song":


The "Roxanne" tango:

Let's Rock (1958).

The Scoop:
This is a rock 'n' roll movie? Uh.... I think not. Instead, the film perfectly encapsulates that bland post-Elvis, pre-Beatles period in pop music when everything on the charts was saccharine-coated and aimed at pleasing the parents, not the kids.

"Let's Rock" follows boring balladeer Tony Adane (Julius LaRosa) as he tries to stay true to his "art" by resisting the shift to rock 'n' roll, only to eventually give in at the end and get the girl (Phyllis Newman). In short, strictly by-the-numbers work from writer Hal Hackady and director Harry Foster. That's fairly par for the course in these early rock 'n' roll movies, which get their strength on the backs of their musical performances. These films were merely meant to showcase the recording artists -- any plot we might get is purely incidental.

However, the examples of "rock 'n' roll" on display here (performed by Paul Anka and the like) aren't much different than Tony's tunes. In fact, the rockingest song in the film is the innocuous "At the Hop," performed by Danny and Juniors. The only reason to even consider watching this, besides the appearances by the young Wink Martindale and Della Reese, is the ongoing (purely unintentional but amusing) homoerotic subtext between Tony and his "entourage."

Best Bit:
The weird dancing kids in the park.

Side Note:
Reese didn't appear on screen again for another 11 years, when she hosted her own TV series, "Della," starting in 1969, and didn't make another film until "Psychic Killer" in 1975.

Companion Viewing:
All the better early rock 'n' roll films.

Links:
IMDb.

Take a Look:
Here's a totally low-tech clip of Reese singing "Lovelyville":

When We Were Kings (1996).

The Scoop:
In our UFC/mixed martial arts age, boxing -- with its big padded gloves and strict limitations on engagement -- seems positively quaint. At the height of its popularity, boxing was the gladatorial spectacle of its day and although it was cloaked in the "sweet science" rhapsodizing of the writers who covered it, the level of violence (tame by today's standards) was enough to keep critics aghast.

What also seems quaint is the celebrity of Muhammad Ali, particularly the way he used his fame toward political and social ends rather than commercial ones. Few modern athletes can hope to reach his global appeal, and those who do (such as Michael Jordan or Tiger Woods) seem more interested in selling products than supporting causes. Commerce has trumped conscience, and now even the slightest his of an opinion on a controversial topic is considered career poison.

All of which makes Leon Gast's fine documentary "When We Were Kings" feel like a trip through a time machine. And what a revelatory, eye-opening trip it is. Gast set out to simply document Ali's 1974 bout against reigning heavyweight champion George Foreman in Zaire -- dubbed "The Rumble in the Jungle" by exuberant promotor Don King -- but instead happened upon one of the great socio-political crucibles of the 1970s.

Ali's outsized charisma and outspoken views on American race relations turned out to electrify the people of Zaire (now known as the Democratic Republic of the Congo) and capture the imagination of dictator Mobutu Sese Seko, who used his influence to bring the fight to his country. When Foreman was injured in practice, forcing the postponement of the bout, it just gave Ali that much more time to win over the people of Zaire.

Along with the fight, King also organized a music festival, featuring standout performances by James Brown, Miriam Makeba, B.B. King, the Spinners and other acts. Gast captured these performances with the same eye for nuance and personality that he brings to bear on Ali's and Foreman's fight preparations, as well as on glimpses of everyday life in Zaire.

Taking advantage of the 22-year delay between production and distribution (courtesy of legal squabbles with the film's Liberian investors), Gast couples all this terrific footage with thoughtful interviews with observers like Norman Mailer, George Plimpton and Spike Lee who help put the events into historical context.

It all adds up to a must-see film, even for those who do not consider themselves boxing fans, or even sports fans. "When We Were Kings" is a powerful history lesson that has much to teach 21st century viewers.

Best Bit:
Norman Mailer doing his Ali impression.

Side Note:
Although the film revealed deep personal animosity between Foreman and Ali, they eventually became good friends. When the film won the Academy Award for Best Documentary, the two came onstage together to accept the award.

Companion Viewing:
"Ali" (2001) and "Hoop Dreams" (1994).

Links:
IMDb.
Salon.

Take a Look:
James Brown brings the soul:


Mailer and Plimpton break down the fight: