The Runaways (review)
The Runaways (USA 2010, 106 min, dir: Floria Sigismondi, cast: Dakota Fanning, Kristen Stewart, Scout Taylor-Compton, Michael Shannon).
When the great history of rock is written it will be a two volume boxed set with the history of sex. The two are both inspired by the same primitive African rhythms. Louisiana Cajun settlers banned blacks from dancing to a song they called Les Haricots because the beat was too suggestive of fucking. A century later the phrase “les haricots” was corrupted and shortened to “zericots” and then “zydeco.” And with that name an early form of rock and roll evolved.
What better film subject than an all girl band struggling with music, drugs, alcohol, cigarettes, lesbian love and growing up poor in the San Fernando Valley. You can’t make a bad movie of this even though Floria Sigimondi’s style seems oddly detached from the emotionalism crying to be seen.
Even though Joan Jett prints her own Sex Pistols tee shirt, there is no nudity, penetration, and damn little masturbation in The Runaways. Too bad, it could have been a musical debauch.
Despite this lack, the story of an all girl band making it in the 70s is always interesting. And the rise from trailer trash to primo stash is fascinating. Joan Jett (Kristen Stewart) is brooding, pensive and bound for stardom far beyond anyone’s dreams. Cherie Currie (Dakota Fanning) is brilliant at being doomed.
The one guy who makes a difference in this movie is Kim (Michael Shannon) the manager who will steal for you and steal from you. But without him the Runaways would never have made it; or at least that is what the film suggests.
The best thing director Sigimondi does is let them play the music (her directing background is music videos). When the band jams, the power of their sound makes up for a lot of script shortcomings and pushes a sound that made them stars.
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