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A band by any other name: Circus Monkey... or The Breakfast Club?I suppose that at some point I'm going to have to get around to mentioning this, so it might as well be now: I, myself, am in a band. Me, a grown man who, if my mother is to be believed, could have a high-paying real job by now. This band that I'm in has toured the United States twice, once for seven weeks and once for four, and will embark on a third tour (this time for eight weeks) a scant week after you read this. I suspect that this is the reason that I, rather than some more seasoned film reviewer, have been called upon to give my opinion of Bandwagon, a film that purports to deliver a slice-of-life portrait of a typical struggling indie-rock band. Does it ring true? Is that what it's really like out there on the road, man? Or, as I prefer to frame the question: Is this a genuine, from-the-heart look at one of the most bizarre of human endeavors or simply a cynical, exploitative attempt to cash in on the steadily increasing slacker market, à la Singles? Well, Bandwagon isn't Singles. It may, however, be The Breakfast Club. The film chronicles the formation, first performances and first tour of a fictional band from Raleigh, N.C., called Circus Monkey. Flaky, naive drummer Charlie Flagg (played with logorrheic stoner authenticity by newcomer Matthew Hennessey) notices that guys in bands get girls. (Truth Check No. 1: Not the drummer. Sorry, Charlie.) He hooks up with introverted singer-songwriter Tony Ridge (Lee Holmes), an artiste so neurotic that he hides in a closet while practicing with his band. Soon this pair is joined by spaced-out loner guitarist Wynn Knapp (Kevin Corrigan from Trees Lounge) and tough-guy bass player Eric Ellwood (Steve Parlavecchio from Amongst Friends). After a disastrous first performance, the foursome get a spot opening for a national touring act (Truth Check No. 2: For their second-ever gig? Yeah, right), where they wow the crowd and realize that they've stumbled onto something magical. A famous manager likes what he sees, they record a single and hit the road, and the rest, as they say, is history. Pretty sneaky on the part of first-time feature director John Schultz. I'll lay you dollars to doughnuts (not the odds it used to be, I'll admit) that Schultz got his backing for this film using a treatment that looked a lot like the description above--a seemingly lovable, treacly, cliché-ridden piece of crap not unlike the youth-market cash cow The Breakfast Club. Investors love plots like this: The (implied) stoner, the introvert, the bad boy, the space case. Together, they all learn a lot about themselves and each other. The End. Thank God that's not the movie Schultz has made. Though the plot is hackneyed, the attention to detail in character and circumstance keeps Bandwagon from being just so much more trite pap for the mall crowd. The characters are essentially stereotypes, but they're well-drawn ones. Charlie (who, in time-honored movie-stoner tradition, is never actually shown firing up the bowl) could be going around saying things like, "Did you ever really get into your hand, man?" Instead, he's saying things like, "The universe is expanding, and that means that you're expanding, too! Like this sweater is twice as big as it was a year ago, but you don't notice because you've gotten bigger, too. I saw this documentary about dinosaurs, and they were probably only about the size of bugs!" I can't do his character justice in print, but believe me, I know people who say things like this. (I hope for your sake that you don't.) Schultz is not Bergman subtle, but for an indie-rock comedy, Bandwagon maintains a reasonably light touch. For instance, you're well into the movie before you notice that all of Tony's songs seem to have the name "Ann" in the title. When the singer is questioned on the subject, his defensive seriousness is overplayed enough to be a cute jab at the hypersensitive, obsessive artist type we've all encountered. Most of the touring stuff is also pretty accurate--the fights, the equipment problems, the van breaking down, etc. But probably the most impressive achievement in this regard is the evocation of the touring psychosis, during which things that make no sense at all in the real world somehow come to seem perfectly rational after a few weeks in a van. Schultz does not merely present this, he manages to show the viewer what drives one to it. Let me close with this exchange between Wynn and manager Linus Tate (Doug MacMillan): Wynn: How far is it to Jackson? Linus: Eight hundred and ten miles. Wynn: How much are we getting paid? Linus: Sixty bucks. (Truth Check No. 3: Oh, man, don't even remind me.) |
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