Ants in my leather pants. — 23 weeks ago
I tried my absolute damndest not to let my huge music geek sensibility affect my opinion of this movie. Granted, Lou Barlow (who, in my opinion, is the sexiest living thing in indie rock in the last 20 years and is the one third of Dinosaur Jr. that doesn’t actually resemble, well, a dinosaur) and Daniel Lanois make cool appearances, but even with all the rock cred it has going for it- said cameos, the in-house band in the film doing covers by Sparklehorse, a rad soundtrack featuring Mercury Rev, Roxy Music and Serge Gainsbourg- Laurel Canyon can’t be saved from its weak plot and trite sexual cliches.
Oh, man!! The girlfriend is smoking a joint now!! Holy shit, dude!! She just made out with that lady!!
This film tries to ride on the tired assertion that rock ‘n’ roll can make anyone, even the incredibly, incredibly frigid Kate Beckinsale, who is ice-cold and blank even in the midst of a heated sexual tryst- drop their panties and give in to its seductive ways.
Did I mention Kate Beckinsale is frigid? I find her presence to border on the unbearable in every film I’ve seen her. She manages to suck the life out of every scene she’s in. Perhaps American Psycho is still fresh in my memory, but I also found Christian Bale to be a brick wall on screen, the only thing coming through being his undercurrent of sexual desire.
Bottom line: everyone in this film is HORNY!!! That’s what you need to know. That’s all just about everyone in this film seems to exhibit! Loin warmth. However, there exists a beacon of light in the form of one Frances McDormand. She is the only person in this film who managed to convey a wealth of human emotions, in addition to said horniness. She is, as always, a joy to watch.
This movie doesn’t do much for the plight of the sensitive rock star. I’m going to go listen to some Sebadoh love ballads now.
