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The Runaways (2010)
Apr. 15th, 2010 08:30 amThis movie made me sad, and not just because it's a sad biopic about a young girl from a dysfunctional family who was chewed up and spat out by the music industry. It made me sad because it reminded me of my best friend in junior high and high school, Reid, who wore platform shoes and colored sunglasses and ostentatious rings and did his best to act like a rock'n'roll badass in the backwater city that is Salem, Oregon in the mid-'70s. He was a musician and composer and was so good on the piano that he earned the grudging respect of our classmates, along with their contempt and ridicule. They called him Elton Reid, because he loved Elton John. He was always in trouble with the school administration, always in trouble with his parents (his father was a judge), and he and I got arrested twice -- once for egging the house of a girl we thought was cute, and once for shoplifting science fiction paperbacks and rock albums. He'll never get a cheesy biopic made about him. He was just another talented guy going through a hellish adolescence who ended up supporting a family working 9 to 5.
It made me sad because it reminded me that I was in my mid-20s before I tried to reinvent myself as a cool rocker punk dude, and reminded me of all the insecurity and unhappiness behind that attempt, and how I wanted to stand out, be recognized, be somebody, and ended up just another confused face in the crowd -- "It's easy to see that you are one of us/Ain't it funny how we all seem to look the same?" How many stupid things I did to try to have a good time (mostly involving drugs of various kinds), how many good times were had, how little ground was gained through it, how distant it all seems now. How I'll never again go home with Robyn after a hard night of exhilarating slamming on a concrete floor in front of a tiny stage. How fraught with unhappiness and confusion even going home with Robyn always was.
It made me sad because it reminded me of another best friend, Tami, who loved Joan Jett, who was the member of the Runaways who didn't get chewed up and spat out by the music industry. I always thought Joan Jett's music was total cheese, but Tami thought she was the bomb and made me see it too. We saw Joan play Rckcndy with the Gits after Mia Zapata was murdered, raising money to pay for a private detective to investigate the murder. They called themselves Evil Stig for the night. I'll always remember Joan Jett reading the lyrics from Mia's notebooks, as they stumbled through ferocious versions of the songs. I'll always remember the air of anger and intensity and amazement of that show. Joan Jett earned major respect from me for doing that. Only this morning I remembered that after the show Tami somehow got us onto Joan Jett's tour bus out in the parking lot. I can't remember if we saw Joan Jett herself. I felt out of place and uncomfortable and just wanted to get the hell out of there. And these memories are sad because Tami and I ended up heading in different directions and that friendship has been stone cold dead for five years.
So this isn't very much about the movie, which is an average biopic with good music and a couple of good acting performances. It starts in 1975, and I have memories.
It made me sad because it reminded me that I was in my mid-20s before I tried to reinvent myself as a cool rocker punk dude, and reminded me of all the insecurity and unhappiness behind that attempt, and how I wanted to stand out, be recognized, be somebody, and ended up just another confused face in the crowd -- "It's easy to see that you are one of us/Ain't it funny how we all seem to look the same?" How many stupid things I did to try to have a good time (mostly involving drugs of various kinds), how many good times were had, how little ground was gained through it, how distant it all seems now. How I'll never again go home with Robyn after a hard night of exhilarating slamming on a concrete floor in front of a tiny stage. How fraught with unhappiness and confusion even going home with Robyn always was.
It made me sad because it reminded me of another best friend, Tami, who loved Joan Jett, who was the member of the Runaways who didn't get chewed up and spat out by the music industry. I always thought Joan Jett's music was total cheese, but Tami thought she was the bomb and made me see it too. We saw Joan play Rckcndy with the Gits after Mia Zapata was murdered, raising money to pay for a private detective to investigate the murder. They called themselves Evil Stig for the night. I'll always remember Joan Jett reading the lyrics from Mia's notebooks, as they stumbled through ferocious versions of the songs. I'll always remember the air of anger and intensity and amazement of that show. Joan Jett earned major respect from me for doing that. Only this morning I remembered that after the show Tami somehow got us onto Joan Jett's tour bus out in the parking lot. I can't remember if we saw Joan Jett herself. I felt out of place and uncomfortable and just wanted to get the hell out of there. And these memories are sad because Tami and I ended up heading in different directions and that friendship has been stone cold dead for five years.
So this isn't very much about the movie, which is an average biopic with good music and a couple of good acting performances. It starts in 1975, and I have memories.
