On paper, the idea of pairing of visionary music video director Floria Sigismondi with the story of all girl rockers The Runaways seems like a match made in heaven. Sigismondi, who rose to fame directing “Beautiful People” for Marilyn Manson, went on to work with a dream list of artists creating alluring works for the likes of Sigur Ros, Bjork, The White Stripes, David Bowie and more. But with her script that hitting all the familiar notes of every rock biopic you’ve seen before, crippled by a low-budget and seemingly out of her depth, Sigismondi never gets the chance to put her signature on her feature film debut.
The film opens with a closeup on a drop of menstrual blood hitting the ground, seeming to promise a film that will tie in coming-of-age, sexual awakening and rock ‘n roll all into one package. But that one shot is about as far as the film gets thematically (or creatively for that matter) as from there on in, the picture is strictly bound by genre conventions.
The opening half hour or so of the film is particularly clunky as it navigates the pre-band days of of Cherie Currie (Dakota Fanning) and Joan Jett (Kristen Stewart). Though the film is based on the memoir “Neon Angel” by Currie, Sigismondi tries to give us thorough backgrounds on both Currie and Jett. While learn of Currie’s selfish mother, her alcoholic father and her bond with her older sister, all we can surmise from Jett is that she’s from a broken home and wants to rock. But as the ambition for the band is all hers, it sets up a wildly uneven film where we know very little about the driving force behind the band and almost too much about someone who from day one is more or less just along for the ride.
Thankfully, the film begins coming to life once Jett introduces herself to the Runaways future manager and svengali Kim Fowley (Michael Shannon) one night at Rodney Bingenheimer’s disco. Impressed by her look and attitude, Fowley begins putting the pieces into place, recruiting “genuine jailbait” to join the rock band. What should be one of the most interesting parts of the movie, is actually quite dull. Fowley extols the obvious points that sex sells and guys rock out with their cocks out and bullies the girls into becoming a well-oiled rock ‘n roll machine with attitude to spare. But, we’re not really given a look at how Fowley actually pushes their music on to the radio, how they become popular enough to tour such far flung places as Japan or what the media perception of the group is.
In fact, one of the film’s biggest missed opportunities is simply putting The Runaways in the context of their era. There is virtually no mention of other bands (perhaps other than Jett making a Sex Pistols t-shirt) or how they fit in (or didn’t) into the punk rock scene they were inevitably lumped into. Anyhow, the second half of the film basically tracks the band’s ascension and decline (as drugs come into the picture), and as Fowley continues to exploit them for his own personal gain.
But the most striking disappointment about the film is Sigismondi’s virtual anonymity behind the camera. We can only imagine that budget limitations made shooting the period film a bit of nightmare as Sigismondi seems to have shot most of the film in closeups. We very rarely get a look at the spaces the characters are standing in, whether it’s Rodney Bingenheimer’s disco, the clubs they’re playing in or the hotels they’re staying it]n. But worse, outside of the musical performances which are quite electric, there is no energy to any of the scenes except for what the actors bring to them, but thankfully, the cast is up to the task.
While bloggers and movie writers have been sniggering for months about the casting of Kristen Stewart and Dakota Fanning, the truth is that they both put in strong work. Stewart in particular is quite good as Jett, really keying into the musician’s endless, nervous energy. Fanning puts her childhood roles behind her as well fully embodying Currie’s budding sexuality as it transmits itself through the group’s live performances. But the star of the show, as expected, is Michael Shannon. His scene-stealing, scenery chewing Kim Fowley makes the film bristle with energy every moment he’s on screen. Shannon nails the line between charming and disgusting Fowley seemed to ride with considerable ease and panache to spare.
Yet, despite the strong performances from the cast which keep things from deflating completely, “The Runaways” is a strangely unengaging film. Sigismondi fails to really capture the dangerous allure of punk rock, how it marked a determined change from the fading disco era and most importantly, what it really meant for all-girl group to be playing on traditionally boys-only turf. [C+]