Authentic recreations of any particular music movement are always a
potential minefield, but capturing the counter-culture allure of punk rock is
especially difficult. The claws have been out for
CBGB almost since the
day it was first announced, mostly from punk veterans who remember the famous
New York night club as ground zero, giving rise to rock legends like The
Ramones, Debbie Harry, Television, and Iggy Pop. And while there may be a few
twinges of nostalgia for those who grew up during the punk boom of the 1970s
and '80s, there's very little rockin' goin' on at the CBGB, and those
unfamiliar with it will wonder what the fuss is all about.
The film's biggest draw and glaring curse has been the random cast assembled
to play celebrated musical icons, like Rupert Grint and Justin Bartha sporting
dog collars as members of The Dead Boys; Malin Akerman as Debbie Harry, and
lanky
Avatar
geek Joel David Moore as Joey Ramone. With the exception of Akerman,
who nails Harry's magnetism and energy perfectly, the rest come off as pale
caricatures, like they were attendees at a retro costume party. It doesn't help
that writer/director Randall Miller (of the wine-tasting comedy
Bottle Shock)
can't seem to figure out a way to make them seem important, and it's a problem
that carries over to the supposed mythology surrounding the club itself.
Alan Rickman plays shaggy dog club owner Hilly Kristal, whose piss-poor
management skills have led him to bankruptcy numerous times. Now giving the
nightclub racket another shot with the CBGB, he initially pegs it as a country,
bluegrass, and blues joint (hence the name), but finds something new and
aggressive in the burgeoning punk rock scene. So while the club remained a
rundown hovel with a hideously disgusting bathroom, and a dog that frequently
did his business anywhere he pleased, it also drew the hottest acts and became
a cultural touchstone. Unfortunately we don't experience any of that until much
too late, instead spending a meandering hour watching Hilly do things we don't
really care about. He spars with his daughter (Ashley Greene) over billing;
taste tests the club's supposedly famous chili; and tests out their shoddy
sound system. Other than those who were there to experience the minutiae of
CBGB's slow rise to prominence, it's hard to imagine who would find interest in
any of this. The barest resemblance of an actual storyline emerges as Hilly
takes over managing the ill-fated 'Dead Boys', who not only drive him into
bankruptcy but proceed to self-destruct spectacularly. It's a tantalizing tease
for what a biopic on The Dead Boys could be if given proper room to breathe,
and not just played like the B-side on a warped record.
Overall, there's something shabby and inauthentic about
CBGB, a
shoddiness that goes beyond the club's crumbling decor. Portions of the film
were shot in New York, but a large chunk of it took place in Savannah, GA and
unfortunately you can tell. The soundtrack is spectacular, even if some of the
lip-syncing actors are less so. It was still the wisest course of action to best
capture the texture and sound of the era. If it were only about the music
CBGB
would be a hit, but as a film it can't do the world famous nightclub the
justice it deserves.
The film's biggest draw and glaring curse has been the random cast assembled
to play celebrated musical icons, like Rupert Grint and Justin Bartha sporting
dog collars as members of The Dead Boys; Malin Akerman as Debbie Harry, and
lanky Avatar
geek Joel David Moore as Joey Ramone. With the exception of Akerman,
who nails Harry's magnetism and energy perfectly, the rest come off as pale
caricatures, like they were attendees at a retro costume party. It doesn't help
that writer/director Randall Miller (of the wine-tasting comedy Bottle Shock)
can't seem to figure out a way to make them seem important, and it's a problem
that carries over to the supposed mythology surrounding the club itself.
Alan Rickman plays shaggy dog club owner Hilly Kristal, whose piss-poor
management skills have led him to bankruptcy numerous times. Now giving the
nightclub racket another shot with the CBGB, he initially pegs it as a country,
bluegrass, and blues joint (hence the name), but finds something new and
aggressive in the burgeoning punk rock scene. So while the club remained a
rundown hovel with a hideously disgusting bathroom, and a dog that frequently
did his business anywhere he pleased, it also drew the hottest acts and became
a cultural touchstone. Unfortunately we don't experience any of that until much
too late, instead spending a meandering hour watching Hilly do things we don't
really care about. He spars with his daughter (Ashley Greene) over billing;
taste tests the club's supposedly famous chili; and tests out their shoddy
sound system. Other than those who were there to experience the minutiae of
CBGB's slow rise to prominence, it's hard to imagine who would find interest in
any of this. The barest resemblance of an actual storyline emerges as Hilly
takes over managing the ill-fated 'Dead Boys', who not only drive him into
bankruptcy but proceed to self-destruct spectacularly. It's a tantalizing tease
for what a biopic on The Dead Boys could be if given proper room to breathe,
and not just played like the B-side on a warped record. 
Overall, there's something shabby and inauthentic about CBGB, a
shoddiness that goes beyond the club's crumbling decor. Portions of the film
were shot in New York, but a large chunk of it took place in Savannah, GA and
unfortunately you can tell. The soundtrack is spectacular, even if some of the
lip-syncing actors are less so. It was still the wisest course of action to best
capture the texture and sound of the era. If it were only about the music CBGB
would be a hit, but as a film it can't do the world famous nightclub the
justice it deserves.
