"And Cat Ballou made her mind up
To make this country weep.
Makes no difference how they try,
They'll never make her cry."
Ah, what would Cat Ballou have been without Nat King Cole's serendipitous accompaniment? How would Robbie have gotten the girl, without Billy Idol's first class connections?
The moldy, forgotten-in-the-cup-holder-then-drown-in-the-residue-of-a-weak-walled-McDonald's-cola-cup flipside of that coin, is the emerging body of film work from boy band bad boys to gangsta rappers that is ruining the tradition of musicians appearing in the movies.
True musicians, through the miracle of precision editing and emotion-charged lip syncing, have not only flexed their acting muscle via MTV, they're also soul whisperers able to pierce the heart, provide unparalleled empathy in three minute bits. They are, then, a breed of being naturally suited to provide moral support to a star-crossed vampire on the verge of ruining his last reincarnate chance of making a go at love (Bo Didley: ROCKULA). A six string or cult fan base enough easily heightens a musical artist to the level of would-be superheroes' esteemed confidante (Tom Waits: MYSTERY MEN), or, at the very least, provide an extra punch to a nifty film. Sometimes, it's the only punch to an otherwise unnifty film. Who here fell for the White Stripes + Iggy Pop + Tom Waits = "COFFEE AND CIGARETTES sounds like the best film ever!" rusted bear trap of a film? (Alfred Molina segment aside, of course.)
The beauty of the musician's appearance in film is in the unexpected, chased with c-h-a-r-a-c-t-e-r. It's still unexpected to see the Fresh Prince thriving on the big screen, yet, he's always the Fresh Prince; the wholly likeable fellow who, regardless of the pitfalls in his path, peeks into a world beyond his meager beginnings, then manages to eventually firmly plant his feet there. If done well, a musician keeps their persona intact. It's almost like a Christopher Walken Quotient, in that, if you want a Queen Latifah character, you get Queen Latifah.
I'm not saying musicians shouldn't take risks. TANK GIRL wouldn't have been the same without the eternally grumpy Mr. Ice-T. Even then, though -- even in a kangaroo suit -- Ice-T was, well, Ice-T. The added benefit of this Persona Intact rule of thumb is just for the newbies. I couldn't help but want to download some Mos Deaf after seeing THE HITCHIKER'S GUIDE TO THE GALAXY I felt as though the director/producer/mythical-power-behind-the-film was sharing some grand secret with me. Certainly, Lynch fans were well aware of Marilyn Manson and Twiggy Ramirez long before LOST HIGHWAY rolled around, and chances are, DOGS IN SPACE wouldn't have graced anyone's VHS player without a prior love of Michael Hutchence but isn't it delicious to imagine some naοve youth cutting his teeth on a first listen to Smells Like Children as a direct result of catching some of LOST HIGHWAY on late night HBO? (I daresay, it'd be the best thing that ever came out of watching a Lynch film. Except sex, maybe. Say what I will about his deplorable method of movie-making, the man can film a horizontal romp like nobody's business. Though, technically, soft core sex with no discernable plot is somebody's business; in fact, a whole business in itself. Maybe he doesn't know? Boy, somebody should tell him, as it'd save him a lot of trouble. There I said it. Now all the other cool kids can pry their heads out of their bums, and join MY wagon. No, really I have candy bars, and soda... and... and it's really a hoot over here...)
However, just because Will Smith movies have a tendency to gross over 100 mil, and just because Streisand snagged an Oscar her first time out, doesn't mean every harmoniously rhyming wonder out there should make a habit of it. Really, who needed to see Harry Connick Jr. making dirty talk about Sigourney Weaver's knickers (COPYCAT), nor getting spurned by Sandra Bullock (HOPE FLOATS)? If he'd just left it as a bomber squadron member with a penchant for the piano (MEMPHIS BELLE), Connick's flirtation with film would've been a memory we could smile at.
Perhaps being in front of the camera is addicting. Is that Meatloaf's excuse? Unlike Justin Timberlake, whose irksome celluloid forays seem only to be beginning, there's hope Meatloaf's riotous cameo in PICK OF DESTINY is a step in the right direction, of offsetting his misstep as an abominable southern sheriff in CRAZY IN ALABAMA
So where, exactly, do they go wrong? How did Cyndi Lauper make VIBES work, while I'm not even remotely interested in seeing Coolio not quite wreak havoc in Sci-Fi's Movie of the Week? As I said, keeping their Persona Intact plays a huge role, because:
- Musicians Can Help to Make a Drab Part Fabulous.
Just ask anyone who desperately had to see JOHNNY MNEMONIC because Henry Rollins was in it. No one could've pulled off the edgy mad scientist like the ultra-buff punk. The same could be said of Rollin's pink sweatpants in FEAST.
There are years and years worth of tabloids detailing of Mick Jagger's shenanigans. Is he a romantic, or a whore? Serious, or flying high on whatever illegal substance is gurgling in his blood? Can't quite peg Mick Jagger. So, it's entirely possible he's a hardass bounty hunter in the future (FREEJACK).
Freddy Kruger's daddy could have been an everyman but that he was Alice Cooper, oh, that one packed a wallop (FREDDY'S DEAD: THE FINAL NIGHTMARE).
This idea of using an existing persona to leapfrog a character to
a fully conceived, quirky entity can even be exploited to the point of casting nearly an entire movie with musicians capable of bolstering the drab. Such was the case with ROCKULA which leaves viewers with a sizeable ache to see more of Thomas Dolby and the always delectable Toni Basil.
- If They Weren't Rock Stars, This is how They'd Inspire You.
Maybe WHO'S THAT GIRL wouldn't have been remotely tolerable without a copious amount of Material Girl love, but LIGHT OF DAY worked, because, frankly, Joan Jett would look badass even when just folding towels.
THE MAN WHO FELL TO EARTH, LABYRINTH, THE HUNGER Ziggy who? Of any musician-come-thespian, I'd be willing to bet David Bowie would have a cult following either way. Despite the numerous characters he's done justice, Bowie's portrayal of Tesla (THE PRESTIGE) was an unexpected gem.
See? Unexpected. A memorable album is one in which the next note isn't easily anticipated. The same must hold true for a film appearance. I wouldn't expect Wayne Newton to be the perfect thug (THE ADVENTURES OF FORD FAIRLAINE), yet, that consummate Vegas showmanship, the disarming prepubescent voice a perfect thug!
CROSSROADS wasn't crap it's just that Britney Spears, who stakes her musical fame on the Lolita schoolgirl with a chair routine, as a sweet girl next door who would never, is utter crap (which, by proxy, makes CROSSROADS unpalatable. Acting-wise, in the few minutes I watched, Spears actually wasn't terrible, but reputations are hard to shake).
Unexpected, yet remarkably well cast. That's the tricky.
On a closing note, I'll say something unprecedented: ON THE LINE at least had the right idea. 'N Synch made a business of wholesome imaging, if not bordering on a corny, overstated, contrived and ridiculous quest for love and that's just what they made a movie about. They stuck to their guns (even if Nerf-loaded), yet stopped after one. Perhaps, if a tirade about the merits of Toni Basil and Henry Rollins fall on deaf ears, the sea of gangsta being funneled onto celluloid could learn a lesson from that.
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