Nearly thirty years after its debut, Alan Parker's Fame remains, in its way, even fresher than its glossy 2009 remake. Sure, times have changed, and with them the modes and methods of entertainment to which wannabe stars could aspire -- nowadays one is more likely to come across an aspiring YouTube star than a blossoming ballet dancer. But the form and style of Parker's original remain striking, resonant, and uniquely interesting after three decades of aging. The original Fame is like a fascinating concerto of a movie, following its many characters through the ups and downs, ebbs and flows, and tensions and joys of real life as struggling artists.

The film follows an eclectic group of talented students at New York's Academy of Performing Arts from the moment they audition to the moment they graduate. The sprawling palette could be a breeding ground for plot holes and logic lapses, but Fame's most intriguing aspect is its deliberate dismissal of traditional storytelling; Christopher Gore's Oscar-nominated screenplay truly allows the characters to control the path of the film, as opposed to forcing them into the lockstep of a pre-ordained plot. Watching as these kids with dreams blossom into adults with real tensions, worries, and problems feels like the true, tortured path of wannabe stardom -- the passion stays alive, but the dream of a charmed life gives way to the blood, sweat, and tears of an endless struggle.

A massive cast of unique talents and interesting stories populate the film, but four characters become the central hubs of this emotional journey. There is Ralph (Barry Miller), the emotionally volatile comedian whose brash likability can quickly turn into vitriolic hatred; Doris (Maureen Teefy), the shy vocalist who longs to break out of her shell; Coco (Irene Cara), who aspires to be a multi-talented star, but whose ambition leads her down unexpected dark alleys; and Montgomery (Paul McCrane), the sensitive and caring musician who harbors painful personal torment. These characters drift into and out of each other's lives with the natural flow of life during stressful formative years, and the film touches on powerful moments of painful reality in each individual's journey. We share in the joy when the humble Doris lets loose at a midnight screening of Rocky Horror, cringe at the pain when Ralph's one-man show fizzles after the audience gets tired of the same material, and shrug at the inevitability when we see the formerly popular acting student who, years later, is working in a cheap diner to make ends meet.

Parker's interpretation of Gore's celebrated script is, very simply, wonderful filmmaking. The movie thunders in on the notes of student auditions of varying success, and ends with the bang of powerful orchestral chords at the final student performance. In between, the characters are given free rein to make their own journeys and the camera stands by with the intense interest of a voyeur. In a film commonly classified as a musical, a film that's legacy primarily consists of one celebrated song, it is the quiet attention to intimate character details that defines Fame's enduring quality.

Over the past three decades, Fame has sort of evaporated into the zeitgeist and become its own cultish joke, not unlike Rent or Rocky Horror. But in revisiting the film, it is undeniably non-kitschy; it is, in fact, a keenly honest look at the uncompromising road to success as an artist. For a movie that could very easily have slipped into simpering melodrama or sanctimonious, inspirational nonsense, Fame avoids all pitfalls and narrows in on the almost obsessive, often painful, always unpredictable life in pursuit of artistic passion.