Listen, if you're going to name check a great punk band like The Clash, you better be ready to deliver, and while David M. Rosenthal's rock road picture Janie Jones doesn't directly deal with the former 'only band that matters,' it has the same solid independent spirit . This is a movie about people, placed in a standard situation, that transcends its type by being smart, spry, and sensitive. Featuring a career crossroads turn by Little Miss Sunshine's Abigail Breslin and equally good work from Alessandro Nivola, what we wind up with is a tale of absentee parenting placed inside the mechanics of the same old riches to ragtag reality.
Nivola plays Ethan Brand, a one-time star now struggling in dive bars and sleazy nightclubs. While his manager (a bearded Peter Stormare) has faith that our hero and his bandmates David (Joel Moore), Chuck (Frank Whaley), Billy (Rodney Eastman), and Iris (Brittany Snow) can regain their footing, it looks like their time has well passed. Into our lead's tour weary life walks former gal pal/groupie Mary Ann Jones (Elizabeth Shue) who drops a formulaic bombshell - Ethan is the biological father of the tentative, talented Janie (Breslin). Not only that, but Mommy is heading into rehab, so newly discovered dad must take care of his kid. Thus begins the kind of whirlwind human drama where unknowns get down to the business of getting acquainted, and where forced partnerships become accidental families.
While it's supposedly inspired by a true story, Janie Jones feels awfully familiar. Indeed, every time a musical group is pictured on film, we get the same old back beats: the infighting and ego; the label issues and lack of lingering commercial success; the onstage meltdowns; the backstage reconciliations. Toss in a teenager who herself dreams of stardom and you've got a recipe for recycled disaster. But this movie is different in as many ways as it is the same. Like Georgia, the Jennifer Jason Leigh/Mare Winningham vehicle which followed two singer/songwriter sisters on decidedly different career paths, this is a story of people. We've seen the highs and lows of life on the fringes of success before, but we've never met characters like the one's cast here.
Rosenthal does a very intelligent thing here. He actually uses the cliche to countermand our expectations. When Shue walks in, looking like a leftover from the Sid & Nancy auditions, her recognizable facade masks a deeper reality. Similarly, Nivola gets all the standard angry arrogant artist tropes. But then the actor peels back the layers to locate the real truth in Ethan's downward spiral. Perhaps the most revelatory work comes from Breslin. Growing up in Hollywood is hard, but she consistently finds work (Zombieland) that plays to her present strengths. Janie Jones is no different.
Of course, because there is a narrative archetype at work here, you can almost guess where Rosenthal is taking us. Similarly, the songs for each performer (Eef Barzelay penned Ethan's tunes, while Gemma Hayes created Janie's) are good, but not the kind of standout material that leaves one running to ITunes for the soundtrack. In fact, all the film really has going for it are the performers and the people they play. If you don't connect with Ethan and his desire to remain relevant, if you don't sympathize with Janie and her need for guidance and stability, then this will be a long, overly sentimental slog. By leaving the expectations in place and then casually serpentining around them, Rosenthal creates something memorable. It may not have the same impact as the band who gave it its title, but Janie Jones is wonderful indie offering nonetheless.
While it's supposedly inspired by a true story, Janie Jones feels awfully familiar. Indeed, every time a musical group is pictured on film, we get the same old back beats: the infighting and ego; the label issues and lack of lingering commercial success; the onstage meltdowns; the backstage reconciliations. Toss in a teenager who herself dreams of stardom and you've got a recipe for recycled disaster. But this movie is different in as many ways as it is the same. Like Georgia, the Jennifer Jason Leigh/Mare Winningham vehicle which followed two singer/songwriter sisters on decidedly different career paths, this is a story of people. We've seen the highs and lows of life on the fringes of success before, but we've never met characters like the one's cast here.
Rosenthal does a very intelligent thing here. He actually uses the cliche to countermand our expectations. When Shue walks in, looking like a leftover from the Sid & Nancy auditions, her recognizable facade masks a deeper reality. Similarly, Nivola gets all the standard angry arrogant artist tropes. But then the actor peels back the layers to locate the real truth in Ethan's downward spiral. Perhaps the most revelatory work comes from Breslin. Growing up in Hollywood is hard, but she consistently finds work (Zombieland) that plays to her present strengths. Janie Jones is no different.
Of course, because there is a narrative archetype at work here, you can almost guess where Rosenthal is taking us. Similarly, the songs for each performer (Eef Barzelay penned Ethan's tunes, while Gemma Hayes created Janie's) are good, but not the kind of standout material that leaves one running to ITunes for the soundtrack. In fact, all the film really has going for it are the performers and the people they play. If you don't connect with Ethan and his desire to remain relevant, if you don't sympathize with Janie and her need for guidance and stability, then this will be a long, overly sentimental slog. By leaving the expectations in place and then casually serpentining around them, Rosenthal creates something memorable. It may not have the same impact as the band who gave it its title, but Janie Jones is wonderful indie offering nonetheless.
