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It's hard to remember a time when women didn't rule the music scene. Today's biggest stars seem to be invariably female, and all-girl bands like The Donnas don't even muster a raised eyebrow.
It wasn't always this way.
In the early '70s, as we are reminded early in The Runaways, girls didn't play electric guitar. Sure, they were in bands or performed solo -- think The Carpenters, Joni Mitchell, etc. -- but a bunch of women playing their own instruments and thrashing on stage like banshees? That just didn't happen.
It's 1975. Enter teen Joan Jett (a grunged-out Kristen Stewart), who wants nothing more than to rock, dude. As the movie dutifully informs us, she lurks in seedy L.A. bars begging to be discovered... and basically, she abruptly is, by producer Kim Fowley (Michael Shannon, perfectly cast), who gives her a shot, hooks her up with drummer Sandy West (Stella Maeve), and starts his Runaways rehearsing in an abandoned trailer out in the woods -- where mysteriously there is plenty of electricity for the amps.
But Fowley wants a sexier frontwoman than Jett, and he returns to troll the clubs to find her. He does: Cherie Currie (Dakota Fanning -- yes, Dakota Fanning), whose blonde feathered hair is more important than her goody-goody suburban upbringing and lack of any real singing talent. It's all about the attitude, right?
History and common sense will inform you of what happens next: The Runaways tour roller rinks and school dances in the States, then zip off to Japan where they are mobbed, Beatles-style, by insane, uniformed schoolgirls. But the road wears you down, of course, and that means drugs, infighting, and -- so it happens -- lots of lesbian sex.
The Runaways isn't a bad movie, but writer/director Floria Sigismondi's inexperience is obvious, and she simply has no good handle on structuring the film. Once the band is formed, the movie falls into a carousel of déjà vu: The band plays, the bandmates do a bunch of drugs, people fight (or screw)... repeat. The vignettes are disjointed and soon become repetitious to the point of distraction. The film feels extremely long, though it runs a standard 100 minutes.
Like most people, I was seriously worried about whether Fanning or Stewart had the chops for these roles, but both acquit themselves admirably. Stewart is admittedly better. Fanning is a bit self-conscious in a role that has her flashing her crotch repeatedly, but she's certainly come a long way since The Cat in the Hat, and I have high hopes for her transition to "grown-up" acting.
I'm still on the fence about whether the importance of The Runaways is overplayed in the film. One can argue that The Slits were a bigger influence, since they toured with The Clash, and it really wasn't until Joan Jett started her second band (with The Blackhearts) and The Go-Go's arrived that chick rock seriously took off.
Alas, thinking about such things is more interesting than the actual story The Runaways has to tell, which is shopworn and all too familiar. It's just tragic that in a film about a pioneering all-girl rock band, Michael Shannon's sex grunts are the most memorable component.
It wasn't always this way.
In the early '70s, as we are reminded early in The Runaways, girls didn't play electric guitar. Sure, they were in bands or performed solo -- think The Carpenters, Joni Mitchell, etc. -- but a bunch of women playing their own instruments and thrashing on stage like banshees? That just didn't happen.
It's 1975. Enter teen Joan Jett (a grunged-out Kristen Stewart), who wants nothing more than to rock, dude. As the movie dutifully informs us, she lurks in seedy L.A. bars begging to be discovered... and basically, she abruptly is, by producer Kim Fowley (Michael Shannon, perfectly cast), who gives her a shot, hooks her up with drummer Sandy West (Stella Maeve), and starts his Runaways rehearsing in an abandoned trailer out in the woods -- where mysteriously there is plenty of electricity for the amps.
But Fowley wants a sexier frontwoman than Jett, and he returns to troll the clubs to find her. He does: Cherie Currie (Dakota Fanning -- yes, Dakota Fanning), whose blonde feathered hair is more important than her goody-goody suburban upbringing and lack of any real singing talent. It's all about the attitude, right?
History and common sense will inform you of what happens next: The Runaways tour roller rinks and school dances in the States, then zip off to Japan where they are mobbed, Beatles-style, by insane, uniformed schoolgirls. But the road wears you down, of course, and that means drugs, infighting, and -- so it happens -- lots of lesbian sex.
The Runaways isn't a bad movie, but writer/director Floria Sigismondi's inexperience is obvious, and she simply has no good handle on structuring the film. Once the band is formed, the movie falls into a carousel of déjà vu: The band plays, the bandmates do a bunch of drugs, people fight (or screw)... repeat. The vignettes are disjointed and soon become repetitious to the point of distraction. The film feels extremely long, though it runs a standard 100 minutes.
Like most people, I was seriously worried about whether Fanning or Stewart had the chops for these roles, but both acquit themselves admirably. Stewart is admittedly better. Fanning is a bit self-conscious in a role that has her flashing her crotch repeatedly, but she's certainly come a long way since The Cat in the Hat, and I have high hopes for her transition to "grown-up" acting.
I'm still on the fence about whether the importance of The Runaways is overplayed in the film. One can argue that The Slits were a bigger influence, since they toured with The Clash, and it really wasn't until Joan Jett started her second band (with The Blackhearts) and The Go-Go's arrived that chick rock seriously took off.
Alas, thinking about such things is more interesting than the actual story The Runaways has to tell, which is shopworn and all too familiar. It's just tragic that in a film about a pioneering all-girl rock band, Michael Shannon's sex grunts are the most memorable component.
