It is pretty safe to say you can’t have Rock N Roll without a little bit of anarchy. Actually, “safe” might not be the appropriate word to run right alongside Rock N Roll. Rock N Roll isn’t safe. It isn’t supposed to be considered safe. The Runaways, for the four years they dominated the music scene in the late ’70s, certainly were anything but safe. It’s just unfortunate that THE RUNAWAYS, the movie based on their rise and fall, is. In fact, as far as rock group biopics go, it’s fairly standard, running along lines that have already been paved from years of similarly themed motion pictures, lines that have, in recent memory, even been parodied.
The film is definitely edgy. You can’t take that away from it. In the opening shot, we are made privy of 15-year-old Cheri Currie, played by Dakota Fanning, getting her first period. Her childhood has left her, and, with that, come the pains of puberty, of not knowing your place in the world. Then comes along Joan Larkin, played by Kristen Stewart, who has since christened herself in the name of seeking rock stardom Joan Jett and Kim Fowley, played by Michael Shannon, eccentric and boisterous Rock producer. Together, along with three others, they create The Runaways, make a number of hits, get caught up in drugs, and, inevitably, break apart.
Floria Sigismondi, who has made a name for herself crafting music videos for such unguarded and fearless artists as Marilyn Manson, The Cure, and David Bowie, seems the perfect choice for finding the voice of The Runaways. Unfortunately, the standardized type of storytelling at work in THE RUNAWAYS doesn’t sound like The Runaways at all. There are some nice shots, to be fair, and a few scenes throughout feel like edged gems swimming in a pool of languid water. The water might not be still, but it’s nothing we haven’t waded through several times before.
The scene early on where the band is coming up with the kick for the song “Cherry Bomb” is one such work of beauty, as Shannon’s Fowley sits in profile, lyrics evidently running rampant through his head, waiting for one set of them to spill out of his mouth. Another such scene is found late in the film, during a recording session that ends up being the catalyst for the breakup. Both sides of the sound proof glass are exploding with anger, frustration, and a general lack of wanting to progress forward, but each shot only allows us to hear one side of any, given argument.
Of course, there is one element that each of these scenes, granted in most of the scenes found in THE RUNAWAYS, have in common with one another. That is the fearlessness, the absolute domination, Shannon has over the Kim Fowley character. Shannon, more so than even Sigismondi, I believe, knows anarchy, understands the hazardous nature of Fowley and the plans he has for these girls. Unable to hide behind the eye shadow or the flamboyant clothes, not even wanting to hide within the character, really, Shannon commands every shot he is on screen. You know full well the presence someone has within a film in the scenes where they are absent, and Shannon’s absence throughout THE RUNAWAYS is noticeable.
Stewart and Fanning work through their respective roles without any qualms. They are fine actresses doing fine work here, even if this is mostly Currie’s film and not Jett’s. We know very little about Joan Jett, in fact, other than she is rebellious and yearns for the uncertainty that lies in the life of a rock star. A romance between the two is necessary. It actually happened. Unfortunately, the way it is set up and knocked down almost feels like a afterthought on life, one more connection between the two that, for some reason, needed to be established. Little else is given between the two, and, while their own roles are met with veracity, the chemistry between Stewart and Fanning is anything but overpowering.
And that is what much of THE RUNAWAYS gives us, little snippets of artistry at work running right along the thankless and common woe of Rock N Roll. It comes down to telling us about something rather than showing it to us. Anyone can read a book on Rock N Roll, but it takes someone who truly knows how to exercise the form to take that book, light in on fire, and kick it screaming across a sound stage. It’s all about anarchy. Michael Shannon understands the anarchy of Kim Fowley. I just wish Floria Sigismondi understood more the anarchy of The Runaways.
Overall Rating: 2.5 out of 5 stars
