The 1973 story of young fairground worker Jim (David Essex) making it as a pop star on the cusp of the '60s captures the very smell of small-time rock'n'roll dreaming. It ekes real pathos from the bloating of Jim's ego. Keith Moon's his drummer. In the sequel, Jim turns Lizard King, forgets his roots, shags around and gives manager Adam Faith headaches. Great.
Hal Ashby's unsatisfactory Woody Guthrie biopic from 1976 uses a shovelful of sentiment to flatten out most of the bumps in Guthrie's life, but David Carradine contributes a glorious, low-key performance as the visionary legend who travelled his country throughout the Great Depression, singing for the beat-down folk and fighting off the Fascists. The real star, though, is Haskell Wexler's radiant dustbowl cinematography.
This melancholic accompaniment to the David Gordon Green slow-burner draws succour from the nocturnal chambers of alt.country's heart. Will Oldham's "All These Vicious Dogs", Sparklehorse's "Sea Of Teeth" and Mogwai's "Fear Satan" are more than willing to cry into your beer. David Wingo, whose lyric yielded the film's title, couples with Michael Linnen for three tracks; Mark Olson and Paul Jones also peer for clouds among the silver linings. I'm writing this on the hottest day of the year, and it sounds inappropriate.
David Essex and his cheeky grin may have starred in two of the '70s' great British rock'n'roll fantasy movies, That'll Be The Day and Stardust, but he came a cropper in this 1980 motorbiking mess. Champion racers macho it out—it's clichéd, lazy and sexist. Then again, how many movies star Essex, Beau Bridges and Harry H Corbett?
