Rock Star: Review By B. Alan Orange

This plays like one of George Clooney's infamous practical jokes. At first wanting to be a serious rock docu-drama in the same vein as Boogey Nights, Rock Star shoots itself all over the map. It's a cheese-grating lost cause that holds the dubious distraction of being directed by Stephen Herek, the man responsible for not only Critters, but also Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure. His new film carries that same trademarked giddiness, yet seems loose with its comedy. At moments playing like a spoof, it can't quite keep its chin up. For all intents and purposes, Rock Star could be labeled a musical; though it's not ambitious enough to make that commitment. Is it watchable? Yes. Is it good? Not really. It's the type of theatrical entertainment prevalent in today's marketplace. It'll eat time off a watch in pain free blandness, easing itself into a three-word review for the masses,

"Eh, it's okay."

Mark Wahlberg plays a man with a very disturbing mental disorder. He's a cipher, draining his pressed look off of album covers while caught in a psychological identity crisis. Unable to create a distinct personality for himself, he has interlocked his soul with a gay musician so far detached from what Wahlberg wants to be that emotions invert into ugliness. They share similar vocal talents, yet their lives exist on two extremely different plains of credibility. Wahlberg's Chris "Izzy" Cole isn't an imitator in the sense of entertainment; he's a disturbing case study in self-hatred and idolatry.

Steel Dragon front man Bobby Beers gets his nipple pierced because that's what gay men do in the mid-80s. Chris Cole gets his nipple pierced because his soul wouldn't be a construct of Beers' without that latest ornament. He is so obsessed in immersing his photocopy-fixing self into Beers' shadow, he'd cut off his left arm had the real deal lost it in an overturned touring van. Rock Star is a Single White Female for our 01s. Its lofty goals aren't far removed from the truth. When venturing into a club to see any favorite musician, there are always a number of straight men so in love with what's on stage, they have to grow the same facial hair, wear the same clothes, and push their sleeves up the right length to match that man's comfortability limit.

Rock-God worship is the cure for innumerable teen males suffering from low self-esteem, and that generally carries into adulthood. A theme worthy of a film willing to take the matter seriously, Rock Star doesn't care about itself enough to delve into this subject with much heart. It's a sketch lost in convenience. My ears are still ringing from tone-difference. The script never takes time to realize Chris Cole is suffering from a psychological disorder; instead whipping him through a tiny lifestyle he unrightfully grows weary of.

Steel Dragon is on an analogue cruise of debauchery with its self-promoting tribute band Blood Pollution, so named after one of SD's songs. Where Chris Cole matches Bobby Beers tit-for-tat, Steel Dragon mirrors its eager stepchild to obscure perfection. First, the members of Blood Pollution ditch Wahlberg's nutcase perfectionist for a lesser talent. Exactly one day later, Steel Dragon, unable to deal with Beers' homosexuality, ditches its lead singer for a lesser talent. Both Cole and Beers leave their scene with the obligatory words, "If I walk out that door, I'm never coming back." Both hurry out in a hissy fit, taking their personally owned handkerchief and Mic stand with them. It's a ridiculous showing off of little-girlism. The difference between the two is that Cole is present to watch the actions of Beers, never reflecting the process back into himself. He's dumb, so lost in his need to fill someone else's shoes he never takes a moment to realize those shoes are a size and a half to small, and that the odor eaters have been devoured by an ambitious sweatgland unmatched.

Cole's ambitions of transferring himself into the studious body of another are seen through with great convenience. The world turns to his tune. Not one minute passes between getting axed from cover band status to his employment as real deal. He goes at his own pace with little concern for those around him. Even longtime girlfriend Emily Poule's departure is more a gift of time than disappointing heartbreak. He's now free to wallow in drugs and pu$$y at his leisure, knowing that Jennifer Aniston's Poule is a separatist, and like any good hussy, will be waiting for him at the end of the rainbow.

She patiently stalls her life, spilling coffee in the paragon of pre-grunge Seattle until his imminent departure from rock star life. Chris Cole is a lazy human being who refuses to handle the pressures associated with taking on the life of another. He plays with the notion for awhile, bending it like a toy behind the couch. Still a child, he soon grows bored with this toy and discards it into a bucket, too selfish to deal with anyone else in the room. He simply walks away from being a Rock Star with no consequence for his actions. The movie seems okay with this. I'm not. If I pay 18 bucks for a show, and the guy I came to see gives the mic to some dip$h!t in the audience before walking out into the sunset, you can bet I'm through that door with fists up in a means to get my money back. A riot is going to ensue. Here, it's met with a whimper. No one has the nerve to say, "Chris Cole, you get back up there and finish your set. This is what you wanted. This is want you obsessed about. Just because it's not playing out the way you built it up in your head doesn't mean you can walk away at your leisure." Cole cheats everybody in a selfish move, but we're supposed to think it's okay? I had to take a piss, too. I didn't get up and abandoned the end of Stephen Herek's movie. I stuck through, even though things were a little rougher than first imagined.

There's debate concerning how closely Cole's Steel Dragon story matches the real-life debacle of iconic rock deity Judas Priest and their decision to cast off announced gay Rob Halford for Ohio cover band imitator Tim "Ripper" Owens. The timeline of the film is off, remaining in 1985 rather than expanding to the 90s. I'm not sure, but I think only a year passes before Cole leaves Steel Dragon. It seems like a week; there's never any distinct movement of time. We see calendar days drift at a rapid pace, but there's no feeling of time passage reflected through the characters. Nothing changes.

As for Owens, this Priest replacement singer is still, to this day, with the band. He had guts enough to hack through the rough stuff and maintain a stage presence; there is no mention of him as a sycophant obsessed with being someone else. Pretending to be Halford was a hobby, not a lifestyle. It just happened to turn into a career. There is little character development dealing directly with the members of Steel Dragon and Blood Pollution in Rock Star. The band's key players are relived as wallpaper, smoothing out an essence in the background. It's doubtful the actual inspiration for this film's Steel Dragon is encased in such colorless pegs. In fact, the real Judas Priest are distancing themselves from this once-shelved project. Guitarist Glen Tipton sums it up short and sweet, "It really has nothing to do with us anymore. This film had a good story initially, but has gone off and become a Hollywood fantasy."

Should you go see this movie? Sure, if you have nothing better to do. A smarter move would see you lifting DOA Bubble Boy off the ground for a little push. Rock Star, a rather bland, generic title in itself, delivers good music and convincing stage presence, but it's a flat line. The movie is too silly to be taken seriously, yet constructs such a realistic, somber atmosphere that it's impossible to take as satire. I still can't figure out what's up with the misplaced Bat-Mobile scene. In one word, "Yawn."