director
Jonathan Demme
producer
Peter Saraf
cinematographer
Anthony Jannelli
music
Robyn Hitchcock
editor
Andy Keir
cast
Robyn Hitchcock
Deni Bonet
Tim Keegan
mpaa rating: PG-13
running
time: 77m
u.s.
video release: February
2000
video
availability: VHS -
DVD
official
website
other jonathan
demme films
reviewed on this website:
- the
complex sessions
- the
manchurian candidate (2004)
- philadelphia
- the
silence of the lambs
- stop
making sense
- swimming
to cambodia
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Filmed in 1996 before a small,
lucky (unseen) audience in an actual New York storefront, this
brilliant little piece -- combining the best of Jonathan Demme's
earlier Stop
Making Sense and Swimming
to Cambodia, really -- scuffled around a couple of festivals,
but vanished into the whirlpool created by the sinking of its
distributor, Orion. Until February 2000, when it finally made
its way to video (the soundtrack album had come out in 1998),
few people had seen it, and even today few people know it exists.
It's nowhere to be found among Roger Ebert's online reviews or
in Leonard Maltin's Movie and Video Guide. It desperately
deserves to be rescued from oblivion.
If you're not a Robyn Hitchcock
fan prior to seeing Storefront Hitchcock, chances are
you will be when it's over -- unless his elliptical lyrics (and
even more elliptical between-songs patter) aren't your cup of
tea. Hitchcock plants his feet firmly (no Neil
Young-style moshing for him -- he scarcely moves) and
runs through 14 songs, some old, some new, all his. (None of
his standard Byrds or Dylan covers here. A good chunk of them,
by the way, are off recent discs like 1996's Moss Elixir
and 2000's Jewels for Sophia and A Star for Bram.)
He seems a little ill at ease with the camera -- he glances at
it probably at least once a song -- which is okay with me; as
an artist whose MTV output has been, shall we say, slim, he simply
may not be used to the camera eye. The effect is to humanize
him a bit, to soften him (and he can seem aloof at times -- but
then, so did David Byrne).
Hitchcock goes unplugged for
more than the first half of the film, accompanying himself with
harmonica on the first song ("The Devil's Radio," an
apparent broadside at Rush Limbaugh and his ilk) and the last
("I Don't Remember Guildford," during the closing credits).
About 40 minutes in, he switches from acoustic guitar to electric.
Aside from occasional backup -- the charismatic, smiling violinist
Deni Bonet on two songs (the eligiac "Filthy Bird"
and the exuberant "Let's Go Thundering," as close as
Hitchcock ever gets to unabashed romance), the bashful-looking
Tim Keegan on guitar and vocals (Keegan seems even more camera-shy
than Hitchcock) on "Alright Yeah" near the end -- this
is a one-man show, with very little cinematic flash. What makes
the movie so refreshing is that very lack of flash -- plus the
novelty, these days, of hearing pop songs with an actual melody.
Hitchcock, before anything else, is a superb pop songwriter,
marrying catchy hooks to lyrics that range from clever to beautiful
to downright weird. A highlight is Hitchcock's famous "The
Yip Song," a tribute to his late father, with one subtly
superimposed line over his shoulder that clarifies the song's
poignant meaning for those unfamiliar with Hitchcock's bio.
Towards the end, possibly getting
restless, Demme lapses into a couple of mannerisms he would seem
to be above. He goes for a quadruple-screen effect in one song;
in another, the camera moves in close and editor Andy Weir does
some attention-deficit-disorder cutting. Even here, though, Demme
does this stuff better than any MTV hack who tries it. With the
quadruple-screen segment, for instance, you realize that Demme
is in effect inviting you to edit the number yourself by choosing
which screen to look at and when. (An interesting precursor to
Mike Figgis' Time Code.) Anthony Jannelli's photography
is razor-sharp, and receives a rich transfer on the DVD (which
is, sadly, utterly bereft of extras).
Overall, this is the companion
piece to Stop Making Sense we've been waiting for. Hitchcock
even references David Byrne in one of the songs, and frequent
Demme producer Kenneth Utt makes his obligatory cameo: a man
on the street outside holds an enlarged photo of Utt up to the
storefront window during "1974." Demme keeps the frame
(unfortunately the disc isn't letterboxed) well-stocked, but
never cluttered, with a variety of backdrops -- translucent window
covers of different colors, candles, a lightbulb, disco ball,
even a big tomato. The best backdrop, though, is the street behind
Hitchcock, where we occasionally see passersby peering inside.
One of them, if you look closely, is carrying a guitar and turns
out to be Tim Keegan.
Interesting
postscript: After a
brief period of being out of stock (or in short supply) at various
online retailers -- and forget about ever finding it at Suncoast
or Best Buy -- the Storefront Hitchcock DVD has apparently
become one of MGM's mega-cheap, please-take-it-off-our-hands
titles, along with various other films you've never heard of.
I saw it at Wal-Mart -- the last place on Earth I'd ever expected
to glimpse it -- for $6.44! (Grumbling, I recall that I paid
$24 for the disc a year and a half ago...) A bargain at three
times the price, say I; grab it while you can.
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