Starring Patrick Fugit, Kate Hudson, Frances McDormand and Billy Crudup
"Almost Famous" (Dream works, R) is like an epic song, almost a "Stairway to Heaven," in a stunning, brilliant ode to rock music and the life force from which it draws its undefinable strength.
Cameron Crowe wrote and directed this fictionalized biography. He took scraps of paper, ticket stubs and assorted memories from his adolescence and carefully assembled them into an all-encompassing patchwork of greatness.
The story describes William Miller (Patrick Fugit), a high school boy in the early '70s with a knack for writing about his love, rock music. He writes despite an overprotective mother (Frances McDormand) and a sister (Zooey Deschanel) who fled after the ban on Simon and Garfunkel coincided with her 18th birthday.
At this time, one of the greats in rock criticism was Lester Bangs (Philip Seymour Hoffman), editor/writer for Creem magazine. Bangs brilliantly represents the uncool nature of rock critics, writing about the stars he could never be. William is drawn to Bangs, sitting down for a long conversation because neither of them have any other friends.
Bangs agrees to let William, at the ripe old age of 15, write a story about a Black Sabbath concert in San Diego for his magazine. William's mother even agrees, offering her son access to the world of drugs and sex to somehow curb him from leaving like his sister.
Black Sabbath isn't in William's cards, eliminating any animal-biting fiasco. The opening band, Stillwater, is William's only ticket backstage. He breaks through a barrier of wariness by buttering up the band, mentioning their "incendiary" guitar sound. It is this band that he will write about for Rolling Stone.
Stillwater, although fictional, seems very true to the times. Lead singer Jeff Bebe (Jason Lee) acts as the ringleader, pouring into every song, while guitarist Russell Hammond (Billy Crudup) gives the band its killer sound with respected skills.
Followers of the up-and-coming band are the Band-Aides, nymph-like women that despise the word "groupie" yet have the same characterizations. The leader of the ladies is Penny Lane (Kate Hudson), a beaming, confident girl who proclaims herself a muse for the bands she follows. William and Penny agree to follow the band on the edge of stardom.
In this rough-and-tumble atmosphere, Crowe weaves his timeless tale, despite quick-to-judge critics who saw this era as a worthless artistic period. Crowe shows the error in their ways, realizing the intriguing nature of such bombast. Bands break up, make up, take drugs, get clean and appear on VH1. The human experience is ever-changing, intriguing and ongoing.
Crowe pulls together many concurrent themes. William grows up (literally, he shot up about a foot during the shoot), even as his mother calls constantly to warn him "Don't do drugs!" Mother should have known better; she should have warned her son about love.
As William is accepted into the scene, he becomes enamored with the free-spirited Penny. But Penny grows closer to falling in love with Russell with each sold-out concert. The fact William looks up to Russell only further complicates matters for the wide-eyed teen.
The movie also examines interband dynamics, depicting the squabbles as a normal part of life in the not-quite-fantasy land of rock stars. In this atmosphere, the critic must separate the "scene" from the real world, what the band wants people to know and what is known by everyone involved as the truth.
Each plot thread revs up toward a guitar-soloesque climax, expertly crafted in a sacred situation in rock history -- the tempestuous plane flight.
Each and every actor brings personality and skill to their characters. Hoffman is tremendous in composing his "uncool" words of advice for William. Fugit is cast perfectly for the age-of-innocence role, as is the talented yet mysterious Hudson. At the crux, the band's strength fuels the rest of the cast. Lee and Crudup duel and change with grace, all while giving the impression they are a real band.
Crowe loves life so much the feeling can't be contained on the celluloid, seeping into our collective consciousness. His poster-ready images are famous; no one could imagine surpassing the boombox-to-the-heavens shot in "Say Anything." But there are many candidates here, and somehow, all pale in comparison to the theater-exiting feeling of just having read someone else's love letter, and it applies to you.
"Almost Famous" makes us want to turn on the lava lamp, sit in the beanbag chair and listen to some Led Zeppelin basking in a blacklight glow. It's been a long time since a movie let its hair down and just became lost in itself.
In the end, Crowe's magnificent film lies beyond simple pigeonholing. OK, maybe one word: incendiary.