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Three Movies (1): Her Smell
Jan. 21st, 2020 02:01 pmAn ordinary rock and roll biopic usually follows a standard arc: origin, fame, disintegration and redemption. Alex Ross Perry (writer/director) doesn't really vary from this template, but Her Smell is unique and remarkable in its attention to the microscopic details of a rock and roll band's interpersonal interactions. Perry takes the scenes that an ordinary biopic would breeze through on the surface and zooms in for an uncomfortable extreme close-up.
Elisabeth Moss is the center of the tornado as Becky Something, the leader of Something She, a 1990s all-female punk band on the cusp of major stardom. (Think Courtney Love and Hole, L7 or Bikini Kill.) We start the action at the height of the band's power, with Moss (doing her own singing!) tearing off an inspired cover of the punk/new wave classic, "Another Girl, Another Planet." Moss captures the energy and the attitude of the era, and makes Becky a credible music icon.
Then the band goes backstage, and the horror starts.
All that energy, attitude and defiance Becky projects on stage is turned on her loved ones. Ex-husband, manager (Eric Stoltz, a portrait of exhaustion and fake optimism), friends and bandmates--even her baby daughter--are subjected to torrents of verbal abuse and wounded accusation. Even more horrible than Becky's tirades is how each victim meekly absorbs it, trapped in a codependent relationship with the star of the show. Becky has the power, and everybody knows it.
As the film progresses, Perry meticulously, painfully chronicles how Becky's narcissistic and self-destructive nature finally ends up costing her all of her relationships--most dramatically, and with bloody finality, with her fans, who get a first hand dose of the emotional damage crippling their hero.
At this point, the movie is difficult to stomach. It's so relentlessly toxic that you wonder if any conclusion is worth sitting through this kind of carnage.
And then, it all changes.
Time passes. Becky Something disappears, and Rebecca Adamcyk sits quietly in her house, making tea. The contrast is almost shocking. But Perry doesn't change his approach, he just changes trajectory. Rebecca tries to shed her anger and her narcissism and build a relationship with her daughter. We see all of Rebecca's fragility, her self-doubt, her regret--and (thankfully) her musical talent, still there underneath. After all the poison of the first four acts, Perry dares to hold out hope for forgiveness and healing. Her friends and bandmates, away from the drama, are thriving, and they are willing to help her come back to the music she loves. The final fifteen minutes are nothing short of suspenseful: will Becky Something make her comeback? (But if it costs Rebecca her newfound sobriety, do we even want her to?)
As I said, the first 90 minutes of this movie is a tough slog. Unless you're a fan of the music (I am), and familiar with the scene (ditto), Moss' performance might not be enough to carry you through. But that last section makes it all worthwhile. It might make you think twice about that friend of yours who's consumed by his or her own personal drama.
(It also might make you reconsider Bryan Adams.)
Recommended for cinephiles with strong stomachs.
B+
Elisabeth Moss is the center of the tornado as Becky Something, the leader of Something She, a 1990s all-female punk band on the cusp of major stardom. (Think Courtney Love and Hole, L7 or Bikini Kill.) We start the action at the height of the band's power, with Moss (doing her own singing!) tearing off an inspired cover of the punk/new wave classic, "Another Girl, Another Planet." Moss captures the energy and the attitude of the era, and makes Becky a credible music icon.
Then the band goes backstage, and the horror starts.
All that energy, attitude and defiance Becky projects on stage is turned on her loved ones. Ex-husband, manager (Eric Stoltz, a portrait of exhaustion and fake optimism), friends and bandmates--even her baby daughter--are subjected to torrents of verbal abuse and wounded accusation. Even more horrible than Becky's tirades is how each victim meekly absorbs it, trapped in a codependent relationship with the star of the show. Becky has the power, and everybody knows it.
As the film progresses, Perry meticulously, painfully chronicles how Becky's narcissistic and self-destructive nature finally ends up costing her all of her relationships--most dramatically, and with bloody finality, with her fans, who get a first hand dose of the emotional damage crippling their hero.
At this point, the movie is difficult to stomach. It's so relentlessly toxic that you wonder if any conclusion is worth sitting through this kind of carnage.
And then, it all changes.
Time passes. Becky Something disappears, and Rebecca Adamcyk sits quietly in her house, making tea. The contrast is almost shocking. But Perry doesn't change his approach, he just changes trajectory. Rebecca tries to shed her anger and her narcissism and build a relationship with her daughter. We see all of Rebecca's fragility, her self-doubt, her regret--and (thankfully) her musical talent, still there underneath. After all the poison of the first four acts, Perry dares to hold out hope for forgiveness and healing. Her friends and bandmates, away from the drama, are thriving, and they are willing to help her come back to the music she loves. The final fifteen minutes are nothing short of suspenseful: will Becky Something make her comeback? (But if it costs Rebecca her newfound sobriety, do we even want her to?)
As I said, the first 90 minutes of this movie is a tough slog. Unless you're a fan of the music (I am), and familiar with the scene (ditto), Moss' performance might not be enough to carry you through. But that last section makes it all worthwhile. It might make you think twice about that friend of yours who's consumed by his or her own personal drama.
(It also might make you reconsider Bryan Adams.)
Recommended for cinephiles with strong stomachs.
B+
