School Of Rock vs Twenty-Four Hour Party People

There’s a scene in Jesus’ Son, when Jack Black’s character, high and paranoid, finds a litter of tiny, premature baby rabbits. It’s a sweet, odd scene, and you can probably guess what happens to the little fellas. I kept thinking of it during School of Rock. There’s something about Jack Black. He’s one of those people, I presume, that when hanging out, provokes you to say “Careful!” or “Watch it!” or “Easy!” throughout the day. Seriously, put your breakables away. Don’t wear anything you can’t afford to spill on. Maybe move your sofa a little farther away from the TV. What about your kids? Is he safe around kids? Is he going to put them in his pocket and forget? Is he going to get high and sit on them? That danger is part of the fun of School of Rock, which could easily have drifted off into The Teacher That Changed My Life territory, but stays rooted in Jack Black’s reality, where the Man is never keeping you down more than when he’s trying to get in the way of ROCK.

J.B. (am I cool enough to call him that? Probably not.) stars as Dewey Finn, a recently out-of-work rock guitarist, who lives with his friend Ned Schneebly. Mike White wrote the script (as he did for many recent comedies that were also charming and oddly unsettling), and I think he’s probably really proud of his character names. Normally, funny names aren’t funny to me at all, but since much of School of Rock depends on mistaken identity, then the names might as well be memorable. Ned is a professional substitute teacher, and Dewey’s rent is due. Have you grasped the plot yet? Okay, I’ll give you one more hint: the phone rings. There yet? No? Have you ever been to the movies? Just one more: Dewey answers the phone.

Soon, “Ned” is bow-tied and on his way to school. I liked that his students weren’t a rag-tag group, but pretty much what you’d see in any classroom. They’re just kids. (It’s testament to White’s script that the kids stay kids throughout the movie and are never magically transformed into anything else). J.B. is bored, and has no teaching skills whatsoever. It’s pretty much a disaster, until J.B. witnesses the kids in music class, and discovers that they’re all incredibly gifted. One sprint to his van later, and J.B. has officially rechristened fifth grade as Rock Star class. He creates a fake story about a contest and a field trip, and the kids buy it, mostly because J.B. is so enthusiastic about them expressing themselves. School of Rock, judging by the trailers and ads, is a one-man show, but in the classroom, J.B. is just as in awe, if not more, of the kids than they are of him. They already knew they were talented, they just didn’t know they rocked. And let’s face it, that’s a huge thing to learn.

School of Rock was directed by Richard Linklater (Dazed and Confused, Waking Life), and probably seems a little pedestrian for him. If we’re to keep getting mainstream comedies like this though, I would prefer that directors with a clear vision, like Mr. Linklater, step up and take one on once in a while. School of Rock is rarely overly-sentimental, and is exceptionally well-cast. Besides J.B. and his band of rockin’ kids, we’ve got screenwriter White as Ned, and Sarah Silverman (underused, but funny anyway) as Ned’s girlfriend. Most importantly, the school Principal is played by Joan Cusack. The thing about Joan Cusack is that we hardly ever know she’s in a movie until we get there. Cusack has been acting for years, and is so dependable and funny and original every time. I would love to see her get a School of Rock all her own. In the meantime, there are immeasurable joys in watching her guzzle a giant beer and then get her Classic Rock on to “Edge of Seventeen”. Cusack is an original in terms of movie principals, in that she’s not a stuffy villain, but rather good at her job, smart and interested in the kids. Sure, she could stand to relax some, but she’s played by Joan Cusack, so that won’t be a problem. Also, Dewey is a slacker, but he’s not stupid. His family tree of Rock is as complex and organized as any of the math in Good Will Hunting.

School of Rock is not without its clichés. The whole movie hinges on the big performance at the end, with a pack of angry parents swooping in to stop the whole thing. Anyone care to bet whether or not they’ll be swayed by J.B.’s rockin’ power over the Man?

Who is the Man, you ask? Why it’s Tony Wilson. Wilson, as you may or may not know, was at the forefront of the Manchester Punk scene in the late 1970s. He wasn’t a performer, but a promoter and label owner. He signed some of the more important New-Wave bands of the early 1980s, and witnessed legendary moments like the first Sex Pistols concert. There will be purists among you who consider Wilson a villain. Punk acts signing contracts is the biggest sell-out some people can fathom. Without Wilson signing Joy Division and The Happy Mondays, you’re thinking, we wouldn’t have artists like Pink making pop money off of punk aesthetics. (No offense, Pink. You’re cool and all, but punk, you’re not.) Keep in mind though, that first Sex Pistols concert? Maybe forty people, tops. Tony Wilson loved music and did his best to get his favorites heard. But how’s his movie, you ask? It rocks.

24 Hour Party People uses a pseudo-documentary style, with Tony Wilson (played by Steven Coogan) offering commentary directly to the screen. Some events, he grants, are legendary and maybe not true. He argues that the legend is better though, and I tend to agree. During the day, Wilson is a human-interest reporter, doing stories on things like hang-gliding, and a profile of a midget elephant trainer. At night though, he’s one of only a handful of audience members bouncing around by the stage as the Sex Pistols make their debut. Actual footage of the Pistols is integrated seamlessly into the scene, as is the case with various bands throughout the movie. Style-wise, 24 Hour Party People is a close relative to American Splendor, but while Splendor revels in sarcasm and depression, 24 Hour Party People seems so happy to exist, like it knows it’s a movie that most directors wouldn’t make and most viewers won’t see. In other words, 24 Hour Party People is as close to Punk as you’re likely to get.

As Wilson, who I was not familiar with prior to this movie, Steve Coogan is great. He’s hilarious and self-aware. Wilson actually didn’t make a dime off the artists he signed, or the clubs he opened, and probably not much off of his day job either, since it supported the other two. He has a relationship, kind of, with his wife, Lindsay, played by Shirley Henderson, who is in every British movie. Oh, and some Irish movies. I’m not sure how big the Scottish film world is, but if they’re making movies, she’s in them. She’s sort of like a British cousin to Jennifer Jason Leigh, only she’s more of a character actress. In other words, Shirley Henderson is the British Joan Cusack. Lindsay keeps Tony grounded somewhat. At one point, he says “I’m a minor character in my own story.” Later, though, Lindsay sums him up a little better: “He doesn’t care what they say as long as they’re talking about him.”

24 Hour Party People was directed by Michael Winterbottom. Besides blending the archival concert footage and maintaining the documentary feel, Winterbottom finds several moments of absurdity that keep the movie surprising, with moments like Wilson’s hang-gliding attempts, the elephant washer, and a flock of poisoned pigeons crashing onto a rooftop (Wilson assures us that’s how it happens.) It’s also consistently witty and smart, containing exchanges like the following about the then-unfamiliar independent music scene:

“Indie.”

“Indian?”

At the end of the movie, and his career, Wilson performs an act of anarchy, or maybe Punk, or maybe he’s just being funny. Regardless, it’s not the act of someone who was selfish or shallow, or didn’t love music. It’s the sort of thing Dewey Finn would love. Tony Wilson may very well have been the Man, but I don’t think he was keeping anyone down, or selling anyone out. If 24 Hour Party People is accurate, he rocked as much as the bands he promoted. And let’s face it, that’s a huge thing to learn.

School of Rock: B+
24 Hour Party People: A-