(out of
four)
By David N. Butterworth
Almost Famous, writer/director Cameron Crowe's first film since 1996's
hugely-successful Jerry Maguire, will be on a lot of ten best lists come the end of
the year and it will be on mine. Come the beginning of next year it might well have won
the Academy Award® for Best Picture into the bargain.
Pretty much everything you've heard about the film is true, since word on the street is
that Almost Famous is Absolutely Fabulous. It's also everything you'd expect from a
Cameron Crowe movie, and more.
First of all, it tells a story. A very good, semi-autobiographical story. Almost
Famous follows a '70's highschooler (newcomer Patrick Fugit) who bluffs his way into
covering a Lynyrd Skynyrd-type rock band for Rolling Stone magazine only to learn
that truth-in-reporting isn't as easy as it sounds.
Secondly, like Jerry Maguire and those other Crowe projects (Singles, Say
Anything), the film is very finely cast and excellently acted by all, including Philip
Seymour Hoffman (Magnolia) as an approving editor, Frances McDormand (Wonder
Boys) as a disapproving mother (she only knows three words: don't take drugs), and the
less-well known Kate Hudson as the groupie–sorry, "band-aid"–love
interest. Let's not forget Fugit though, who's outstanding in the
lead, and Billy Crudup and Jason Lee as, respectively, the band's enigmatic lead guitarist
and outspoken lead singer. Both impress, especially Crudup, whose star has clearly risen.
Third, this film is extremely well written and directed. Why wouldn't it be? It's a
Cameron Crowe movie. They always say the best writers write from experience and Almost
Famous is a composite of many of Crowe's true-life memories–at 16 he covered the
Allman Brothers for Rolling Stone–and the film rings true as a result. A good
story, fine acting, and great writing. Sounds like enough. But Almost Famous goes
beyond that by being warm, genuinely touching, and very funny.
It's also scarily accurate and subtle beyond measure: Crowe excels at the delicate
imbalance, the casual observation, the nuance. There are scenes–many, many
scenes–that just feel Right, be it in tone, in length, in look. The director knows
when to use dialogue (well), and when to have Fugit's William Miller simply observe
(better). For a film about sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll, Crowe keeps the emphasis on the
music. Stillwater, the band Miller is following, is also a composite, an amalgam of
several '70's rock bands–Skynyrd, Zeppelin, the Allmans, Bad Company. Crowe's trump
card in filming the band on stage, however, is never to give away too much. All we hear
are snippets of songs, snatches of guitar solos from Russell Hammond (Crudup) and
convincing posturing from Jeff Bebe (Lee). Wisely, we are never given time to critique the
music itself. But it's there, at the forefront and in the background, just like the songs
Crowe uses on the soundtrack. Not just throwaway '70's hits but well-chosen numbers which
skillfully augment the narrative.
The film never flags for a moment, even during sequences you think you've seen before
(the everyone-sings-along-to-a-song-on-the-radio scene, for example). Here Crowe manages
to make his version (in which a busload of band members and their entourage harmonize to
Elton John's Tiny Dancer) appear unique. In the trailer it looks corny; in context
it hits a nerve.
It's easy to get caught up in the buzz, but it's just as easy not to want to succumb to
the hype. If you're smart you'll see Almost Famous and then you'll want to see it
again. In fact, coming out of the theater it will almost feel like a requirement.
