DETROIT ROCK CITY A film review by David N. Butterworth Copyright 1999 David N. Butterworth
**1/2 (out of ****)
Whether you once worshipped at the altar of KISS, King Crimson, or the Kinks, "Detroit Rock City" is the kind of movie that takes you back to a time when music came on twelve-inch "long playing" records and grown-ups, not Gene Simmons or Alice Cooper or Ozzy Osbourne, were the devil.
This unashamedly nostalgic trip back to the Seventies features the kind of songs you cranked up on your turntable until the neighbors called the cops. It features parents who just don't understand, including the terrific Lin Shaye as a hyper-religious mother who torches her son's KISS tickets while proclaiming the rockers to be Knights in Satan's Service.
And, most gratifyingly, it features four young men--Edward Furlong, Giuseppe Andrews, James DeBello and, especially, Sam Huntington--who are the tops when it comes to portraying the angst, vulgarity, and pleasure of rebellious teens.
Adam Rifkin's film has an undeniable charm, from the time our hapless KISS-happy quartet first see their tickets go up in flames to when, triumphantly, they fulfill their dream of seeing their heroes performing live on stage. (Did Gene Simmons really have that flap of skin surgically removed from the underside of his tongue?) Teenage boys, past and present, may relate more closely to the film than most ("borrowing" Mom's Volvo, losing one's virginity in a confessional box, falling into a hot tub full of naked groupies, etc.), but there's plenty here for others to enjoy too.
Nicest of all is that "Detroit Rock City," for all of the anarchy inherent in its subject matter, is a rather sweet little film. It's far from perfect but, for a film that claims to "kiss the rules goodbye," surprisingly amiable.
-- David N. Butterworth dnb@dca.net
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