Movies You May Have Missed - 24 Hour Party People (2002)

My plan here was to feature a trio of underappreciated films that perfectly capture the energy, excitement and unpredictability (and absurdity) of popular music. I thought about it for weeks and I admit, I was stumped. Pop-music movements are the hardest and most elusive to emulate in the time-consuming, costly film/video medium. Only live comedy is more difficult to realistically reimagine. Both require in-the-moment spontaneity and occur as a result of fleeting cultural moments in time.Try to capture that on film—I dare you.

[Note: Ondi Timoner managed nicely in her documentary, Dig!, because she filmed her rock-band subjects for seven years and spent God knows how many hours honing that down to a cohesive musical story for the time--the 90s--but that's for a future article.]

Director Michael Winterbottom must have thought about this problem long and hard when he made 24 Hour Party People, because he made damn sure the story of the rise and fall of Manchester's Factory Records was fresh, spontaneous and postmodern, like the scene it fictionally documents. How did he pull it off? I don't want to over-analyze all his methods here—it would DESTROY THE MOMENT. And that's the opposite of what this film accomplishes.

24 Hour Party People celebrates a time when the economic and social upheaval of 1970s western-European culture fostered the borderline-insane creativity of the prematurely embittered and underemployed youth of England's Northwest. The result was a new sound that you could dance to. Punk was the catalyst—the spark, if you will, that set it off. The result: controlled chaos, musical mayhem, applied chemistry—a new scene.

And now:

From the moment the titles appear, you know you're in good hands (or maybe you're afraid—this isn't for everyone, I admit). The bleached, chemical-vat colorization and purposefully distressed splendor of the title sequence is classic Experimental Film-School 101 from the era. And consequently the sequence was created by the design team behind the original Happy Mondays. More on the Mondays eventually.





I've never been to England and had to rely on Keith to fill me in on Factory Records and the Manchester scene. There's photographic proof that Keith roamed the streets of the Northeastern U.S. while wearing red skinny-legged jeans and a white blazer. Plus he spent a semester or two living in England in the early 80s, so he's my go-to source of British new-wave history. Meanwhile, I was just buying New Order records at Tower Records in California because of the pretty, pretty packaging and hypnotic qualities of the songs. I didn't know the story behind the innovative album design, or New Order, or anything of relevance as recreated in this film. So, I came to it as an appreciator of its audacity and wry deadpan wit. Keith was the one who clued me in to its authenticity. And when it's not authentic, the film playfully lets you know, several times over. Winterbottom's not a Wikipedia editor. He's a filmmaker.

Onward. 24 Hour Party People is about music but its narrator is a fan and supporter, not a musician. This is Tony Wilson, played with wry panache by Steve Coogan. Wilson was a local newscaster on Granada Television who attended the now-legendary 1976 Sex Pistols Manchester gig, with an audience of around 40 locals who were inspired to form Joy Division, The Smiths, The Fall, The Buzzcocks, and so on and so forth. (Legend, truth—whatever—"How many people were at the Last Supper?" asks Coogan/Wilson, proving less is more.)

One of many times Coogan as Wilson breaks the fourth wall to address us personally

Wilson visualized a rise of amateur misfits who could potentially shake up the bombastic guitar solos and stagnant sameness of the era's bloated music industry. Here was kinetic movement of a different sort. He started featuring new bands and artists such as Iggy Pop , Patti Smith, The Clash, The Jam, and Siouxsie and the Banshees on his television show, "And So It Goes." He then opened a club where he booked Joy Division, The Durutti Column, and his own management project (poked fun at throughout), A Certain Ratio.

All of this was very exciting. And Coogan makes a fabulous and improvisational host to the era, placing his hands in church-steeple fashion while pontificating about artistic genius throughout the ages. The guy intellectualizes everything, reminding everyone he has a Cambridge degree ("I never did that," insists the real Tony Wilson on the DVD commentary), and deserves better news assignments than interviewing midget elephant keepers and octogenarian canal builders. These re-created (and somewhat fictionalized) news segments are interspersed throughout and are the perfect contrast to the absurdity of "real life" media alongside underground culture, which is, of course, just as absurd in its own way. Anyone who has straddled the musical and working-stiff worlds simultaneously will appreciate the contrast. Also used: actual footage from the era, cut into recreated scenes, and the weathering of the new footage, so it fits the media look of its era.

Where does absurdity spring? I'd say wherever trouble lives. And Manchester youth had troubles. Major unemployment, a bleak non-future—they might as well have picked up guitars and strummed the blues. The cast of characters are true characters, from Joy Division and Factory co-founder, Rob Gretton (Paddy Considine--an eerily spot-on performance according to those who know), music producer and self-proclaimed genius, Martin Hannett (Andy Serkis—you know him as Gollum), and the intense and talented band, Joy Division, who would go on as New Order after the tragic suicide of front man, Ian Curtis.

Wilson and Gretton (Considine) negotiate a blood oath at the local pub

Winterbottom doesn't frame it pretty—just keeps it real and "in the moment"

The brilliant Serkis playing the brilliant Hannett

The live shows and recording-studio scenes are hyper-realistic, albeit with fourth-wall breaking asides, fictionalized timelines, and the occasional cameo from actual scenesters of the era. Joy Division's actual instruments were used in this scene of the recording of their first album. The actors playing musicians do an A+ job walking, talking and playing like budding musicians who are figuring out what they're doing as they go.

John Simm as Bernard Sumner

Peter Hook's bass

Ralf Little as Peter Hook

Howard Devoto as Howard Devoto.

Sean Harris as Ian Curtis is intensely mesmerizing. His live-music scenes are like being in an drunken, sweaty, but reverent audience, watching fresh live music unfold. That is a near-impossible task for a filmmaker—kudos. Note the electrician's tape on the mic stand. The little details add up to so much authenticity.

This is John the postman (Dave Gorman). Every basement-level scene has a super-fan like John the postman. At least they used to.

This ragtag group forms the Factory label, with its die-cut record sleeves and artful design schemes, opens a club—The Hacienda—and proceeds to drive themselves into economic ruin. The signing of The Happy Mondays, whose front man, Shaun Ryder, truly believes in the gospel of sex, drugs, rock & roll, hastens the decline. But the mood never sours. Coogan's narration is dry and light, as if looking into the deep past from a place of Zen wisdom. Money, fame, success—all ephemeral. What matters is the art. Scenes of mayhem, drug-addled confusion, violence, and baleful business decisions are played deadpan. To Wilson, the music, and the place it came from matter. This makes him an endearing buffoon and heroic anti-hero. It's such a strange and wonderful combination and reflects the process of the creation of pop music, which uses poetic, as well as analytic and observational regions of the brain. And, as I mentioned before, you can dance to it.

Split-screen portrays the packaging design alongside its product (in this case the huge single, Blue Monday)

Shaun Ryder (Danny Cunningham) in the streets of Manchester

It wouldn't be much of an cult film without a vision of God, would it?

Camaraderie at the Factory

The punk ethos shines through the grit and gray skies of Manchester. The film is a love letter to Manchester. Coogan says so.

Manchester as seen on high

An interesting aside—the Hacienda, purportedly the birthplace of acid house and rave, abruptly closed in 1997 and was meant to reopen once financing was secured. It never was, but when making the film, Winterbottom had the club recreated exactly to specs and filmed the "last night" closing party. Locals played the crowd and simply partied during the entire shoot. So you can't go to The Hacienda (it was torn down for condos—the story of modern cities), but this last hurrah looks and feels like the real thing. And apparently at the time, it was.

Trailer with dumb U.S. narration overriding Coogan's idiosyncratic narration.




The DVD has commentary from the late Tony Wilson, who points out the untrue bits, including the gold records hanging on the Factory wall. "We would never have gold records on our walls," he lectures, miffed. Punk, forever. A second track has commentary by Steve Coogan and producer, Andrew Eaton. Michael Winterbottom prefers to remain silent, so that you may absorb and enjoy. It's like trying to explain music...

Mammoth Lakes - Bristlecone Pines - Yosemite Road Trip

Summer is over. Long live summer. Today is the first day of school and I'm sitting in a stupor, suffering from chronic insomnia once more. Thank goodness I already graduated and am not required to pay attention or learn anything. Kidding! I'm learning all the time. Like just a couple weeks ago, I learned that Yosemite has a ghost town. Not technically, but close enough.

Just outside the Yosemite National Park boundaries is a lovely 1.5-mile hike to a former silver-mining operation, Bennettville. It's noteworthy because A) the hike is easy and follows a lovely creek with various little drops that almost reach mini-waterfall status, and B) Bennettville, while only existing as two restored buildings, is still a lovely, haunting and strange destination once you emerge from the misty, shadowy woods. Bonus: views of mountains all around.

These are the last two buildings out of many from the abandoned mining operation. The late nineteenth-century company just couldn't get silver out of the tons of granite and finally gave up. These buildings were rebuilt using authentic materials in 1993. Like all abandoned places, it's lonesome with an atmosphere of economic failure, but it's always nice to see nature get the last word in. The word from nature in Bennettville is: too bad—no precious metals for you.

Keith says "YES" to nature on the trail to Bennettville

Speaking of nature, we've been meaning to visit the ancient bristlecone forest in the White Mountain range of the Eastern Sierras for some time now. When we were last in the area (the town of Bishop, to be exact), the winding road to the pines was closed due to snow. So we made a point of heading up that way this time around. The bristlecones did not disappoint.

I know you're probably thinking: why would anyone travel hundreds of miles to a 10,000+-foot elevation to see some pine trees? I have a good answer for that. These are not just any pine trees. They're freakin' bristlecone trees—the toughest, long-lastingnest trees on the planet. That's right—bristlecones can live a long time. How long? Thousands of years long. Each. That's one tree: living thousands of years. In fact, one tree at this blasted, extreme elevation has lived more than 5,000 years. It was just beyond our hiking loop, but we did pass by the second oldest tree (recorded so far), which is no spring chicken at 4,000+ years. I apologize for all the cliches and ad-speak in the above paragraph. I feel the need to sell these trees a little, even though they need no help from me.

Here are some bristlecones. Some are dead, but have been standing for hundreds of years. They're not going anywhere any time soon (I'll stop writing like this now, I promise). The density and durability of the bristlecone allows it to survive in terrible weather conditions that would destroy most lifeforms within a season. Some of these trees are half-alive and some are young and on their way to living history. The dead ones tend have the most character for photography's sake—like crazed modern sculpture, growing out of cruddy soil conditions. Have at it, bristlecones—it's your world—we're just a blink of an eye in it.

 

 

The other strange aspect of the bristlecone interpretive history loop is a section of blasted red rocks, spilling down the mountain. This is that weird California phenomena where the Earth's crust along the Pacific coast shoves against the North American continent every hundred-thousand years or so, creating mountain ranges made of multiple layers of whatever gets pushed to the top. In this case, billions of red, shorn rocks. Some are naturally formed in perfect rectangle bricks. Others diamond-shaped, cube shaped, shingle-like. Just don't bring any home to use as a doorstop. You're supposed to leave nature as you found it. Also, the rangers won't tell you which trees are the oldest. It's a well-kept secret. Nobody wants to see the world's oldest living organism with "BERNARD WAS HERE" carved into it.

Lots of red rocks

Mammoth Lakes is aptly named. Besides being known as a bountiful ski destination (and now summer sports as well, including mountain biking, golf, hiking and drinking fancy coffee), there are quite a few lakes to explore. Here's June Lake of the famous "June Lake Loop" (nicknamed The Switzerland of the U.S.—it actually does seem very alpine Swiss). You can camp, lodge and fish all around this area and there are three more beautiful lakes just down the road.

This is just the view from the highway—not bad

And of course, when in Mammoth, do take the bus ride down to the Devil's Postpile National Monument and Rainbow Falls sites. You can hike to these places after you disembark (Mammoth has a very enlightened public-transit system and discourages too much auto traffic on delicate mountain roads) and they are strange and wonderful. If you do so in the summer as we did, be prepared for HUMANITY. As in, oh, the humanity. But really, it wasn't as crowded as Yosemite and it was worth seeing. Check it out—Devil's Postpile:

What the-- WHA?

To give you an idea of the scale of this thing, also known as columnar basalt

 At midday, Rainbow Falls has an actual rainbow in it.

After a walk through meadows and forest, one of two outlooks overlooking Rainbow Falls

Pull up a rock, have a seat and a snack

The rainbow shows up best in person, or if not possible, on video. An excerpt of Rainbow Falls, with rainbow:




But what of Yosemite, you say (if you've made it this far and if so, congratulations). I know, I know. I promised some Yosemite. Here's a random glacial lake. I think it's Tenaya Lake. It's right on Highway 129 (Tioga Rd.). You can't miss it.

The fact is, we really blew through Yosemite after traveling for four days, so it was a late-afternoon destination. The best time of year to blow through Yosemite along Tuolumne Meadows is in the spring when wildflowers are exploding everywhere and the deer practically frolic in front of you like something out of Bambi. As it was, in late-August—not so many wild flowers.

Still, Yosemite is a beaut, of course. Although Jackson calls it "overrated," being mostly made of "granite mountains" with a few "interesting water features." I think the key word here is "popular." Yosemite is very populated and if you're trying to get out of that situation, this is not the place. Still, Olmsted Point is worth a visit for some fabulous granite views.

Hmmm, this is overrated...

...What? Oh, HI! Yes, fabulous, indeed

The thing I remember was we stopped and got burgers at the Tuolumne Grill near the meadow and that was good because we had run out of snacks at that point. It was decent eats and though bustling, wasn't the typical mob scene of Yosemite eateries. And Keith found a discarded bike wheel on top of a dumpster with two broken spokes, so that went into the car with us and is awaiting his repair. If you are the cyclist who left your wheel behind because of two broken spokes, know that it ended up in good and appreciative hands.

P.S. Keith wanted to give a shout-out to the Sonora Pass, our gateway to the Eastern Sierras. He says this is the "indie rock" route to Mammoth because it's not exactly a major-destination hub, unless you count Bodie as a major destination (I do). This was also the highest elevation we had ever been, until we visited the bristlecones a couple days later. Those bristlecones have got it going on. Also, pioneers—how did they survive all this?

At 9,600+ feet, headaches and shortness of breath do occur—great views though

Two cheerful guys parked by the Sonora Pass sign were unloading a mountain bike so one could bike 15 miles down the highway while the other followed in the car. They explained they would then drive back up the mountain and trade places, so each would get a chance to bike it. That's something to do.

More advice: don't forget your golf clubs.

Au revoir, summer.

She Mob - Bend Down Low (another music video)

I just keep traveling and then making music videos. These are bristlecone pines that live in the White Mountains in the Eastern Sierras. Their pine cones have actual bristles, so that's a good name for these trees. But what the name doesn't tell you is that bristlecone pines, if the conditions are right, can live thousands of years. THOUSANDS OF YEARS. There's a tree in this forest that's more than 4,000 years old. Another one, further up the trail, has recently been clocked at 5,000+ years. The National Park Service won't tell you which ones, so don't ask. Just ponder the significance of living things that are THOUSANDS OF YEARS OLD.

Bend Down Low was penned by Suki O'Kane and was recorded for She Mob's third album, "Not In My World." Suki's singing lead and playing accordion. Joy Hutchinson's playing guitar and she and I are singing backup. Jeff Hobbs has an alto clarinet solo. And the bristlecone pines are THOUSANDS OF YEARS OLD.