24 Hour Party People
by
Sasha Stone
Tony Wilson's downfall wasn't due to drugs, women or bad
business deals, but rather to his civic pride. This is just one of the
howlers Michael Winterbottom's 24 Hour Party People ingeniously
delivers as it hands us a self-mocking, loosely true account of 1980s
English journalist-cum-record mogul Wilson and the "Mad-chester"
he sought to create: a previously industrial, working class town that,
for a time, was the pulsebeat of the music scene, the place to be. Dancing
in The Hacienda, zoned out on Ecstasy and listening to the Happy Mondays
- this was the time that felt so good, yet could never really be properly
explained to those who weren't there.
House
music was one of the things that The Hacienda made famous, and most
Americans felt the ripples long after they originated - yeah, we were
all listening to New Wave, but this was where it started, where punk
morphed into the New Wave sound and finally gave birth to rave culture,
or so Wilson would tell you.
24
Hour Party People is a film about Manchester's place in the sun,
but it's also about Tony Wilson, the silliness that was the 80s, and
even the rock film genre. It isn't a mockumentary like This is Spinal
Tap, but it does mock Wilson, the musicians he helped create, and
the fans who gobbled it all up. It mocks everybody, but most especially
our unreliable narrator Wilson, who seems to contradict himself and
his intentions throughout the film.
Despite
his blunders, Wilson was a true visionary, who did have an impact on
music history. He is as smart and as stupid as another biopic character,
Charles Foster Kane, who did great things and made great mistakes. As
played by comedian Steve Coogan, who also plays a Wilson-like TV character
for laughs on UK television, continually rips through the fourth wall
to explain things that bring us right back to the present day. He talks
to us both in voice-over and directly to the camera, explaining what
is happening, what will happen and how we'll all feel about it in the
future. This is Tony Wilson giving us a tour of his most spectacular
memories, with the alternative track commentary already built in (he
was postmodern before there was postmodern, he says).
Coogan
is a relevation. You simply cannot take your eyes off him when he's
on screen. Abundantly charismatic, funny, and a little frazzled, he
strolls through the film, nailing every line, and capturing Wilson's
simultaneous book-smarts and street-sleaze. He's continually quoting
great authors and drawing ridiculous comparisons (the Sex Pistols debut
being like The Last Supper), all the while outsmarting the audience.
At one point, and I won't ruin the surprise, he jumps ahead to what
we're probably thinking, and just as he calls us on it we realize that,
yes, that's exactly what we were thinking. His to-the-camera monologues
are absolutely the best thing about the film (for those who aren't keyed
in to the Manchester music scene, that is).
Despite
the fact that Wilson helped revolutionize music with his Factory Records-signed
bands, it was the ones he didn't sign, most significantly The Smiths,
that would endure long after The Hacienda closed. Rising along with
the rave/dance/house explosion, the film says, was the drug culture.
It wasn't the club owners who got rich, it was the drug dealers. And
with their money they got guns, and their guns destroyed the party.
So it goes.
If
the film were just a big joke it would hardly be worth anyone's time.
It takes the morbid sensibility of the usually somber director, Winterbottom,
to work the balance, along with screenwriter Frank Cottrell Boyce and
cinematographer Robby Müller. The movie shows that even if people
were having a 24-hour party, life was becoming, perhaps, lonelier than
ever. 24 Hour Party People goes by quickly, and you have to be
paying attention to get everything at once. You'll want to go right
back and see it again when it's over. Truly, this is one of the best
films of the year.
©2002 Sasha Stone
CineScene
