REVIEW - CBGB

As someone who has never been a fan of punk music, and who has never lived a punk lifestyle, I'm no authority on the matter of the New York club CBGB, where the music genre was launched in the 1970s. But as someone who has always held an affection for the punk movement, I'm enough of an authority to inform you that this is a callous, asinine, deplorable insult to punk and to those who hold it in high regard. Randall Miller's juvenile film opens with a couple of dweebs reportedly inventing punk, and from there you know you're in for a really nauseous time. Those two don't crop up too often (and even at that, it's too often), as Alan Rickman's Hilly Kristal establishes his country, bluegrass and blues club only to see it immediately turned into a haven for rock artists. Rickman and the club are the only constants through the film, even if his accent is not (though he's one of a great many here to miss the timbre of their vernacular by quite some distance). Otherwise, it's a ramshackle roll call of cameos from actors-as-impersonators. They strut in, looking like they've stepped out of a Vanity Fair tribute shoot, mime through a few numbers, and there you go. Music history, apparently. By the way, they're miming to studio recordings, not even live recordings, of these songs - you don't need to be told how hideous that is. I was in silent despair at CBGB until the following occurred: prior to the closing credits, text cards appeared to relate to us the fates of the characters and musicians involved in this story after it ended, upon which my despair became vocalised. Some particularly egregious examples - 'Iggy [Pop] is widely considered the grand master of Punk, known for his outrageous and unpredictable stage antics.'...'[Lisa Kristal] is happily married and the mother of two'...'[The Ramones] became so iconic that their music can now be heard in commercials and their CD's [sic] can be purchased at Starbucks.'