slhakeman

This is a film drenched in a palpable sadness: the sadness of being gay in the 1950s; the sadness of being a woman in the 1950s; the sadness of being anything out of the ordinary in the 1950s. But I've been rereading a lot of Kerouac lately, and I don't think it would be a stretch to say that the whole Beat Movement was propelled by sadness.

This is also an intriguing film, though I wouldn't call it a great one. Anyone interested in the Beats should see it. But if you don't know the back story of these characters, I can imagine that much of what they do doesn't make a lot of sense.

I thought Courtney Love gave a remarkable performance, surprisingly nuanced, aided by her off center beauty. In Kiefer Sutherland's defense, I'm not sure even Bill Burroughs could play Bill Burroughs. And I wish Kyle Secor and Ron Livingston could have traded roles. I thought Secor captured Allen Ginsberg's manic charisma better, to the extent that when he was on screen, I felt like he and not Livingston, was actually Ginsberg.

This 1968 documentary (occasionally quasi-documentary) may seem to some nothing more than a disjointed mishmash of stoned loonies leaping around ad nauseam - and of course it is - but as one who lived through it, I'd have to say this is the best representation, in an hour and half at least, of the lunatic craziness, the ridiculous sense of barefooted freedom, and wide-eyed innocence that was "the hippie revolution" I've ever seen. It was totally unexpected.

Sure most of the interviews are banal -though representative of the time - and much of the "freedom" demonstrated by all these middle class kids seems forced or false, and as a consequence laughable and clichéd now. But there's an essence captured here, due in large part I think to Jack McConnell just letting his camera rove around, that gives you at least a hint of the absolute excitement that electrified the scene for maybe a year and a half.

And the end is foretold too, if you look closely enough - the drugs, of course, plus a lack of a cohesive philosophy, the unabashed panhandling, the growing divide between the musicians, who were still operating within the capitalist system and the bulk of the hippies who were vainly trying to escape the bonds represented by money, and the general naiveté.

The best parts of the film: the music, especially Quicksilver Messenger Service, Country Joe & the Fish's "Section 43", the Charlatan's Dan Hicks' little acoustic ditty, and an actual clip of the Ace of Cups (arguably the first all female rock band) in concert. Also the fashions - as time slips away you forget just how outrageous and colorful they were at the start before everything went olive drab; those tight-lipped, smug representatives of authority who still make me want to leap through the screen with a flame thrower a la Harold Pinter; and that ineffably sad and nutty conversation between "Today" Malone and some guy about the genetic dangers of taking LSD.

And sure, the naked girls romping through the tall grass seems clichéd today though it really wasn't so much back in '67 (or was it?), and the San Francisco Dance Troupe's performance goes on a tad too long, but I think this film gives a pretty good overview of what it was like back then, for good or bad, before it all went to hell.