Eddie and the Cruisers (Martin Davidson, 1983)

He doesn't believe shirts should have sleeves, and she thinks the entirety of one's legs should be unadorned by pesky fabrics such as denim and corduroy, yet somehow they manage to make sweet music together in the wonderfully melodious Eddie and the Cruisers, a raucous look-see into the brief existence of an early 1960s rock and roll band that starts to gel after their charismatic leader and a Rimbaud reading, piano playing songwriter see eye-to-eye in a New Jersey bar. Jumping back and forth between the past and the present, the film chronicles the lives of the surviving members of the short-lived group. Well, actually, its main focus is the post-Cruiser life of Frank "Wordman" Ridgeway (Tom Berenger). Now an English teacher, the one-time rock star finds his musical past making a come back in a big way, as the Eddie and the Cruisers get caught up in the '60s nostalgia wave. Interest in their lost second album "A Season in Hell" and the mystery surrounding death of Eddie (his body was never found) has grabbed the attention of Maggie (the gorgeous Ellen Barkin), a reporter for a music magazine of note. Now, I've never seen an episode of Behind the Music (parodies not included), but the structure of this film by Martin Davidson has all the elements of your classic rise and fall music story: artistic differences (Roxy Music), dead saxophone players (Einstürzende Neubauten), conspiracy theories (Nirvana), the troubled, yet highly innovative follow up record (The Beastie Boys), and inter-band ass fucking (Frankie Goes to Hollywood). However, since the film lacks many of the key ingredients that usually go into making your average rock and roll motion picture (drug abuse and drunken violence being the two big ones), the tuneful enterprise comes across as strangely original.

I also liked how Eddie (Michael Paré) and his band were treated when they perform at a seemingly squarer than square college. This campus sequence is setup as your typical: let's mock a bunch of buttoned-down, unhip cardigan wearers. But it turned out to be the complete opposite in terms of tone and tempo, and of course, proved once and for all that the power of rock, and not to mention, Paré's dreaminess, is incendiary.

The sight of Tom Berenger belting out a rough version of "On the Dark Side" and clutching a book by fancy pants word writer Arthur Rimbaud may have been a bizarre one, but the tough guy definitely shines as the reluctant songwriter. He's got a quiet, restrained quality about him that worked well with the magnetic Paré. It's the kind of non-showy performance that doesn't garner much attention, but it's sort that keeps the film grounded in reality. Though, I must say, I was genuinely surprised by how he was able thwart the leggy assault thrown at him by Ellen Barkin's reporter character. I mean, what kind of man ignores that kind of gam-based onslaught? Truth be told, the fact that Berenger's character wasn't coerced by this shameless display was on the cusp of being impressive.

A crotch moistener if I ever saw one, Michael Paré is freaking hot as Eddie Wilson, the energetic front-man of the film's titular group. Yeah, so what he doesn't do any of his own singing, the amount of sheer manliness Mr. Paré puts forth in Eddie and the Cruisers is off the charts. Again, like Berenger, he doesn't overdo in the histrionics department. This control adds to his overall coolness, and justifies the legend status of character.

Oh, and by not delving too deeply into Eddie's personality, the filmmakers elevate his mystique; a rare case where the less we know, the better.

On the surface, the many scenes that featured the gorgeous Helen Schneider wearing short-shorts seemed like a blatant attempt to curry favour with the smattering of perverts in the audience. Deep down, however, this material-challenged situation turned out to be one of the more brilliant ways to convey on-screen aging that I gave ever seen. You see, most films seem to go overboard when comes to aging characters. This particular film, on the other hand, simply used age appropriate clothing to signify the passage of time: the short-shorts equaling youthfulness and slaphappy whimsicality, while a modest lavender dress and with matching heels signifies practicality mixed with dignity.

Anyway, Helen Schneider reminded me of a cross between Annabella Sciorra and Juliet Landau. In other words, a tantalizing screen presence. Her scene with Michael Paré at the Palace of Depression (a junkyard fortress made out of outmoded automobiles) and the subsequent embrace in front of his turquoise Chevy convertible was my favourite non-musical sequence in the film.

Overly nostalgic for a period of time I'm not really that interested in, and sporting synthesizer-free music from start to finish, Eddie and the Cruisers manages to pull off a minor miracle by making the trials and tribulations of a lame bar band seem compelling, and, dare I say, mildly inspirational.

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