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Diane Lane’s face in close-up during the opening credits interview is the kind of beguiling teenage wasteland Godard would have killed for in Masculin Féminin. (The sullen blankness flinches at only one question: "Do you think your views may change as you grow older?" "Grow older?") The dismal setting is industrial Pennsylvania, the pissed-off orphan infiltrates a marginal music scene of exiled punk-rock thrashers, decaying glam guitarists, Rastafarian drivers, overdoses and groupies. The Metal Corpses (led by Fee Waybill, in increasingly clownish Kiss face-paint) and The Looters (led by Ray Winstone, with backup by bruisers from The Clash and The Sex Pistols) are the squabbling bands on tour, Lane creates The Stains (with Marin Kanter and Laura Dern), wedges herself between them, and takes off. The lyrics tell the tale ("Iiiiiiii’m a waste of time, don’t touch me..."), but the image sells the product: The anti-social heroine’s skunkish two-toned tresses, eye-shadow slashes and diaphanous blouses quickly catch the eye of the local media, and legions of adolescents parrot her motto ("Don’t put out"). The idol-worshippers are fickle, however, one word to the crowd of mallrat clones and the gig’s up. The manager spells it out: "You were a concept, and you’ve blown the concept." Nancy Dowd’s blueprint has scrappy traces of The Girl Can’t Help It (and the seeds of Madonna, Courtney, Britney...), Lou Adler’s direction has an exhausted band wrangler’s acquaintance with waves and fads. The coda almost provides a moral, then settles for an MTV video. "Join the professionals, you’re gonna be one anyway." With Peter Donat, David Clennon, Paul Cook, Steve Jones, Paul Simonon, and Christine Lahti.
--- Fernando F. Croce |