Review
END OF THE CENTURY: THE STORY OF THE RAMONES
Directed by Jim Fields and Michael Gramaglia
Opens Friday, March 4
Uptown Screen
Say what you will about the inherent individuality and non-conformity of punk rock, The Ramones had one of the most calculated, long-lasting and fiercely protected collective public personas in rock ’n’ roll history. Indeed, should any band member appear onstage in anything other than their patent black leather jackets and frayed jeans, they would incur the universally feared wrath of the group’s self-appointed drill sergeant and party-whip, guitarist Johnny Ramone. (Hell, they even had their own art director, Arturo Vega – how many other groups could say the same?)
It’s interesting then, that a film about the "brothers" who became the prototype for all things punk has so little to do with image or, more precisely, classic, iconographic rockumentary imagery (i.e. Gimme Shelter’s horror of Altamont; the Winterland meltdown in the Pistols’ The Filth and the Fury; any frame of Woodstock, etc.) and for that reason it’s all the more powerful.
By turns unshakeably unsentimental (Johnny Ramone), surprisingly lucid and soft-spoken (original drummer Tommy Ramone) and just plain mental (bassist Dee Dee Ramone), the remarkably candid interviews with the core band members and some of their closest associates brings the hitherto incomplete picture of the band behind the leather into sharp focus with a narrative that’s hilarious, unsettling and, ultimately, quite sad. (All of Joey Ramone’s appearances are culled from previously existing interviews: he died of lymphatic cancer shortly before production commenced. His brother Mickey Leigh provides an effective counterpoint to the more recent interviews.)
PUNK’S PIED PIPERS
The tale, as they tell it, unfolds like a stalled E! True Hollywood Story, with early triumphs settling into a 20-year cycle of dysfunction and dashed hopes. Those familiar with the band won’t find much new in the first half of the film, although the details are still interesting, particularly as they are presented in the group’s own words. In the cultural wasteland of early ’70s Queens, a few no-goodniks with little hope of accomplishing much of anything – Dee Dee and Johnny being delinquents, Joey being both physically and mentally unwell – form a band, filter out of the mix everything they hate about music (just about everything) and unwittingly create a hard and catchy, sardonic and sweet white noise that’s remained solid as the garage rock blueprint of choice to this day.
Unfortunately for the band – "pied pipers" as they are called by one friend in reference to all the other groups that popped up in the wake of the Ramones’ incessant touring (and that often realized more success) – their legacy as punk’s progenitors was small comfort as they kept waiting for a hit that never came. "Why wasn’t this played on the radio?" asks Punk magazine co-founder and inner circle member Legs McNeil with exasperation about the group’s third album, Rocket to Russia, the classic collection of non-hit singles.
"At that point I knew," says Johnny with resignation about the commercial failure of their Phil Spector-produced fifth album, End of the Century. "I knew we weren’t going to ever sell records. I decided to just do the best we could.…"
END OF THE HARMONY
And that decision to stay together despite having failed to cash in, as their contemporaries in Blondie and Talking Heads had done, also marks the point when End of the Century, the film, really digs out a compelling story of determination and disaster.
Among the dirt dished: a two-decade long feud between Joey and Johnny, after the latter stole the former’s fiancé (amazingly enough, they didn’t speak to each other again, yet still managed to be the two longest-serving members of the band); Dee Dee’s worsening drug habit and increasingly erratic behaviour, culminating quite hilariously with his departure from the band to pursue a terrifically bad – and thankfully brief – rap career; the deleterious effect of their non-stop touring on Joey’s already fragile health; and, most notably, the failure of the individuals in the group to offer any recognition of the others’ contributions to the band. (Johnny reveals that he never wanted Joey, one of the most distinctive voices in rock music, in the group.)
Of course, there is plenty of that from-the-archives type footage to propel the story. (Two personal favourites: a very funny and childish onstage argument over what song to play next – "Yeah, I wanna play ‘Loudmouth’ too. Two against one!" – and Dee Dee Ramone’s acceptance speech at their induction into the Rock ’n’ Roll Hall of Fame – "I would like to thank myself and congratulate myself and give myself a pat on the back. Thank you, Dee Dee.")
It’s their words, though, that leave the most lasting impression: "I don’t know why I’m so bitter," says Dee Dee, in one of the last interviews before his death from a heroin overdose. "It’s just hard being in a rock ’n’ roll band." |
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