SYDNEY FILM FESTIVAL: If the world needed proof that little Dakota Fanning is all grown up, the first five seconds of Floria Sigismondi’s The Runaways should do the trick. As 14-year-old Cherie Currie, Fanning crosses the threshold into womanhood – in full-colour screen-filling close up – as she prepares to cross the street. It’s a big-screen menstruation moment right up there with Carrie, and as metaphors go, it ain’t half bad.
16 year-old Fanning doesn’t put a platform boot wrong in her portrayal of a valley girl rock chick (circa. 1975) growing up way too fast, with neither the inclination nor the wherewithal to slow down. She nails the unconvincing confidence that Currie projected with smudged eyes and suspenders... when behind the scenes, she needed help drawing a straight eyeline, and with snapping her garter clasps.
Fanning is ably assisted by Kristen Stewart as founding Runaway, Joan Jett, who is perhaps best known to many audiences for her self-proclaimed love of rock and roll.
Early scenes encapsulate the ambition simmering within both the tomboy and the glamour: Joan buys a leather jacket with a bag full of spare change; Cherie’s Bowie-inspired, lip-synched lunges (in spray-on pants and warpaint) go over like a lead balloon at a talent quest.
The two are united by renowned scene-stealer Michael Shannon (Revolutionary Road) as wild-eyed svengali Kim Fowley – a '70s-era precursor to Simon Fuller who seeks to fill a visual void in Joan’s girl rock group. While out trawling the clubs, he zeroes in on the very young Cherie's stage presence: 'A little Bowie, a little Bardot and a look on your face that says 'I can kick the shit out of a truck driver'," he observes astutely. Shannon devours the scenery as the penny-pinching tyrant, revelling in the band rehearsal scenes where he baits and prods the pre-Madonna primadonnas to pop their proverbial cherry bombs. In one memorable scene, he trains them to fend off incoming missiles from would-be hecklers.
The Runaways’ narrative contains the standard elements of a better-than-average episode of VH1's Behind the Music, covering problem childhoods, a manipulative manager and the corrosive effects of early fame, in-fighting and drug abuse (though it omits the more litigious plot points that have been raised by/about the band elsewhere).
Still, it’s an artful endeavour, with seasoned music video director and artist Sigismondi at the helm. She makes full use of a soundtrack populated by the likes of Bowie and Suzi Quatro. Overall, the production values are excellent; Sigismondi and cinematographer Benoit Debie achieve that gritty '70s look with Super 16 and a variety of filters. Early scenes are bathed in a southern California glow of candy colours and cheery pastels, which are progressively bleached from the frame as the exhaustion sets in; during the Japanese tour, the cumulative effect of all that sex and drugs and rock and roll take their toll on pale Cherie’s wiry frame, and her world duly crashes in (bringing a screaming horde with it). Clever sound design later underscores Cherie’s predictably short-lived return home; her squeaky leather threads are far too noisy for the deafening silence of the Currie house.
There’s never any doubt that this is Currie and Jett’s story, since they’re the two most famous members of the band, and were instrumental in bringing its story to the screen (The Runaways is based on Currie’s memoir and Jett serves as one of the film’s EPs). To that end, fellow band members Lita Ford and Sandy West are relegated to little more than extras, and the others are deleted altogether (Alia Shawkat’s 'Robin’ is a composite of the band’s many bassists). Even the scant end notes deny them 'where are they now’ closure, suggesting that some grudges never die.
[Editor's note: the 2010 film was released prior to historical sexual assault accusations made against Fowley.]
