Back in 1965 Rodney Bingenheimer was hired as a stand-in for Davy Jones on The Monkees TV show and soon ingratiated himself into the hip inner circles of LA showbiz. In a world filled with phonies Rodney was the real deal: the ultimate fan, a geeky unassuming little guy reflecting the stars back at themselves the way they wanted to be seen. In return they gave him a form of love and acceptance he had never received as a youngster growing up lonely in a sleepy little California town.
Now in his late 50s Rodney is still living his life like a rock and roll song only now it's playing on the B-side of the American Dream. Unlike Dick Clark it never occurred to him to use his insider status to build up his bankroll. Cut back to Sundays from midnight – 3am on L.A.'s KROQ-FM (where he has hosted a weekly show since the 70s) he lives in a small apartment overflowing with souvenirs from his glory days. There are photos of Rodney in the 60s with Elvis, Andy Warhol, Jimi Hendrix and John Lennon; Led Zep and the Who hanging out at his rock club, Rodney's English Disco, the epicenter of the early 70s Sunset Strip "scene"; Rodney on the air (he was the first to play records by Blondie, Ramones, Sex Pistols and Nirvana, among others, practically inventing alternative rock radio in the process.)
Soundbites from David Bowie; Cher; Joan Jett; Brooke Shields, Gwen Stefani; Doors keyboardist Ray Manzarek; Johnny Marr of the Smiths and Chris Martin of Coldplay testify to his widespread popularity within the industry.
In his hometown, however, Rodney still can't get any respect. His father and stepmom are clearly baffled by his success and a boyhood acquaintance wonders aloud why "celebrities glom onto this guy that around here people just made fun of."
Writer/director George Hickenlooper (Hearts of Darkness: A Film-Maker's Apocalypse) is more interested in emotional truth than technical polish. He's got a sharp eye for "one-shot-is-worth-a-thousand-words" imagery (the scene in which Rodney walks past a wall of gold records and into a grubby little kitchen littered with empty pop bottles speaks volumes about the rock and roll fantasy he has spent his whole life pursuing and the humbling reality of the consequences.)
I also like the way the film contrasts the innocence of Rodney's fanboy obsession with the reptilian charm of Kim Fowley, a fabled LA music biz hustler with so many hidden agendas he could run for political office. (Call him the anti-Rodney.)
This film aims to be more than just a feature length version of one of those Behind The Music documentaries. Hickenlooper wants to use Rodney's curious "career" to get at some larger truth about our celebrity-obsessed society. And if he isn't completely successful, well, Mayor of Sunset Strip still works as an intriguingly intimate and deeply poignant portrait of the most famous person you may have never heard of.
Now in his late 50s Rodney is still living his life like a rock and roll song only now it's playing on the B-side of the American Dream. Unlike Dick Clark it never occurred to him to use his insider status to build up his bankroll. Cut back to Sundays from midnight – 3am on L.A.'s KROQ-FM (where he has hosted a weekly show since the 70s) he lives in a small apartment overflowing with souvenirs from his glory days. There are photos of Rodney in the 60s with Elvis, Andy Warhol, Jimi Hendrix and John Lennon; Led Zep and the Who hanging out at his rock club, Rodney's English Disco, the epicenter of the early 70s Sunset Strip "scene"; Rodney on the air (he was the first to play records by Blondie, Ramones, Sex Pistols and Nirvana, among others, practically inventing alternative rock radio in the process.)
Soundbites from David Bowie; Cher; Joan Jett; Brooke Shields, Gwen Stefani; Doors keyboardist Ray Manzarek; Johnny Marr of the Smiths and Chris Martin of Coldplay testify to his widespread popularity within the industry.
In his hometown, however, Rodney still can't get any respect. His father and stepmom are clearly baffled by his success and a boyhood acquaintance wonders aloud why "celebrities glom onto this guy that around here people just made fun of."
Writer/director George Hickenlooper (Hearts of Darkness: A Film-Maker's Apocalypse) is more interested in emotional truth than technical polish. He's got a sharp eye for "one-shot-is-worth-a-thousand-words" imagery (the scene in which Rodney walks past a wall of gold records and into a grubby little kitchen littered with empty pop bottles speaks volumes about the rock and roll fantasy he has spent his whole life pursuing and the humbling reality of the consequences.)
I also like the way the film contrasts the innocence of Rodney's fanboy obsession with the reptilian charm of Kim Fowley, a fabled LA music biz hustler with so many hidden agendas he could run for political office. (Call him the anti-Rodney.)
This film aims to be more than just a feature length version of one of those Behind The Music documentaries. Hickenlooper wants to use Rodney's curious "career" to get at some larger truth about our celebrity-obsessed society. And if he isn't completely successful, well, Mayor of Sunset Strip still works as an intriguingly intimate and deeply poignant portrait of the most famous person you may have never heard of.