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Rock-music lover and feature-film director Jonathan Demme takes on eccentric British singer-songwriter, Robyn Hitchcock, in an ambitious concert film. Setting up a stage in a New York storefront, Hitchcock plays with his back to the glass, while an audience looks on inside and passersby view the action through the window.Written by
Yes, Awful. Dated by the time I see this. Our singer in a self indulgent rant about things gone by. Thankfuly warned ahead of time by our opening credits that there will be 15 songs. Better to have been sung in his personal shower. Off key voice that cracks and scratches it's way through some of the most awfully written lyrics. The music in a basic form, any high schooler could follow.
Not impressed to say the least, a complete waste of my time. Smallish, unseen audience, must be close family and friends because someone is clapping after the songs. The onlookers in the background are amusing, but then the curtain closes and we see Hitchcock in a dark, candlelight setting rambling on about who knows what, and then you start to miss the actual entertainment from the street side of things.
Hair whipping? Really? His hair is short and has enough hairspray to hold back a gale force wind, yet he's trying to flip something from his face?
His in between song ramblings I could clearly do without. Is this some kind of British humor? I just didn't get it. His tidbits of personal reflection I could do without. Could have shaved off painful minutes if it was left on the cutting room floor. I can clearly see why I've never heard of this guy and his act. And why it grossed $3,000 at a box office? Must have been that set of close family and friends watching the movie to see if they were in it?
Sorry, this one's a loser.
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