::Buy Now: $19.98
::Track list & details
Punk pioneers? Rock 'n' Roll Legends? Yawn. Bottom line: The Clash, even 25 years after their peak, still kick your favorite band in the ass. If you've got half a mind to argue, this is as good a place as any to get that fact shoved in your face.
Rude Boy, another poorly-distributed semi-legendary rock movie, available now for the first time on U.S. DVD, is a mixed bag. As a portrait of a great live band at its peak, it is among the best; As a snapshot of the Clash's fans and the spirit of the times in late '70s England, it's vital; As a docudrama, it's a slab of celluloid garbage.
The '77 Punk bands, for all their visual panache and artistic conceits, were never in danger of overexposure on film (video was far more primitive and less portable then). But of them all, the Clash were probably the best documented, with filmmaker friend Don Letts frequently in tow. Unfortunately, as a cinematographer, Letts was... a helluva DJ, if you dig. By comparison, working in cramped and chaotic real-gig conditions on two UK tours, Rude Boy D.P. Jack Hazan and his various cameramen managed to get some of the best live rock footage you may ever see. It is as if you're there—maybe even better. Likewise for the random shots of Clash fans—most who, Hot Topic devotees and Warped Tour acolytes will be shocked to see, don't look very "punk" at all. Dressing and wearing your hair like the Clash did was still incredibly radical at the time (not to mention, laborious: a particularly unforgettable moment is seeing Strummer sink-wash his hand stencilled shirts).
Around this framework, Rude Boy, in a slapped-together plot, purports to tell the story of lanky, aimless punk Ray (Ray Gange, a real-life non-actor friend of the Clash's Joe Strummer), who lives in a government-subsidized Council "flat," works in a cramped porn shop (before electing to go on the dole), and has only one ambition: to be a Clash roadie. Even that menial labor seems beyond Ray's capabilities as he indulges himself a bit too much with beer, and feels compelled to argue politics with Strummer—who seems more amused than aroused by Ray's apathy. In a semi-related subplot, we see London divided by Margaret Thatcher's hard-line politics and the National Front's racist posturing, while a group of black kids is targeted by the police for allegedly selling drugs.
Meanwhile, we witness the band's own struggles with the law (including the trial of bassist Paul Simenon and drummer Nicky Headon for shooting some homing pidgeons) and glimpse the recording of Give 'Em Enough Rope, the second Clash album that was so catastrophically produced (anyone with studio experience will scream out loud when they see the sub-standard mic Strummer is given to sing into!) it caused the band a temporary creative black eye. The film audio—mixed by Bill Price—is actually far superior to the studio recordings (Hey, Sandy Pearlman and Corky Stasiak, you still suck).
A better movie could have been made—using the same footage on this disc—telling the real story behind this film, that is, the internal and external struggles of a group just coming to terms with its own potential and popularity, trying to balance commercial concerns with its own political morality. Of course that's said with two decades of hindsight, knowing that even the most honest working band would've hardly wanted to see such a film released mid-career.
Ultimately, for the "Just Play The Clash" menu option, which jumps directly to the musical sequences, this is still an essential item. Bonus features, including a two-song BBC set, more live and studio outtakes, and interviews with Gange, real Clash roadie Johnny Green, Hazan and co-director David Mingay (David Hockney: A Bigger Splash) sweeten the deal.
Subscribe to Feed
