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Rating: It was a morning like many others, but Malcolm had heavier breath than usual and giant dark circles, only partly concealed by his butterfly Ray-Bans.
The last night with Steve, things had gotten really intense; he could no longer be the protector of that band of New York dolls and vixens.
Malcolm aspired to become one of the greatest swindlers in history, his talent would have been in his Sex in finding, among the stray souls seeking oasis and nirvana in his boutique at 430 King's Road, the most depraved and unfaithful subjects, musically primitive but wild and pure anarchists.
The beginning, if not the end, was that the evolution of the Dolls should not pass through the concept of transgression, stonesian and primal in memory, but necessarily had to pass through the conception of subversion and anarchy, emphasizing a revolution especially aesthetic and based on the axioms of the most disorienting provocation.
After many years, of ups and dizzying falls into the abyss, after the loss of baby Sid, Johnny the Red admitted that the Sex Pistols were just a great scam orchestrated by that swindler Malcolm.
HOW TO TALK TO GIRLS AT PARTIES
Enn is a young man like many others in London in 1977, more than a real punk, a young nerd tousled and pleasantly shocked by the ongoing and escalating wave of anarchy.
One evening while he is partying with his friends in the London suburbs, he is captivated by unusual kraut rock melodies in early Neu style; curious, he approaches the sound source and sneaks into a luminous villa, infested with strange characters dressed like Gary Glitter at best, and at worst like Platinette; after observations on delirious couplings and amputations with instant regeneration of the various limbs, our guys realize they are dealing with a naif and distinctly glam alien community.
In the end, after a series of close encounters of various kinds and mostly unrequited (just to get an idea, the Venusian women are not bad and our guys obviously have the desire to hook up), our Enn is ultimately struck by the different beauty of Zan (the refnian Elle Fanning), a young rebellious alien who decides to escape her galactic caste with Enn and live a devastating punk experience with her young love.
Johm Cameron Mitchell, who already showed great versatility (Shortbus), draws inspiration from a novel by Neil Gaman, a cartoonist with experiences with DC Comics, to give life to a story with strongly teen hues and puerile content but with a brilliant formalism centered on the transposition of 2 subjects, with a latent rebellious spirit that grows exponentially with mutual falling in love and with the involvement of the alien Zan in the street life of punk London in '77.
It is a film that, as simple as its narrative may be, excels in form and frills, continuously mocking an ideally bourgeois audience but not with the anger of the Dead Kennedys, but with a more carefree and narcissistic style.
Probably without Marc Bolan and D. Bowie, Mitchell could never have imagined a universe so 'glam', where aliens engage in playing a shell-shaped harp with flared trousers like the T Rex.
Without falling into the basest sentimentality, the story is rich in bizarre episodes, just like a bass line by Sid, and reaches its apotheosis when Enn takes Zan to the concert of his favorite punk band, just like back in the day when a group of 4 souls with little following could still be a God on earth for someone.
I forgot Nicole Kidman, with the white duke's wig from Labyrinth, it doesn't matter what she does in this chaos, but how she does it.
It is a story that always proceeds at full throttle and leaves no time for more measured reflection, it's a reckless run without end or judgment, an unhinged and illusory journey, almost as if at the end of the ride, someone, human or alien, could really conceive, in its total essence, what was the germ of punk.
Oh Malcolm, how right you were to abandon the New York Dolls.
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