fearless freaks al fresco
Thanks to a free screening sponsored by the Los Angeles Film Festival, I saw The Fearless Freaks Friday night under the stars. (Sure, it was in the courtyard of a glorified mall, but hey! there was free popcorn, ice cream, and seat cushions.) I've been on a bit of a music documentary kick lately, so it was interesting to compare this portrait of The Flaming Lips, a band I much admire, to other recent offerings: DIG!, Some Kind of Monster, and Malfunkshun. Sadly, The Fearless Freaks suffered in comparison. Even if you have a compelling subject like The Flaming Lips, it does not let you off the hook from having a narrative arc. Even the most dramatic scene of Steven Drozd prepping his heroin rig on-camera came practically out of nowhere. Band members came and went with barely a mention of reasons for their departure, and while Wayne Coyne is lovely to listen to, a documentary for the ages needs more gravitas.
Other reviews: The New York Times, The Village Voice, Seattle PI, PopMatters
2 comments:
Ms. Plisken: I heartily agree with your assessment of the Lips documentary. And what was the transition from the druggy mess of the group to their current controlled compositions and lightness? I forget if the filmmaker even interviewed their producer Dave Fridmann. And why so little about super-guitarist Ron, who suddenly left the group (possibly for religious reasons)?
Nice vibe, but it's like drinking in the afternoon, nothing gets too deep.
The only time Drozd's drug habit is mentioned before the shoot-up scene is as a reason for Ron's departure, but it's almost whispered as an aside and then Ron's just gone.
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