Metro Pulse/Movie Guru/Rock Star

Movie Guru Rating:
Bad Karma (2 out of 5)

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Rock Star takes a fun idea and churns out the same old sounds

by Chris Neal

In 1996, Judas Priest replaced singer Rob Halford with "Ripper" Owens, formerly the leader of a Priest cover band—a guy who had made a tenuous living imitating someone else got to step into his hero's shoes and live his life. Isn't that a weird, cool, great story? Doesn't it sound like it'd make a great movie?

Guess not. Rock Star is based on Owens' story, although Priest's prescient reluctance to cooperate with its production means that names have been changed to protect the rockin'. Mark Wahlberg plays Chris Coles, who sings in a tribute band dedicated to note-for-note reproductions of songs by his favorite group, Steel Dragon—a group of almost-over-the-hill Brits (who, as the Warner Bros. legal department will surely tell you, are in no way like Judas Priest; the setting has also been moved back to the mid-'80s) who just happen to be in the process of kicking out their coming-out-as-gay lead singer (again, no resemblance to the also-gay Halford). When Chris' band, tired of his near-psychotic perfectionism, replaces him with his cover-band rival (Third Eye Blind's Stephan Jenkins, typecast as an egotistical, untalented prick), it seems like his darkest hour—until he gets the call from the real Steel Dragon. Will he survive his baptism by fire in the rock-star life? Will he take drugs and toss aside girlfriend/manager Emily (Jennifer Aniston) for a succession of groupies? Will true love win out over the shallow pleasures of fame and money? If you've ever seen a movie—any movie—you already know the answers to these questions.

Rock Star does feature some enjoyable performances, although as Planet of the Apes taught us, Wahlberg still can't quite carry a movie. He shines in an ensemble piece like Three Kings or Boogie Nights (like Dirk Diggler, Chris is an inarticulate, prodigiously-talented dreamer thrown into the maw of decadent success), but when forced center stage (so to speak), he begins receding. On the upside, he does have great abs, which are featured in Rock Star lovingly and often.

For her part, Aniston seems to seek out roles that will waste her charm and considerable comic gift, and she's succeeded again here. Emily's actions often seem arbitrary; when she is annoyed at being herded along with the other band wives and robbed of her individuality, it doesn't make sense after we've seen her happy to be her boyfriend's ornament, even back in his tribute-band days.

It's hard to figure what attracted her to the guy in the first place, given that his every waking thought is of carbon-copying aging Spinal Tap rejects (then again, what do I know about women? Maybe that's what your Jennifer Aniston types go for these days). Chris' juvenile hero-worship and gratingly obsessive-compulsive behavior also make it difficult for the audience to empathize with him (until he buys the original Batmobile, which I would totally do).

But then, the entire plot turns ring hollow: when Chris chops his tresses and tosses his beloved metal aside to jump a new trend toward the end of the movie (hint: coffee and flannel are involved), the screenplay (credited to HBO-movie scribe John Stockwell) wants us to believe he's found his own voice, but it seems more like he's just taking on another pose. There are also rankling leaps of logic: most glaringly, the band's popularity never seems to falter after they've replaced their famous frontman with an unknown (ask Iron Maiden, Mötley Crüe or the real Judas Priest how accurate that is).

Rock Star could still be campy fun if its period details hadn't also been half-assed; for a movie about a guy consumed with detail, the anachronisms come fast and furious. The soundtrack is filled with hit songs that were released long after the years in which their respective scenes are set; Chris pierces his nipple and eyebrow years before Lollapalooza made it acceptable for anyone but punks and BDSMers; and Aniston never even considers getting a perm, for pity's sake!

Director Stephen Herek (of 101 Dalmations and Holy Man infamy) gets all the other stuff so wrong that it's almost jarring to see him get the expertly-filmed concert scenes so right. Wahlberg comes alive on the stage, projecting such a joy in performing it's easy to forget he's lip-synching (and that he was ever Marky Mark). It helps that Steel Dragon's music is actually pretty damn good, despite the Tap conventions of their lifestyle. Onscreen and off, the bracing, pounding songs are performed by a crew of talented '80s survivors including Ozzy guitarist Zakk Wylde (who gets in a few droll speaking lines) and powerhouse Zep scion Jason Bonham on drums, as well as '90s also-ran Brian Vander Ark of the Verve Pipe. It proudly, simply rocks in a way the movie never does.