pyrocitor
If Easy Rider proved the elegiac tombstone for the 1960s American dream, Quadrophenia happily tosses up a v-sign as its British counterpart. It's as rousing and evocative a portrait of youth culture and the stagnation and self-destructive impotence of aimless rebellion as any, with a scrappy sense of "f*ck it" helping keep its angst in check. A cornerstone of '70s British cinema, Quadrophenia may tread (debatably intentionally) familiar ground in its microcosmic coming of age parable in 1960s mods 'n rockers England, but with the guitars, synths, and Daltry blaring and the scooters growling, it's hard not to be swept up in its infectious, furious, and often beautiful listlessness. Although Quadrophenia is adapted from the second rock opera by the almost peerlessly superb the Who, gone are the trippy, surrealist musical trappings of Tommy's big screen debut. Instead, director Franc Roddam skews for gritty period authenticity in conveying the war for 1960s British youth culture, which is strikingly immersive in the uncanny disjuncture between immaculately precise fashion, and the grimy, bloody, and emotionally fraught world the mods and rockers throw down in. We have our uppers: Jimmy grinning infectiously as he trawls around in his beloved scooter, dancing like a maniac on the rafters of a mod club, and the film's centrepiece beach brawl/riot, startlingly believable in its kinetic, infectious, "we are the mods" braying frenzy. We have our downers: Jimmy's burnout downward spiral, being thrown out by a screeching mother and erupting at the prissy boss of his soulless day job, is so flamboyant even one of his mod buds whispers "Is there trouble at home?" like a concerned parent, in one of the film's many viciously funny-sad moments. "Either way," as the band themselves quip, "blood flows," and the music is the film's life-blood here, pounding away with an ace soundtrack by the Kinks and Yardbirds, as well as the incomparable Who. Granted, even in 1979, Quadrophenia's howl of adolescent angst felt like something we'd heard too many times before, amidst the countless radio broadcasts warning of the psychotic epidemic of the "teen-agers" and their flamin' rock music. Still, Roddamn and the Who cough up every ounce of passion in revisiting it, while the inevitable Sting-bellboy twist collapses the entire pipe dream with a hilarious sombre reflexivity. All the while, Roddamn rounds the package with a pinch of haunting iconicity - Jimmy brooding and pacing by the pier at Brighton like a mod Rebel Without a Cause and zooming across the cliffs on his scooter are the definitive ones, but his bug-eyed manic panic, slathered in eyeshadow, on the 5:15 train as the Who's titular track blares is also one for the ages. Familiar as Jimmy's tribulations may be, Quadrophenia pulses with vibrant urgency, lending his journey the all-consuming urgency that only a teenager's crisis can conjure. Apart from the ongoing game of 'spot the future star' in the cast of wholly convincing British supporting players (hi Ray Winstone and Timothy Spall!), Phil Daniels gives a blistering, harshly believable performance as Jimmy, embodying the overstimulating torments of adolescent life with enough of a frantic, scrappy magnetism to remain wanly sympathetic even in the midst of one of cinema's most petulant teen burnouts. Leslie Ash is luminously unpredictable as the object of Jimmy's young lust, and Ash is entirely believable as the party girl out for a lark, but unafraid to lash out at those more hypocritical than her. Finally, an on-the-cusp-of-mega-stardom Sting is beyond perfection as the impossibly suave figurehead of the mods, radiating effortless cool, but with the sublimely, sadly funny twist of him sulkily emasculated, subsumed by the system in his menial bellboy job, looming under his scruffy jacketed nonchalance. Jimmy may feign struggling with a four-way split personality, but his film couldn't be more cohesive and in tune. Rough and tumble, gritty, moody, fun, and genuine as they come, all while roaring along with a riotously awesome set of tunes, Quadrophenia is the real deal. And if it has more passion than profundity or innovation to shed on the angst of growing up, seeing 'the real me,' and finding one's way in a barmy world? Well, that's part of the point, my son. So, grab your bellboy hat and mod jacket, and hop on your scooter. Because no matter what generation you are, Quadrophenia is the lament of 'my generation,' and worth experiencing at full-tilt. -9/10
Nobby Burden
Some films need to be watched to witness subtleties in the actors' faces, and other films need to be listened to as the plot unfolds; even now with all the technological wizardry, the dialogue is what carries the motion picture. Sadly Quadrophenia lacks both of these necessities. It gets 2 stars for the soundtrack by The Who. That, and the line about comparing Brixton to Calcutta. The 1960s should have been a good time, because WW2 was over, Europe was at peace, we landed on the Moon, and made huge gains in medicine and science. What we got instead was Kennedy's assassination, the Vietnam War, drug abuse, hippies, mods and rockers, and the sexual revolution. The upshot is Jimmy -- a loser at best, and a lost soul at worst -- seeks to find himself by imitating all the losers around him. He has a job, but doesn't do it, he has a girlfriend for whom he feels nothing, and parents who somehow neglected to raise him properly. It's just awful. Simply awful with no redeeming value. Toxic.
lasttimeisaw
Stumbling upon this eponymous tie-in of THE WHO's 1973 rock opera album QUADROPHENIA comes as simple as a happenstance out of a grab bag, haven't heard of the album and being an outsider to this period of mods fashion, it is a primitive yet purest experience to appreciate a film on its own terms.It is another REBEL WITHOUT A CAUSE (1955, 8/10) youth ill at ease, a telling zeitgeist encapsulation recounts a young mod's contradiction against the world in 1960s, his family, his job, his friends, his idol, and his love interest, all fail to gratify him. When the only thing he is left with is a revamped vespa, his destructive bravado indicates whether it is a resounding emblem of all perish together or a belated disillusion to bode farewell to his vapid and futile past? Fortunately the film chooses the latter (unlike the album's more radical stance), so it is a more generically pleasing alternative, but since our protagonist is not such a sympathetic character, a whiff of insouciance is irrevocable to eschew even in the culminating sequences alongside a magnificent precipice.The mods vs. rockers commotions play a key role in venting the discontent among sociopaths, anarchists and boredom-driven young generation, which is universally pertinent to elsewhere in the world, we may blame youth for their narrow-minded prejudices, but the adult world depicted here is no more appealing neither. Phil Daniels and his pals (Wingett, Davis and Shail) exude excellent street cred of the fashion, although none of them galvanizes me into any further inspection, save Leslie Ash's promiscuous lass, she is the only one seems to be cool about what's happening around and understand the ephemeral phase of idiocy. Sting has a supporting role as mechanical as one can imagine despite of his gorgeousness, and a budding Ray Winstone in his seldom seen role as the injured party of a brawl.The songs from the namesake album segues fluently throughout the film, nostalgia works much better in audio than visual this time I must say, it is a movie attracts its own cult followers and its socio-cultural astuteness may be worthy of a conscientious rediscovery if put inside a time capsule and wait to be exhumed a few more generations later.
