Almost Famous

"Almost Famous," writer-director Cameron Crowe's first film since 1996's "Jerry Maguire," bears a striking resemblance to the earlier film, at least if you disregard plot, character, and subject matter. As anyone who reads entertainment hype publications knows by now, "Almost Famous" is a fictionalized cinematic memoir of Crowe's experiences as an extremely young rock writer for Rolling Stone. Patrick Fugit plays William Miller (Cameron Crowe), whose extreme social awkwardness drives him to a fervent appreciation of inspiring rock music. He writes about it, and writes well, bringing himself to the attention of prominent rock critic Lester Bangs, played by Philip Seymour Hoffman. Miller's work for Bangs gets him noticed, in turn, by Rolling Stone, which commissions an article on Stillwater (Led Zeppelin/Jefferson Airplane, according to Crowe) on their "Almost Famous" tour.

From there, it's a fast launch into a fast world. Miller witnesses and becomes a participant in intra-group squabbling between charismatic genius guitarist Russell Hammond, played by Billy Crudup, and the less talented but nonetheless charming Jeff Bebe, played by Jason Lee. Less fortunately, Miller gets caught up in the web of effortless seduction spun by Kate Hudson as Penny Lane (there really was a Penny Lane, according to Crowe), who as a "Band-Aid" (a combination of muse and groupie) spends much time sexually healing everyone besides Miller. And least fortunately of all, Miller completely loses his journalistic objectivity as he grows to genuinely like people who like him because he can do things for them.

None of that recalls "Jerry Maguire" at all. What's like "Jerry Maguire" is that Crowe presents us with fully realized characters interacting in a wonderful combination of realism and that heightened reality of cinema. "Almost Famous," in fact, has enough three-dimensional, sympathetic characters for two films; Crowe shows a sure hand in letting everyone establish their character without resorting to just telling us about them. These characters come together in improbable ways, but react realistically; the dialogue is wonderfully assured, knowing and sympathetic even when coming out of the mouths of unsympathetic parties. "Almost Famous" packs in the laughs of the clashing cultures and the outrages of excess, but most of the comedy arises naturally from situations. Crowe only goes for really broad gags (like playing "Ma Cherie Amour" while Hudson has her stomach pumped) as punctuation to extended journeys outside reality. Comedy and drama sit cheek by jowl here, just as they do in real life. Sometimes it's hard to tell one from the other, and that's all to Crowe's credit.

Crowe's cast picks him up with some of the most outstanding performances in recent cinematic memory, from Hudson's magical siren to Crudup's gifted, discontented guitarist to Frances McDormand's fiercely loving turn as Miller's mom. Most important, we have Fugit as Miller, and he make a worthy subject for a film in himself. Despite the fact that everyone makes a habit of trampling on his emotions, Miller still believes that other people's emotions are worth respecting. His near-incoherence in speaking contrasts realistically to his gift with the written word. And he definitely is not cool, just as surely as he is honorable and just and real. It's a pleasure to watch him react to the craziness around him, even as he cannot pull himself away from it. It's not a stretch to say that most of the actors in "Almost Famous" turn in the best work of their careers here.

So "Almost Famous" repeats a lot of the things that made "Jerry Maguire" successful, and excels a few. It's a festival of incidental pleasures, occasional death-defying gags, deliciously delivered lines, relaxed and humane filmmaking, rigorous period evocation, and real emotions from real people.

But "Almost Famous" is not a film that stays with you, either. Here's why: After a film that has featured so much self-destruction, in one form or another, and especially after Crowe's shattering climax and its dead-feeling aftermath when everyone needs to and wants to search their souls, Crowe simply winds everything up with a series of effortless character turnabouts. Everyone realizes what's good for them and does it, without apparent struggle. Crowe's determination to portray this experience in a positive light has the effect of minimizing it, lifting its weight off the audience's shoulders, turning it from drama into fable and from comedy into silliness. What's the point of identifying with these people if the film collapses into such slickness? What lessons can you take from events that wind themselves up so nicely? Paradoxically, for a film that does so much well for so much of its running time, you leave the theater wondering why you're so disappointed.

Well, it's hard to say, but it's true: "Almost Famous" is a good film that stopped one difficult step shy of great.

A few days after I saw this film, I decided that a more accurate review would have declared that this was a film with some pretty good pieces that stopped systematically wasting them one step shy of suck. But we have to make deadlines in this world, and at least I identified what felt really wrong about the film.

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