The most frequent piece of advice doled out to writers is “write what you know.” That’s probably because it’s also the best advice. Take Almost Famous, Cameron Crowe’s semi-autobiographical look back at his own coming of age during the sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll heyday of the ’70s. If there’s anything Crowe knows, it’s music. He used to be a rock journalist for Rolling Stone; he contributed liner notes to Frampton Comes Alive; hell, he even married a rock star (Heart’s Nancy Wilson). It all shows in the film’s sweet, funny, wistful portrayal of a fictional rock group and the various characters who faithfully follow them on tour.
William Miller (apple-cheeked newcomer Patrick Fugit) is a 15-year-old rock critic who catches two huge breaks. First he meets legendary Creem editor Lester Bangs (Philip Seymour Hoffman), who becomes his world-wise mentor. Then he gets noticed by the editors of Rolling Stone and lands an assignment to write a feature about an up-and-coming band named Stillwater (a fictional group Crowe seems to have cobbled together from spare parts of Bad Company, the Allman Brothers and Led Zeppelin). Promising his overprotective mother (Frances McDormand) that he won’t do drugs, he accompanies the band as they tour America in a converted Greyhound bus. Along the way, he falls for Penny Lane (Kate Hudson), who calls herself a “band-aid.” (In her estimation, she falls somewhere between a groupie and a muse.) As he befriends guitarist Russell Hammond (Billy Crudup), William is torn between journalistic integrity and his own feelings, especially when he sees Penny setting herself up for heartbreak with Russell. Should he expose the band’s ludicrous self-centred hubris and silly, ego-driven infighting, or should he merely submit a fawning puff piece?
Crowe himself may have wrestled with these same questions in writing the screenplay, which deftly moves from almost-satire (Russell proclaims himself “a golden god” from a rooftop while tripping on acid; the band members air their innermost secrets to each other when they think their plane is going to crash) to outright nostalgia for an era when rock ruled the charts, when God was either Frampton or Clapton depending on personal preference, and when singing along with Elton John’s “Tiny Dancer” on the radio could fix anything. (Singles, Crowe’s 1992 ode to the Seattle grunge scene, was evidently just a warmup for this film.) Seen through William’s innocent but perceptive eyes, the arena-rock demimonde is both a purple-haze fantasy world (what man wouldn’t wish to lose his virginity the way William does?) and an empty, emotionally barren landscape where sex is almost love and fame is almost happiness. No wonder Cameron Crowe ended up in Hollywood; he learned everything he needed to know as a teenager.
(3.5/4)