Queens of Noise

The Runaways offers a rare look at young women who rock.

By Jill Russell
Published: March 18th, 2010 | 10:00pm

Early in The Runaways, Joan Jett (Kristen Stewart) and Cherie Currie (Dakota Fanning) sit beneath the famed Hollywood sign, sipping booze and gazing down upon hazy Los Angeles. For many would-be superstars, that sign symbolizes hope and promise. But the letters, grand and towering when glimpsed from afar, look quite a bit different up close: chipped paint, grimy surfaces, and crumbling support beams. This single image tells the '70s teen queen punkers’ story in a nutshell. The closer the girls get to the top, the more the dark heart of rockstardom—and the true price of fame—reveals itself.

But director Flora Sigismondi's adaptation of Currie’s memoir Neon Angel isn’t all cautionary tale. She finds room to trumpet female empowerment in the often harrowing biopic of the Runaways, a band formed by manager Kim Fowley (Michael Shannon). And where she could have relied on heavy-handed props and costumes, Sigismondi had fun recreating the era through authentic visual details: a bubblegum-pink hair dryer, TV dinners, green glass Mountain Dew bottles, rollerskates, prescription pill bottles, and lipstick-stained bendy straws.

Played to creepy perfection by Shannon, Fowley is the story's closest thing to a villain. But we also witness his strange genius in manufacturing a sexed up teen-girl version of the Ramones. He relies on selling the group as “jailbait,” but recognizes their talent, too. “They’re the only hope for rock,” he tells a promoter over the phone. While searching for a vocalist, he spots an underage Currie in a nightclub. Enchanted by her waify blonde looks (he later describes her as “Brigitte Bardot in a trailer park”), Fowley thrusts her into the frontwoman spotlight.

I never expected to sing Fanning's praises so enthusiastically, but as much as this is Currie’s story, The Runaways is Fanning’s film. We don’t need many words to understand how this young girl—who found comfort only in the company of twin sister Marie and a beloved record player—longed to escape her broken home. Fanning wears Currie’s vulnerabilities on her face, half-hidden beneath a self-styled platinum shag. When she paints herself up like her idol David Bowie for a school talent show performance, it’s both hilarious and tragic. (It's probably not a coincidence that Sigismondi has directed videos for Bowie.)

We follow Currie’s arc from reluctant lead singer to media darling to underfed addict to jaded post-starlet, and Fanning makes the trip convincing and heartbreaking. Stewart as Jett is just right aesthetically, but not nearly as captivating. The much-publicized chemistry between Fanning and Stewart is believable on screen. According to this version of the story, Currie and Jett fell in love, in a sense, on their drug-fueled Japan tour, and their relationship wasn’t strictly sexual or professional. The two forged a partnership around mutual respect and genuine caring, and the final scene tells us that those feelings endured long after the Runaways fell from grace.

The only problem with The Runaways is that, at times, it feels as though its only scratching at the surface of what happened. I was left wondering about the other three girls. Lita Ford (Scout Taylor-Compton) and drummer Sandy West (Stella Maeve) get only a couple of lines each. The film also unfortunately wastes the talented Alia Shawkat, who was cast as bassist Jackie Fox in a nonspeaking role. This baffled me until I read rumors that Fox and Jett had gotten into a dispute over licensing for the film. It turns out that Shawkat wasn't actually playing Fox. Instead, her role became a stand-in character; she's credited as "Robin."

Beyond largely ignoring the band’s backing members, the film leaves some other stuff to the imagination. Though the Runaways lasted about four years, we barely get to see the girls embrace the height of fame before they’re fighting in the studio and ending it all. Still, at 109 minutes, the movie's swift pace works. Each scene is purposeful and the energy, of the music, and of the excitement of what’s possible, ultimately heaves viewers toward the finish line.

Once there, title cards fill us in one truly inspiring success story that came out of all of this. Jett self-released her debut after 23 major labels rejected it, and then hit big. Perhaps her early experiences with the nasty side of show-business positioned her for success. Maybe, once Jett got close enough to spot the ugly underside of stardom, she was able to get out largely unscathed. After pulling back and taking in the bigger picture, she reached her full potential as an artist. In any case, I’m sure Currie quietly rooted for her the whole way through.