Rock of Ages (**)

Somewhere there must be rock music fans, folks who likely came of age in the era of Reagan, who do not cherish the age of “classic rock,” or the 1990s grunge-rock explosion, but to that in-between era swept aside by grunge and its cousins. Sure, in this time, the 1980s, there were green shoots of “alternative” rock — R.E.M., the Replacements, even early U2 —but mainstream rock fans, and the characters in this movie —were hearing other sounds. I speak of Journey, and Def Leppard, and Bon Jovi, of course, but also second-tier acts such as Extreme (“More Than Words”), Poison (“Every Rose Has Its Thorn”), and Night Ranger (“Sister Christian”). It was rock at its most theatrical, thus, in that sense, perfect for a    musical. Playwright Chris D’Arienzo gets a screenplay credit in Hollywood’s version of his Broadway hit.

The plot is typical: midwestern girl (Julianne Hough) comes to Los Angeles to make it as a singer, meets like-minded boy, settles for being a club waitress. Yep, same plot as Burlesque, with different tunes. Oh, it’s fun to see Alec Baldwin as the hippie-era refugee running the club, with Russell Brand as his equally hairy sidekick. And Tom Cruise certainly embodies the stereotypically decadent rock star, Stacee Jaxx, he plays. Catherine Zeta-Jones is the mayor’s (Bryan Cranston) wife, a Tipper Gore caricature crusading against heavy metal. Malin Åkerman is a big-haired Rolling Stone reporter. Mary J. Blige, who covers Pat Benatar, is a strip-club owner. They all sing these bombastic songs (“Wanted Dead or Alive,” “I Want to Know What Love Is,” even, egads, “We Built This City”), sometimes as Glee-style medleys, usually trading off vocals. “Sister Christian” is a spontaneous sing-off among bus passengers. It’s mind-bogglingly earnest. But my favorite part might have been when the boy shyly plays the girl the song he supposedly just wrote, and it turns out to be Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing,” after which the girl says, “I can’t believe you wrote that!” Indeed.

Hairspray’s Adam Shankman directs with a similar flair, making 1980s L.A., like his 1960s Baltimore, a little shinier and smoother than the real thing. The pacing is also fine, but other than the idea of employing famous actors to sing straightforward versions of 1980s rock (no pop or R&B), there is nothing original here. (Reprising the stage version’s incorporation of characters addressing the audience might have been a novelty.) The first half is cheesy and rarely witty, although Brand has a good line or two, like one about “hibernating in Margaret Thatcher’s bumhole.” The second half remains cheesy, but at this point seems to be self-consciously so, as if it’s become aware of how dumb it is. I heard the guy behind me describe it after as “so bad it’s good.” My guess is that if you are fond of the songs, you’ll feel the same. If not, this will seem pretty tedious.

IMDb link

viewed 5/30/12 at Ritz East [PFS screening] and reviewed 5/31–7/3/12