The seat with the clearest view

Another Wednesday, another Red Vic matinee. This time, I took in Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars, D.A. Pennebaker's film of a 1973 event in London featuring David Bowie, Mick Ronson and the rest of the Spiders in their final performance. It's slightly more than an onstage concert film, but far short of a true documentary.

I don't have any hard-and-fast rules about what I do and don't accept in music, but in the macro-view, I admit preferring stylelessness in performance. I hope I'm not going down Snickers' road here by saying I have a hard time taking a man seriously when he's wearing blue eye makeup and a thigh-length silk kimono. It's not really a phobia, but can you blame me for feeling like the singer's four costume changes in an hour are going to be a distraction from the business of music-making?

That's why I walked away impressed with Bowie's performance in the movie -- the theatricality of the performance adds to the effect, but Bowie's ability to sell the material overcomes any distraction from the extra-musical performance art elements. There are several backstage bits, including makeup and costume changes. They're there to humanize Bowie (as distinguished from Ziggy). My instinct was to say that he looked silly primping for the stage, but once he was out there, he sold it like the actor that he is. The man who sold the world. Of course.

I'm really not much more than a casual fan -- ChangesOne and Ziggy, and not much more -- so for me this was a mix of songs I knew and songs I didn't. I found the first song, "Hang On To Yourself," to be a bit of a dud, with Bowie's voice at its weakest and Mick Ronson at his worst posturing-to-skill ratio. The ship rights itself after that, though, and the band charges through some startlingly aggressive moments as well as a few tender ones. Bassist Trevor Bolder's magnificent coiffure gets about four seconds of closeup screentime, unfortunately, but he does engage in a nifty guitar-neck joust with Ronson, pantomiming knocking each other to the floor with the power of rock'n'roll. And Ronson himself survives a couple of heavy-duty Nigel Tufnel moments, transcending the poses with a knockout one-handed guitar solo.

Pennebaker shows you very little of the other six musicians onstage besides Bowie and Ronson, choosing to spend more time on the crowd. The film really isn't about how musicians make music; it's about how a couple of characters can transport you into their world of stardom, tragedy, sleaze, etc. There were five cameramen in the credits, including Pennebaker; reportedly he and Bowie restored the print carefully and remastered the soundtrack. It helped, but the film is still a little dark (and red!), and the sound a little muddy. I didn't especially mind, but this is really a classic midnight movie that should be screened at high volume in front of a drunk/stoned crowd. Maybe I shouldn't have gone in the afternoon.