 Of course, these channels were pretty quickly steamrolled-over once corporate money began to dictate cable programming, but while they lasted, they were exciting and adventurous in a way that the cookie-cutter cable networks of today could never be. The unproven and uncharted terrain allowed for business decisions you would never see now, and the fringe nature of the medium meant that its leaders tended to be brilliant weirdos, as opposed to MBAs. Not unlike the revolutionary dorkwads of the early Internet, or the crazy-eyed, gap-toothed hillbillies of the Gold Rush (?). Now, a film about a cable channel in itself would hold minor intrigue at best, but Z Channel's backstory is about as insane as its programming was. Sure, Jerry Harvey loaded his channel's schedule with lineups that now make one yearn for a time machine, but the fact that he progressively went insane and ended up dead in a murder-suicide along with his wife, makes the whole tale all the more captivating. The result is a film that arrives at the improbable hybridization of, like, "Anatomy of a Scene" and "Unsolved Mysteries." The bulk of the film relies on talking-head interviews with folks like Robert Altman, Alexander Payne, Quentin Tarantino (of course), and Jim Jarmusch (double of-course … is he contractually obligated to the hipster community to appear in every "cool" documentary?), who discuss their memories of revelatory and inspiring experiences watching Z Channel back in the day. Their credibility is flawless, undeniably, although I hadn't really considered what a big bunch of dorks these guys really are … and in fact, I became somewhat embarrassed at how much I identified with their film-geek nerdliness. A sort of leering sexiness factor is added by the inclusion of several film clips that call to mind late-night boners while watching softcore classics on cable (ah, Ursula Andress, you were such a sensuous nurse), along with interviews with extra-old-but-still-extra-hot mamas like Jacqueline Bisset and Theresa Russell, whose cult stature was cemented by Z Channel's support of their non-mainstream work. Although I was impressed by the contextualization of Z Channel's infamously eclectic programming, I must admit, from the vantage point of the DVD era, I was a bit underwhelmed by some of the maverick maneuvers celebrated by the film. For example, broadcasting a director's cut of Cimino's Heaven's Gate in the face of virtually unanimous critical hatred for that film was surely a bold move, yet the lore surrounding Heaven's Gate, by now, is as tedious to hear about as the "Buddy Ebsen was the original Tin Man" story, or any other mainstream movie yarn. Similarly, I don't particularly need to hear James Woods talking about how Salvador didn't get the critical praise it deserved upon release, but then it gained a new lease on life courtesy Z Channel. It is interesting to see how one cable channel shaped so much of the "alternative cinema" aesthetic, which didn't start to gel until the cable era, but anyone still holding on to any kind of bitterness over, like, Heaven's Gate being unfairly treated by critics, is just a punk-era equivalent of a Baby Boomer who thinks "if you didn't experience the 60s, man, you just don't understand." "Alternative" and "mainstream" are no longer divided. A truly alternative appreciation of cinema these days isn't about pontificating on the films of Jim Jarmusch … it's more about admitting that Shrek 2 is, by and large, terrific.
In the end, Z Channel probably made me more nostalgic for the anything-goes early days of cable TV than inspired to watch some great old movies, but that's not such a bad thing. Had it not evoked that exciting vibe of a bygone time, this film would have simply come across as a feature-length ad for The Criterion Collection.
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