 Party Monster (2003) Party Monster has a good story going for it—which it only has because the story actually happened. But it fails on even a single level to turn that story into an interesting film. Scratch that … it fails to turn that story into an endurable film. Directors Fenton Bailey and Randy Barbato had already made a documentary about New York City club kid Michael Alig, whose remorseless decadence plunged him deep into hard drugs and, ultimately, murder (he injected Dran-o into the veins of a drug dealer-cum-roommate!). I haven't seen that film (also titled Party Monster), but I can only expect that it's a far more enjoyable ride than the fictionalized feature, which is, simply, a complete piece of dogshit. The central problem is undeniably the acting. I admire Macauley Culkin, and would love to say that his turn as Alig is a blistering revelation of the tortured soul we all know he must have—but he sucks. He and Seth Green are as unconvincing as can be as prancey drag queen drug addicts—we are to believe they're gay why? Because they have limp wrists and speak in faux-aristocrat elevated language, with high-pitched sissiness. I've seen more accurate gay-acting in elementary school recess teasing sessions. It's hard to decide whether Culkin or Green is worse, but Culkin is at least appealingly sweet—Green performs the entire movie either with bad nasal congestion or faked bad nasal congestion. If he had a head cold, that's bad enough, but if he was doing it intentionally to convey some kind of point about drug use, that's just stupid. Since all actors love to get a shot to play amoral drug abusers, Party Monster gathers a more impressive cast than it has a right to. Marilyn Manson has a rather funny bit as an Ecstasy-fueled drag queen; Dylan McDermott is on hand as a crack-smoking club owner with an eyepatch; Wilmer Valderrama from "That 70s Show" is DJ Keoki; Wilson Cruz from "My So-Called Life" is the drug dealer who gets Dran-oed; Chloë Sevigny is Alig's girlfriend; Natasha Lyonne is Sevigny's gross friend; and John Stamos is a thinly-veiled Geraldo Rivera (!). Hm, that makes it sound more interesting than it is. It sucks. The plot is jaggedly constructed, the characterizations are even shallower than the characters, the direction is unappealing, the pace is dreary, and even the music lacks any abillity to evoke the glitz and propulsion of late-80s/early-90s club culture. By the end, I didn't know any more about Michael Alig or his story than I did from reading the plot summary on the DVD cover. The movie Party Monster most closely reminded me of was 24 Hour Party People, another huge, disappointing mess that managed to take something exciting and turn it into dreadful boredom. But Party Monster goes the extra mile toward badness with scene after scene of badly acted, stagey bullshit straight out of a high school drama class. It's vile. Too bad, because there should have been something unique here. But I find that the reason almost all drug-and-murder movies (see also Wonderland—no, don't actually see it) fail is because the story is always the same. People blot out their pain with drugs, go too far, get tangled up in shady shit, and someone gets killed. There's no redemption in any of it, only waste. I only wish I could redeem the 99 minutes I wasted watching Party Monster.
Review by La Fée |
