Mr Beaks belts out an END OF THE CENTURY: THE STORY OF THE RAMONES review!

So goes the first verse of “Jackie is a Punk”, a collision of lyrics so patently nonsensical, even Greil Marcus wouldn’t dare to suggest there’s any subversive political message hidden within. The song is track three on The Ramones’ 1976 self-titled debut LP, and is emblematic of the cheerful and knowing stupidity that made the band so endearing. Their determined lack of sophistication, musically and mentally, was revolution enough; a fast, loud, and unrepentantly bratty broadside aimed at the glitzy, overproduced phenomenon of disco, which was a pox on the popular culture that would infect and all but destroy the mightiest of rock’s rebellious firmament (“Miss You”, while a great song, proved The Rolling Stones glitter-and-coke-paved road to EMOTIONAL RESCUE).

So when the claim is made early on in Michael Gamaglia and Jim Fields’ solid documentary END OF THE CENTURY that The Ramones saved rock-and-roll, it’s hardly understatement, considering how they picked up the punk gauntlet thrown down by The Stooges, MC5 and The New York Dolls and ran it across the Atlantic from the dingy confines of Manhattan’s CBGB all the way to The Roundhouse in London, where they heaved kerosene on an already smoldering music scene that included such controversial acts as The Sex Pistols and The Clash. But the widespread recognition and resultant commercial success that greeted those two largely eluded The Ramones throughout their storied career, and the bitterness stemming from this tepid reception, particularly in their own country, gives the film a standoffish quality that’s perfectly in sync with the band’s persona. That this chilliness doesn’t make for the liveliest of rock docs doesn’t detract too much from one’s overall enjoyment of it. This is still a must-see for any pop culture aficionado.

After a prologue depicting the band’s 2002 Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction – sadly posthumous for its iconic frontman, Joey Ramone – the filmmakers leap back to the members’ delinquent youth in Forest Hills, Queens, where they bonded with one another in their collective revulsion to the state of rock music, in which esoteric prog rock acts like ELP and Yes were currently flourishing. Undaunted by an utter lack of musical training, the boys picked up the usual instruments and learned on the fly, articulating their rage at 140 beats per minute and developing a unique onstage shtick of flying through their set list with nary a pause in between songs (save for the inevitable argument between Joey and Johnny over what to play next). The filmmakers are backed up by a wealth of classic concert footage that shows the band at their quarrelsome peak, while dropping in interviews from all involved, including Joey, who, while obviously sick at the time of his participation, is still very much *Joey*, reminding one how much he’s missed.

There’s no sentimentality in the presentation, however, and this refusal to let the audience feel any sort of warmth toward the band feels like punishment for having not sufficiently appreciated them in their heyday. (Hey, I’ll cop to having been influenced by their music throughout my childhood, while never buying a single LP until I picked up the greatest hits compilation RAMONES MANIA in college.) As the band cycles through drummers (from Tommy to Marky to Ritchie and, finally, back to Marky), and already tense relationships curdle (Johnny steals, and eventually marries, Joey’s girlfriend, which leads to a complete cessation of communication between the two), The Ramones keep struggling to tweak their sound and songwriting to reach a wider audience without compromising their punk integrity. Their last, fully felt overture to the mainstream was the Phil Spector-produced ROAD TO RUIN, and while the film’s interviewees laud the gun crazy guru’s polishing of Joey’s singing, the fact remains that the LP didn’t catch on, despite including the band’s most popular anthem, “I Wanna Be Sedated.”

Normally, such failure is followed by a fairly immediate disbanding, but The Ramones kept touring under the commendably savvy management of Johnny. Even when the beloved Dee Dee quits to pursue a doomed hip-hop career as D.D. King, the band simply hires a new bassist and tours with renewed vigor. Finally, the film makes clear that the one indispensable element was Joey, and his death a year before the Hall of Fame induction is probably the saddest note struck by the documentary, particularly since The Ramones’ influence seems more pronounced (and, to an extent, appreciated) than ever in the bratty output of Blink 182 and their ilk (though I’m certainly not much of a fan).

When the film returns to the Hall of Fame celebration, the joylessness of the surviving members as they give their individual speeches undermines any sense of triumph the moment is intended to provide. That Dee Dee would be dead two months later from a heroin overdose further taints the mood. This is an emotionally desolate place to strand the viewer, but there’s something perversely just in the notion of a punk rock band being granted painful admittance to a pantheon they viewed as largely corrupt in the first place. The highest compliment that can be paid END OF THE CENTURY is that it refuses to sully The Ramones’ legacy by allowing them a happy ending.

END OF THE CENTURY: THE STORY OF THE RAMONES is already playing in New York City, and expands today to Los Angeles and New Jersey.

Faithfully submitted,

Mr. Beaks