Detroit Rock City is going to be difficult to talk about. It’s painfully unfunny, yet fully embraces the idea it’s the complete opposite. Maybe director Rifkin really thinks his weak seventies pop culture references, his sight gags, and his terrible cast are funny. Or maybe he’s just good at hiding any awareness of the film’s stupidity and obviousness.
Carl V. Dupré’s script seems to be for an audience who only knows about the seventies through television reruns and movies, but also for diehard KISS fans. There’s no establishing of the KISS theme; if you aren’t a fanatic, you’re probably missing something. It’s too bad, because the thorough (if bad) opening titles utilizes seventies news and pop culture and it sure seems like KISS could be a zeitgeist worth exploring.
Maybe if the actors were better. Of Giuseppe Andrews, James DeBello, Edward Furlong and Sam Huntington, it’s a constant race to see who’s worse. Andrews is real bad and obviously trying. DeBello’s real bad and not trying–he gets all the “funny stoner” lines and butchers each one. Furlong looks stoned and bored; it should have been part of his character. Huntington’s awful but somewhat less annoying than Andrews, who’s desperately trying to play a bad boy.
And Lin Shaye’s evil Christian mom? So bad. So’s Natasha Lyonne.
Maybe the only distinct thing in Rock City is how much it likes rampant bigotry and misogyny. Rifkin identifies them in seventies pop culture artifacts… and then the film embraces them.
Icky bad stuff.