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Charlotte O'Sullivan's rating
The Runaways are girls who rock loud and proud
By
Charlotte O'Sullivan
10 Sep 2010
Watching this much-hyped biopic about pioneering, pill-popping Seventies all-girl band The Runaways is like going to the hairdressers and hearing a
great song on the radio as you flick through Vogue. It’s not so much a shock to the system as a series of practised strokes, yet — for moments at a time — it makes you squirm happily in your seat.
The film is based on a rise-and-fall memoir by the band’s lead singer, Cherie Currie. The book includes a rape, various forms of sexual abuse and an abortion. The final version does not.
What we get, instead, is a love story between the blonde, damaged, doll-like Cherie (Dakota Fanning) and dark-haired, down-to-earth rhythm guitarist Joan Jett (Twilight’s Kristen Stewart; excellent). Age 15, the pair eye each other up, find themselves playing music together, then tumble into bed. Their bond remains strong, even when machiavellian manager Kim Fowley (Michael Shannon) arranges for Cherie to do a solo shoot with some sleazy Japanese photographers and a tour of Japan is derailed by her new “peep show” image.
Female director Floria Sigismondi is hardly averse to titillating visuals. She shamelessly hones in on her stars’ tiny chests and Twiglet thighs. But her interest in Jett — and Jett’s soft spot for girls with “Farrah Fawcett” hair — feels raunchy and wry. To this day, the mega-successful Jett (who executive-produced the film) prefers not to discuss her sexuality. Coyness has its uses, but how nice that the film itself is loud and proud.
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