cont. from previous post

The scene that erupted in London was single-minded, or singularly mindless. The New York scene that Malcolm had studied (when he was here managing the Dolls in their declining days) was more diffuse and varied, with all the innovations present (from torn, scribbled-on, and safety-pinned clothes to spiky short hair to short, hard, loud, obnoxious songs) but not exclusively in any one group. In London it all gushed outward from Malcolm and the Pistols, and the audience was 90 percent crazed kids with nothing to do. The kids weren't cool, they were boiling hot. They spat and hit and cursed. Perfect turf for Nancy.

The movie does succeed on its own terms in accurately capturing the style and attitudes of its two principles. I've never seen a film that comes near it for conveying the growing desperation and shrinking prospects of the heroin addict. Director Alex Cox knows his stuff. You could fault Chloe Webb as Nancy for overdoing the facial contortions and tongue lolling, but apart from that, the impersonations she and Gary Oldman (Sid) achieve are remarkably on the mark, as is the content of the individual scenes. Every one obviously did their research. One could wish that the social structure and its values (rather than Malcolm or John) could have been implicated some for the depressing fate suffered by Sid and his girl. Because it was fate. Sid's whole identity was self-destruction. He was famous for dying. It's all he knew how to do. He didn't have a clue. (But then, who does?)

               The End