didordied

It was movie night again, and on the itinerary was Shine A Light, the Rolling Stones concert documentary.  The film was shot by Martin Scorcese and was recorded over two shows at the Beacon Theatre (that’s how it’s spelled, so I’m not a pompous jackass for not writing theater) in New York City.

I guess my thought in going to the movie was that although I’ve always wanted to see the Stones live if for no other reason to say that I did, I’ve never wanted to pay over $100 for a bad seat at The Last Rights Tour.  I suppose I’m slightly skeptical and wonder if the Stones have been dead for years and replaced by animatronic versions a la Chuck E. Cheese, so I need to sit close enough to prove to myself that they are, in fact, alive and kicking.  I figured that the movie would scratch my itch.  But you know what the glaring difference is between seeing the Stones live at Staples Center versus on the silver screen at CityWalk?  Hot chicks who are going to blow Mick Jagger go to Staples Center, whereas morbidly obese women from Burbank who want to blow Mick but will settle for the conscession boy in exchange for a popcorn upgrade see the movie.

The bar was set pretty darn low from the beginning of the evening.  You ever hang out with a friend and his date when you really, how shall I put this in a politically correct way, can’t stand the date?  Well, I did.  We met for drinks at the Hard Rock Cafe, which apparently is where the morbidly obese women from Burbank work as waitresses before going to the movies.  Date was so threatened by not being the focal point of every moment of the evening that she did worse than telling inside jokes.  She literally threw out names of people that only friend and date knew like a debate moderator provoking discussions on subjects of which I was ignorant.  My rebuttal?  Turn my chair towards the television and watch music videos.  Bang!  Bang!  I am the warrior.  I can be just as immature, so there.

At that point of the evening, I was praying that Moopiechops and his wife would show up so we could go to the movie. 

Moopiechops and his wife did eventually show up, and we hit the theater.  We proceeded to loudly discuss what we “had heard” about the flick.  Moopiechops, of course, kicked off the discussion by commenting on how excited he was to see Scorcese’s expose of the Jagger/Bowie tryst on the IMAX’s giant screen.  I mentioned what an obvious let down the money shot (oh yeah, it’s hyperlinked) would be because the film was not shot in IMAX 3D.  And together, we cleared a row of seats.

Enough of us and onto the film.  It begins with a very awkward meet and greet between the Stones and Clintons.  The Clintons wore suits to the show!  Suits to a Stones concert?!  Folks, Bill was supposed to be our coolest politician.

After the Stones reluctantly participated in the meet and greet, the show began and was marked by way too many tight shots of the band, including Keith Richard’s arms.  Sure, I’ve already taken time in therapy to discuss the horror that is Keith’s arm, but indulge me if you will.  Keith’s arms are marked by crater-sized dents.  I’m certain that these dents are what is left after portions of his skin fled in the early ’80’s in the hopes of saving themselves from Keith’s extracurricular activities.

Despite the poor camera work, the Stones still rocked, evidenced by the way that young women in the front row of the Beacon were shedding clothes following each song.  I was fairly confident that if Jagger called for “Gimme Shelter“, the young bulimic woman in the front row would have binged and purged on a Mickwich.  And, in fact, she may have because Jagger is noticeably absent from the stage for a significant amount of time while Richards sings.  After Richards finishes one song, he says, “Pretty good,” as if surprised that he didn’t die before the song’s completion.  And while we’re on the topic of how old the Stones are, I noticed Mick’s wearing Nike Shox sneakers or some equivalent.  The way he still rocks, Nike should sign him to an endorsement deal.  Either that or Dr. Scholl’s should run an ad with Jagger before and after using its inserts with the song “Satisfaction.”

There are several guest performers who take the stage with the Stones.  The most notable were Christina Aguilera and Buddy Guy.  Christina Aguilera because she was wearing a sheer white men’s style dress shirt, black tights, and high-heel boots that got me so riled up that I noticed after the song I had torn through an entire box of chocolate-covered raisins.  Buddy Guy because (1) he still rocks; and (2) I think Richards racistly believed that Guy couldn’t afford a guitar because he gave Guy two after the performance.

All in all, Scorcese was just a name to put asses in the seats.  I’m pretty certain that an NYU student could have just as ably shot titty close-ups as Scorcese.  Scorcese’s big letdown was how little he documented the fat bastard in the balcony who couldn’t clap to the beat.  Check him out 2/3 of the way through the film.

The movie was well worth the ridiculous cost of a ticket at the IMAX.  It actually caused me to listen to the Stones dedicated channel on Sirius.  So, I did it…and you should too.

Desiree Update:  Desiree was invited to this event and did not attend.