Column #10 - Going HARD CORE Changed My Life

4 guys - 5 nights - 3000 miles - 764 gallons of gas - 987 bottles of beer - 3457 cigarettes - 1 last shot

(Tagline from HARD CORE LOGO)

HARD CORE LOGO is a shot to the solar plexus, a rabbit-punch to the kidneys, a knee to the groin. The phrase "Billy's the talent, Joe's the dick", repeated in various forms throughout the story reflects the sentiments of the movie, with Billy Tallent (played by Callum Keith Rennie) and Joe Dick (played by Hugh Dillon), being the two conflicted leads of the fictional band. Joe and Billy are an antimatter reaction, annihilating everything in their path -- band mates, fans, each other.

But I'm not here to do a review of Hard Core Logo, go rent it; it's a funny and interesting take on the low end of the music business. Rather, I'm here to talk about my shared experience watching Hard Core Logo with a group of roughly fifty others, in a too-small theater, popcorn scrunching under our feet, a mix of punks with their big orange Mohawks, businessmen in pinstripe suits, and a couple of college kids to lost to know any better.

The movie was engaging and loud and profane and shocking and offensive and they sacrificed a goat. It even makes sense in the course of the film. They break the fourth wall and Bruce MacDonald, the director, appears in the movie as himself, not a true stretch, but I still think an actor would've been more natural. It ebbs and flows and twists and turns and then it ENDS.

I've capitalized the word because without seeing the movie that night, you just can't appreciate how powerful the ending really was. It was the one and only time I've ever experienced an entire movie theater full of strangers, bound together in shock and surprise. No one, and I mean no one, saw it coming. Not one person moved, not one soul dared to stand up during the end-credit sequence. It was only when the film had run to black, and the lights came up, that the assembled rose and began to exit. In retrospect it was probably strange, but I remember thinking how natural it seemed that punks and businessman should be able to walk together in silence. I've been chasing that same movie experience ever since. It tinges my writing, the hope that someday maybe I'll contribute something profound, that'll actually move someone in that same special way. I'll let you know if I ever get there...

Once again I've carried a love affair from movie to music. In this it was the brain-rattling, colon-loosening staccato screams of Hugh Dillon, lead singer of the recently-broken-up Headstones. If you haven't seen this punk-band live, it's probably unlikely now, but if by some miracle of fate or paycheck they re-band, then check'em out. He insults fans by name, that's a treat. It turns out that I'd heard the Headstones before, from their album 'Picture of Health', but with angry anthems like 'Edmonton Block Heater' on the soundtrack of Hard Core Logo, how could I pass up an opportunity to check out Hugh Dillon's other gig.

Someone smart once said, "music forms the soundtrack our lives". It might have been Cameron Crowe, it might've been a Beatle, either way, it's just as profound. During occasional important and tough moments, I'll wistfully think that 'Take the Money and Run' might be a nice accompanying musical piece for this moment, or that Brad Pitt could do a nice interpretation of what I'm feeling (we also share the same rugged good looks). Reality, however, has a way of forcing itself down your throat and the feeling passes.

I've often thought about seeing Hard Core Logo again, it's just come out on DVD with lots of extras, but something holds me back. It might be fear of being let down or coming to realize that it's so quintessentially Canadian to the point of exclusion; it no longer resonates with me. Maybe it never did.

I actually think it's recognition that what I experienced that cold winter night in a movie theater full of punks and rejects was something so unique and profound that to tread upon that ground is tantamount to sacrilege. Just bow your head, say 'Thanks for the memories' and move on. I'm still looking to top that experience, to find it again, to sit stock-still in a theater with fifty others, afraid to move, completely shocked, a shared common emotional experience. Maybe in my own way, I'm seeking catharsis. Then again, maybe I'm just looking to see some orange Mohawks. Haven't seen those in a while...
Jess Nakaska is an aspiring screenwriter always on the lookout for the next great script idea. He'll let you know if he finds it. Feel free to contact him at jessnakaska@hotmail.com.