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乔恩（多姆纳尔·格利森 Domhnall Gleeson 饰）是一个热爱音乐的年轻人，某天误打误撞加入了一支有点神经质的地下乐队，乐队的主唱兼灵魂人物是弗兰克（迈克尔·法斯宾德 Michael Fassbender 饰）——既是才华横溢的天才、又是终日戴着一个硕大头套的 怪人。乔恩跟着乐队到爱尔兰某个偏僻的小木屋里录制专辑，他们在此过上几近与世隔绝的生活。这一年来，乔恩一直私自将他们的生活以视频的形式发布在社交网络上。终于，乐队的奇特经历引起了某个音乐节主办方的关注，乔恩说服成员们远赴美国参加这个叫西南偏南（SXSW）的音乐节，藉此成名。 本片根据乔恩·强森的回忆录改编。片中的乐队领袖弗兰克以Chris Sievey为原型。Chris Sievey在七八十年代红极一时，他同时是个风趣演员，以喜剧形象“Frank Sidebottom”驰誉。在弗兰克身...回光奏鸣曲赔率体感予报癫螳螂御天神兽白狗1982我的前任日记李白之御剑长安BTS 防弹少年团：PERMISSION TO DANCE ON STAGE - 洛杉矶104号房间第三季直插金三角倾听2020中餐厅第六季洪武大案炭烧凶咒自行车叹息孵化有翡黑爵士一世五行刺客第一季爸爸别骗我惊涛大冒险（粤语版）献给你的勋章今天也无异样红颜劫恋情告急重回血腥死亡营心机识表地外魔物秋喜金石盟少年巴比伦2024爱因斯坦与爱丁顿不朽的时光向山进发 第二季漂洋过海遇见你诅咒在我们死去前 第一季监狱风云1987国语如我们所见第一季笑太极粤语
乔恩（多姆纳尔·格利森 Domhnall Gleeson 饰）是一个热爱音乐的年轻人，某天误打误撞加入了一支有点神经质的地下乐队，乐队的主唱兼灵魂人物是弗兰克（迈克尔·法斯宾德 Michael Fassbender 饰）——既是才华横溢的天才、又是终日戴着一个硕大头套的 怪人。乔恩跟着乐队到爱尔兰某个偏僻的小木屋里录制专辑，他们在此过上几近与世隔绝的生活。这一年来，乔恩一直私自将他们的生活以视频的形式发布在社交网络上。终于，乐队的奇特经历引起了某个音乐节主办方的关注，乔恩说服成员们远赴美国参加这个叫西南偏南（SXSW）的音乐节，藉此成名。 本片根据乔恩·强森的回忆录改编。片中的乐队领袖弗兰克以Chris Sievey为原型。Chris Sievey在七八十年代红极一时，他同时是个风趣演员，以喜剧形象“Frank Sidebottom”驰誉。在弗兰克身...回光奏鸣曲赔率体感予报癫螳螂御天神兽白狗1982我的前任日记李白之御剑长安BTS 防弹少年团：PERMISSION TO DANCE ON STAGE - 洛杉矶104号房间第三季直插金三角倾听2020中餐厅第六季洪武大案炭烧凶咒自行车叹息孵化有翡黑爵士一世五行刺客第一季爸爸别骗我惊涛大冒险（粤语版）献给你的勋章今天也无异样红颜劫恋情告急重回血腥死亡营心机识表地外魔物秋喜金石盟少年巴比伦2024爱因斯坦与爱丁顿不朽的时光向山进发 第二季漂洋过海遇见你诅咒在我们死去前 第一季监狱风云1987国语如我们所见第一季笑太极粤语
长篇影评
1 ) 不打扰是我最后的温柔
为了表示真诚，特地正儿八经抱着电脑写这篇影评。
和同事聊天，偶然提到这部电影，虽然这类素来是我直接忽略的类型，不过看了下演员阵容，有法鲨，有玛吉·吉伦哈尔，有点意思，尤其海报上那个略显呆萌的大脑袋，挺带感儿啊！那就看看吧！
“不打扰是我最后的温柔”，就是那么忽然一下子，觉得很适合男主最后的心情。 小职员，有点爱好，有点梦想，困于现实，想挣扎，想呼喊，想逃脱。就在这时候一个偶然，遇到了一帮怪咖。这些怪咖有着自己从来不敢奢望的才华，如此机会怎能放弃？千方百计要融入这个团体，希望获得肯定，希望获得一席之地。最后终于迎来了机遇，然而也是被摔了个稀烂。
男主结识弗兰克之后这段奇妙的旅程，其实也是很多普通人的选择，尤其是在职场上。任何一个不甘于现状的职场人士，当遇到一个可以接近，对自己颇为肯定的boss，怎会轻易放过。一定要好好表现！ 不断展示自己的业绩（男主一直写歌给弗兰克听）；你们其他人懂个鸡儿（男主和克莱尔的矛盾激化）；为了获得核心地位的重大付出（用祖父遗产交了房租）；野心逐步暴露（说服所有人去音乐节）；看似为了团队实则利用团队（只剩男主和弗兰克也硬要上台）…… 演出失败之后寻找弗兰克和乐队，依然不想放弃自己的野望，可能直到最后，弗兰克的母亲那句：精神病没有给予他才华，只是拖了他的后腿。才让男主真正意识到，自己的投资完全失败了。
对于弗兰克来说，这段经历真的不算什么，唯一的改变是自己不再需要那个巨大的头套了。男主对音乐的理解和表现，弗兰克听来都是粗陋和浅薄，男主的离开也不过是需要再找一个键盘手而已。
但弗兰克未曾意识到的是，男主已经相当接近于毁灭了自己，和整个，额，我已经忘记了什么名字的这个古怪的乐队。
“不打扰是我最后的温柔”，让弗兰克那群人回归自己的音乐世界，男主选择默默退出了自己永远无法拥有和理解的绝对领域，这也是最好的选择了。
这部电影，如果真心说，只能打个两分，一分给剧情，一分给那些冷笑话，但因为你的缘故，可以多打一分。
素来不喜欢死亡啊、迷幻啊、重金属啊、各种各样叫不上名字的摇滚，尤其本片里那些奇奇怪怪神神道道的对我来说完全是噪音 。但音乐其实并不是本片的核心，只是一种良好载体，传达影片本身的故事内涵。
看了半天才明白原来头套里的是法鲨，神经质又带点可爱的表演。玛吉·吉伦哈尔的表演依然挺“豪放”，更倾向于癫狂，但又让人感到脆弱。
男主的野望未达成，不过在2015年再度出击，带领了第一秩序军团打击共和国的反抗势力，结果依然被人按在地上摩擦。不过就男主的颜值、演技、作品分量，假以时日不可小觑啊~
2 ) 《弗兰克》：活在自己的世界里
（芷宁写于12月7日）
与其谈及影片《弗兰克（Frank）》的拍摄手法和表现方式，倒不如聊聊它所表述的典型现象和典型人设。
看这部影片，大概会让很多特别文艺的文艺青年感慨万千，相较于普通青年，极端文艺青年就像片中的弗兰克般只能存活于属于自己的世界里，一旦落入现实社会，便会无所适从，即便基于好的出发点，欣然摘掉了用于掩护或依赖的屏障，却依旧找不到适宜自如的姿态出现在世人面前。
这种境况是比较残酷的，这类“不合群”的人往往被各自的“文艺基因”激发着催动着，他们不安于世俗，想过能自由创作并尽情表达的生活，然而，一旦被迫从自己过得惯的生活状态中抽离，他们便如初生的婴孩般脆弱无助、不堪一击，任何一个嬉闹的玩笑都会彻底毁了他们。
如果将弗兰克们的音乐创作置于大众的视听中，或许一时间无法确认那究竟是天才之作，还是毫无天赋的呓语胡闹，但至少可以确定的是，当初乐队在森林木屋中制作所谓的新 专辑的时候，弗兰克们是快乐的，自在的，无畏的，仿佛几个在属于自己的国度里肆意放纵的精灵，至少像是从外星球放逐来的。
Don在位于湖光山色的小木屋的自杀了，带着一种预示性，也代表着彻底意识到始终也无法达到心之所系的一种幻灭，这种幻灭是致命的，仿佛提前预告了弗兰克等人参加西北偏北音乐节的行为也是一种致命的幻灭。弗兰克整日整夜以大头娃娃的头套示人，就连吃东西、洗澡时也都带着，他以这种方式避免自己和这个世界做无阻碍的接触，那里只容他独自踯躅，Jon的加入以及Jon以网络曝光乐队轶事的方式，让渴望得到认可的弗兰克误以为有了新的和世界接触沟通的途径，却不料，这样的方式和他适宜生存的模式是相悖。最了解弗兰克的是Clara，她在音乐节表演前夕选择离去，看似是分裂乐队的始端，却是在敲响警钟。
不少观众认为该片拍得诡异，剧情属极端类型，其实内心存有弗兰克式生存模式的人并不罕有，只是他们当中的很多人能在内心和俗世之间寻找到一个平衡点，从而侥幸度日。而弗兰克们就没这么幸运了，他们只能孤僻而偏执地存在于自己创造的一隅中，你可以认为他是天才，也可以同意医生的诊断，他就是个神经病，不过，似乎很多天才都是神经病。普通青年Jon在乐队的历程，便恰似以一个普通人的视角来呈现弗兰克式生存模式的局限性和不适应性。
此番戴着娃娃面具头套的迈克尔·法斯宾德给出了不错的表演，法鲨的这一演出令人想起了在影片《天国王朝》里饰演麻风国王的爱德华·诺顿，和诺顿一样，法鲨仅仅以肢体动作和情绪语言就突破了面部被遮挡的表演局限，于是，虽然在大多数时间里弗兰克都以大头娃娃的形象示人，观众却仿佛看到他的神情，继而窥到他的内心。
片尾，摘掉头套的弗兰克以奇特的嗓音，有点局促，有点羞涩地为他的伙伴们唱了一曲“I love you all”，世界是冰冷的，也是无情的，幸而他们还有彼此，彼此的存在和容纳形成了一个独一无二的空间，让他们得以存活。
（杂志约稿）
与其谈及影片《弗兰克（Frank）》的拍摄手法和表现方式，倒不如聊聊它所表述的典型现象和典型人设。
看这部影片，大概会让很多特别文艺的文艺青年感慨万千，相较于普通青年，极端文艺青年就像片中的弗兰克般只能存活于属于自己的世界里，一旦落入现实社会，便会无所适从，即便基于好的出发点，欣然摘掉了用于掩护或依赖的屏障，却依旧找不到适宜自如的姿态出现在世人面前。
这种境况是比较残酷的，这类“不合群”的人往往被各自的“文艺基因”激发着催动着，他们不安于世俗，想过能自由创作并尽情表达的生活，然而，一旦被迫从自己过得惯的生活状态中抽离，他们便如初生的婴孩般脆弱无助、不堪一击，任何一个嬉闹的玩笑都会彻底毁了他们。
如果将弗兰克们的音乐创作置于大众的视听中，或许一时间无法确认那究竟是天才之作，还是毫无天赋的呓语胡闹，但至少可以确定的是，当初乐队在森林木屋中制作所谓的新 专辑的时候，弗兰克们是快乐的，自在的，无畏的，仿佛几个在属于自己的国度里肆意放纵的精灵，至少像是从外星球放逐来的。
Don在位于湖光山色的小木屋的自杀了，带着一种预示性，也代表着彻底意识到始终也无法达到心之所系的一种幻灭，这种幻灭是致命的，仿佛提前预告了弗兰克等人参加西北偏北音乐节的行为也是一种致命的幻灭。弗兰克整日整夜以大头娃娃的头套示人，就连吃东西、洗澡时也都带着，他以这种方式避免自己和这个世界做无阻碍的接触，那里只容他独自踯躅，Jon的加入以及Jon以网络曝光乐队轶事的方式，让渴望得到认可的弗兰克误以为有了新的和世界接触沟通的途径，却不料，这样的方式和他适宜生存的模式是相悖。最了解弗兰克的是Clara，她在音乐节表演前夕选择离去，看似是分裂乐队的始端，却是在敲响警钟。
不少观众认为该片拍得诡异，剧情属极端类型，其实内心存有弗兰克式生存模式的人并不罕有，只是他们当中的很多人能在内心和俗世之间寻找到一个平衡点，从而侥幸度日。而弗兰克们就没这么幸运了，他们只能孤僻而偏执地存在于自己创造的一隅中，你可以认为他是天才，也可以同意医生的诊断，他就是个神经病，不过，似乎很多天才都是神经病。普通青年Jon在乐队的历程，便恰似以一个普通人的视角来呈现弗兰克式生存模式的局限性和不适应性。
此番戴着娃娃面具头套的迈克尔·法斯宾德给出了不错的表演，法鲨的这一演出令人想起了在影片《天国王朝》里饰演麻风国王的爱德华·诺顿，和诺顿一样，法鲨仅仅以肢体动作和情绪语言就突破了面部被遮挡的表演局限，于是，虽然在大多数时间里弗兰克都以大头娃娃的形象示人，观众却仿佛看到他的神情，继而窥到他的内心。
片尾，摘掉头套的弗兰克以奇特的嗓音，有点局促，有点羞涩地为他的伙伴们唱了一曲“I love you all”，世界是冰冷的，也是无情的，幸而他们还有彼此，彼此的存在和容纳形成了一个独一无二的空间，让他们得以存活。
（杂志约稿）
3 ) 我嚴重懷疑法鯊只是聲音演出罷了。
我只是覺得，當紅的法九組可能真的太忙了。。。
我幾乎把他主演過的電影都看過了。。。
只是這一部，我遲遲沒有，當我知道他在這部電影裏大多數時候都會帶著頭套演出。。。
沒有辦法看到任何表情完全只靠聽聲音和身體語言的表演，是多麼沮喪的事。。。當然還有他英俊的臉。。。
最後我還是看了，非常另類怪誕天馬行空創意無限對白幽默風趣精彩的真人真事改編的看不到法鯊英俊的臉的奇情電影。好看嗎？電影是好看的，喜歡另類風格電影的朋友會很喜歡。
雖然我嚴重懷疑，法鯊真的太忙了，而其他人的檔期也已敲定，所以編劇為了他把他的角色設定為從頭到尾都是戴著頭套演出的樣子。
然後飾演經紀人的那個也因為某些不知名的原因莫名其妙的被自殺掉⋯⋯
只能說編劇太牛逼，電影叫做《Frank》，卻是法斯賓德最不「坦白」的一次表演。
只有最後15分鐘才開始露臉。
然後流著淚唱「我愛你們大家。。。」
Reasonable doubt……
4 ) 由Keyboard为什么总自杀引出的想法
电影一开始的时候第二任Keyboard自杀。
我们不知道第二任keybord为什么自杀，但是DON为什么自杀导演却给了我们完整的过程。
DON最开始在天台上问JON觉得弗兰克如何的时候，DON的眼睛是闪闪发亮的，他真心的崇拜弗兰克，觉得弗兰克是天才，弗兰克的才华让人无可企及。
后来他和JON散步的时候，他又一次感叹弗兰克的天才。
然后是JON作曲的时候，DON觉得JON的曲子不行，说他特别明白想作出好曲子结果却作出shit的心情，然后弹了自己的曲子。JON说他觉得自己的曲子和DON的曲子都很棒，但是DON说很糟，他们都无法成为弗兰克。
DON想成为弗兰克那样天才的人，但是他知道自己永远无法成为弗兰克。
我觉得这个乐队在电影一开始就有四类人。
弗兰克，Clara。
DON和第二任键盘手
鼓手和贝斯
JON
弗兰克和Clara是不同寻常的天才，他们有着让人惊艳的才华，却也有着致命的缺陷——他们无法迎合世界，无法融于普通的世界。区别是Clara明白他们就是如此不再强求与世界对接，而弗兰克努力想要让世界接受他们喜爱他们。
DON和第二任键盘手，他们能够触及天才的世界，也有着自己的缺陷，能够融入天才的世界里，也能在伪装之后融于普通人的世界（电影里弗兰克有说，DON现在和普通人谈恋爱，只是得想办法让他的那些恋人不要动），但是正因为能游走于两个世界，所以更明白弗兰克这些人的惊才绝艳和与众不同，也更清楚他自己永远无法成为弗兰克那样的人。
鼓手和贝斯，其实感觉这两个才是看的最清楚的人。
JON，就是normal。在普通人的眼里这些天才是因为有着各种各样的原因才会成为天才——我不像他那样genius，是因为我不曾经历过那些痛苦。我们自视甚高自以为是总认为自己无法出名是因为没有机会，但其实内心里很清楚，并不是如此，我们默默无闻，不是因为不努力，其实就是因为自己没有足够的才能。
JON从一开始就想寻求在乐队里的地位，但是他慢慢便明白了DON的话，弗兰克是天才；但是他不认同DON的“我们无法成为弗兰克”，因为他从一开始就没想成为弗兰克而是想让自己成功——这也是他与DON的不同，他和DON看到的不同，追求的也不同。DON在弗兰克身上看到的是难以企及的才能；而作为普通人的JON，他也爱音乐，想要得到别人的认同，但他同时也看到了由这才华可以在普通社会里得到的东西。他发推特，发YouTube，极力鼓动大家去参加音乐节，都是因为如此。他想要乐队出名，但是他想要的与弗兰克想要的不同。JON的眼里YouTube播放量和弗兰克眼里的YouTube播放量本身就代表这两种东西，JON眼里播放量代表着知名，而弗兰克眼里这代表着“有多少人喜欢他们的音乐，爱着他们”——他们从一开始，就不在一个世界里。
在最后音乐节上台的时候JON很激动的唱了自己的歌，直到这个时刻他追求的依旧是自己能够被众人承认，能够被众人看到，借着因由弗兰克而得到机会……JON从Clara手里抢夺弗兰克，大概是他自己心里一直清楚，没有弗兰克，他走不了那么远，到不了这里。他始终不明白，弗兰克和他不同，就像他一直在意弗兰克的头套，想摘掉弗兰克的头套，而不是像Clara和DON一样不在意弗兰究竟如何，与弗兰克普通的相处。
电影里在台上弗兰克倒下，JON停止唱歌时，有一个细节，弗兰克说这个真的太烂了，而JON在他们搞砸一切后，回头看了一眼后台的他觉得心仪的女生。他们关心的、所处的世界，从来不同。
但是，弗兰克所代表的天才们并不是真的不想融于这个世界，他们并非没有尝试过，但他们与生俱来就是不同于常人。不是不想，而是无法。
弗兰克试过，然后失败了。
我们不知道第二任keybord为什么自杀，但是DON为什么自杀导演却给了我们完整的过程。
DON最开始在天台上问JON觉得弗兰克如何的时候，DON的眼睛是闪闪发亮的，他真心的崇拜弗兰克，觉得弗兰克是天才，弗兰克的才华让人无可企及。
后来他和JON散步的时候，他又一次感叹弗兰克的天才。
然后是JON作曲的时候，DON觉得JON的曲子不行，说他特别明白想作出好曲子结果却作出shit的心情，然后弹了自己的曲子。JON说他觉得自己的曲子和DON的曲子都很棒，但是DON说很糟，他们都无法成为弗兰克。
DON想成为弗兰克那样天才的人，但是他知道自己永远无法成为弗兰克。
我觉得这个乐队在电影一开始就有四类人。
弗兰克，Clara。
DON和第二任键盘手
鼓手和贝斯
JON
弗兰克和Clara是不同寻常的天才，他们有着让人惊艳的才华，却也有着致命的缺陷——他们无法迎合世界，无法融于普通的世界。区别是Clara明白他们就是如此不再强求与世界对接，而弗兰克努力想要让世界接受他们喜爱他们。
DON和第二任键盘手，他们能够触及天才的世界，也有着自己的缺陷，能够融入天才的世界里，也能在伪装之后融于普通人的世界（电影里弗兰克有说，DON现在和普通人谈恋爱，只是得想办法让他的那些恋人不要动），但是正因为能游走于两个世界，所以更明白弗兰克这些人的惊才绝艳和与众不同，也更清楚他自己永远无法成为弗兰克那样的人。
鼓手和贝斯，其实感觉这两个才是看的最清楚的人。
JON，就是normal。在普通人的眼里这些天才是因为有着各种各样的原因才会成为天才——我不像他那样genius，是因为我不曾经历过那些痛苦。我们自视甚高自以为是总认为自己无法出名是因为没有机会，但其实内心里很清楚，并不是如此，我们默默无闻，不是因为不努力，其实就是因为自己没有足够的才能。
JON从一开始就想寻求在乐队里的地位，但是他慢慢便明白了DON的话，弗兰克是天才；但是他不认同DON的“我们无法成为弗兰克”，因为他从一开始就没想成为弗兰克而是想让自己成功——这也是他与DON的不同，他和DON看到的不同，追求的也不同。DON在弗兰克身上看到的是难以企及的才能；而作为普通人的JON，他也爱音乐，想要得到别人的认同，但他同时也看到了由这才华可以在普通社会里得到的东西。他发推特，发YouTube，极力鼓动大家去参加音乐节，都是因为如此。他想要乐队出名，但是他想要的与弗兰克想要的不同。JON的眼里YouTube播放量和弗兰克眼里的YouTube播放量本身就代表这两种东西，JON眼里播放量代表着知名，而弗兰克眼里这代表着“有多少人喜欢他们的音乐，爱着他们”——他们从一开始，就不在一个世界里。
在最后音乐节上台的时候JON很激动的唱了自己的歌，直到这个时刻他追求的依旧是自己能够被众人承认，能够被众人看到，借着因由弗兰克而得到机会……JON从Clara手里抢夺弗兰克，大概是他自己心里一直清楚，没有弗兰克，他走不了那么远，到不了这里。他始终不明白，弗兰克和他不同，就像他一直在意弗兰克的头套，想摘掉弗兰克的头套，而不是像Clara和DON一样不在意弗兰究竟如何，与弗兰克普通的相处。
电影里在台上弗兰克倒下，JON停止唱歌时，有一个细节，弗兰克说这个真的太烂了，而JON在他们搞砸一切后，回头看了一眼后台的他觉得心仪的女生。他们关心的、所处的世界，从来不同。
但是，弗兰克所代表的天才们并不是真的不想融于这个世界，他们并非没有尝试过，但他们与生俱来就是不同于常人。不是不想，而是无法。
弗兰克试过，然后失败了。
5 ) Frank Sidebottom: the true story of the man behind the mask -- Jon Ronson
随手搜的，先摘过来，有空翻一下。
以下节选自Frank: The True Story that Inspired the Movie该书，书的作者Jon Ronson是剧本的Co-writer，也即电影中Jon的原型。
--------
更新，大概是不会翻译了，其实单词很简单很好理解，而且和电影里的对话非常像呢，可见改编之忠实。
In 1987 I was 20 and the student union entertainments officer for the Polytechnic of Central London. One day I was sitting in the office when the telephone rang. I picked it up.
"So Frank's playing tonight and our keyboard player can't make it and so we're going to have to cancel unless you know any keyboard players," said a frantic voice.
I cleared my throat. "I play keyboards," I said.
"Well you're in!" the man shouted.
"But I don't know any of your songs," I said.
"Wait a minute," the man said.
I heard muffled voices. He came back to the phone. "Can you play C, F and G?" he said.
The man on the phone said I should meet them at the soundcheck at 5pm. He added that his name was Mike, and Frank Sidebottom's real name was Chris. Then he hung up.
When I got to the bar it was empty except for a few men fiddling with equipment.
"Hello?" I called.
The men turned. I scrutinised their faces. In the three hours since the phone call I'd learned a little about Frank Sidebottom – how he wore a big, fake head and there was much speculation about his real identity. Some thought he might be the alter ego of a celebrity, possibly Midge Ure, the lead singer of Ultravox, who was known to be a big Frank Sidebottom fan. Which of these men might be Frank? If I looked closely would there be some kind of facial clue?
Then I became aware of another figure kneeling in the shadows, his back to me. He began to turn. I let out a gasp. Two huge eyes were staring at me, painted onto a great, imposing fake head, lips slightly parted as if mildly surprised. Why was he wearing the head when there was nobody there to see it except for his own band? Did he never take it off?
"Hello, Chris," I said. "I'm Jon."
Silence.
"Hello ... Chris?"
Nothing.
"Hello ... Frank?" I tried.
"HELLO!" he yelled.
Another of the men came bounding over to me. "You're Jon," he said. "I'm Mike Doherty. Thank you for standing in at such short notice."
"So," I said. "Maybe we could run through the songs? Or ... ?"
Frank's face stared at me.
"Frank?" Mike said.
"OH YES?"
"Can you teach Jon the songs?"
At this Frank raised his hands to his head and began to prise it off, turning slightly away, like he was shyly undressing. I thought I saw a flash of something under there, some contraption attached to his face.
"Hello, Jon," said the man underneath. He had a nice, ordinary face. He gave me a sheepish smile, as if to say he was sorry that I had to endure all the weirdness of the past few minutes but it was out of his hands.
Before I knew it we were onstage. As we played I watched it all – the band assiduously emulating the tinny pre-programmed sounds of a cheap, children's keyboard, the enraptured audience, and Frank, the eerie cartoon-character frontman, his facial expression immobile, his singing voice a high-pitched nasal twang.
After that night – the greatest of my life – a year passed. Life went back to normal. Then Mike phoned and asked if I wanted to be in Frank's band full time. So I quit college and moved to Manchester.
And there I was, in the passenger seat of a Transit van flying down the M6 in the middle of the night, squeezed between the door and Frank Sidebottom. Those were my happiest times – when Chris would mysteriously decide to just carry on being Frank. Nothing makes a young man feel more alive and on an adventure than speeding down a motorway at 2am next to a man wearing a big fake head. I'd watch him furtively as the lights made his cartoon face glow yellow and then black and then yellow again.
I am writing this 26 years later. The music journalist Mick Middles recently sent me his not-yet-published biography Frank Sidebottom: Out of His Head. His book captures perfectly that "rarest of journeys" when an onlooker got to see the man born Chris Sievey turn into Frank. "The moment the head is placed the change occurs. Not merely a change in attitude or outlook but a journey from one person to the other. I completely believe that Chris was born as two people." Middles likens Chris to transgender people, trapped in the wrong body.
I never understood why Chris sometimes kept Frank's head on for hours, even when it was only us in the van. Under the head Chris would wear a swimmer's nose clip. Chris would be Frank for such long periods the clip had deformed him slightly, flattened his nose out of shape. When he'd remove the peg after a long stint I'd see him wince in pain.
Frank's character was of a child in a northern town remaining assiduously immature in the face of adulthood. He was a paean to ordinariness. But Chris wasn't ordinary. He was chaotic. Sometimes, on the way back from some gig, I'd become aware that we were taking a detour to some house somewhere with some women we somehow met along the way. There would be partying while I sat outside on the sofa.
In the van I'd listen to Chris's stories, trying to understand him. He reminded me of George Bernard Shaw's unreasonable man: "The reasonable man adapts himself to the world; the unreasonable one persists in trying to adapt the world to himself. Therefore all progress depends on the unreasonable man." Chris was the unreasonable man, except the world never did adapt to him and he never made any progress. Like when Frank was asked to support the boy band Bros at Wembley. There were 50,000 people in the crowd. This was a huge stage for Frank – his biggest ever, by about 49,500 people. It was his chance to break through to the mainstream. But instead he chose to perform a series of terrible Bros cover versions for five minutes and was bottled off. The show's promoter, Harvey Goldsmith, was glaring at him from the wings. Frank sauntered over to him and said, "I'm thinking of putting on a gig at the Timperley Labour Club. Do you have any tips?"
We crisscrossed Leeds and Bury and Sheffield and Liverpool playing the same venues over and over again. Time passed and the audiences grew to 750 and sometimes even 1,000. It was consequently baffling for me to become aware of a growing sense of discontent in the van. Chris had been asking friends to perform cameos between the songs on his records. In this spirit he had asked his brother-in-law's friend Caroline Aherne to voice the part of Frank's neighbour, Mrs Merton. Afterwards, Caroline decided to keep Mrs Merton going. She somehow got her own TV show, The Mrs Merton Show. She won a Bafta. Her followup series, The Royle Family, won about seven. The Royle Family Christmas specials attracted audiences of 12 million. And meanwhile we were crisscrossing Manchester and Bury and Leeds and Sheffield and Liverpool in our Transit van.
The band's guitarist Patrick Gallagher told Middles: "It wasn't Caroline's fault. Chris was totally out of control. Whereas, say, Caroline Aherne had a single vision and could just pursue that, Chris might have a fantastic idea, and then, just as the point where it might actually get somewhere, he would spin off onto something completely different. That's OK for a while but it tended to piss people off because they never knew where they stood."
Suddenly everyone around us was becoming famous. My next-door neighbour Mani had a band. They became The Stone Roses. Our driver, Chris Evans, left us to try and make it in radio. By 2000 he was earning £35m in a year, making him Britain's highest-paid entertainer.
There is always a moment failure begins. A single decision that starts everything lumbering down the wrong path, speeding up, careering wildly, before lurching to a terrible stop in a place where nobody is interested in hearing your songs any more.
With Frank I can pinpoint that moment exactly.
"Chris wants to have a rehearsal," Mike told me one day.
"Why would Chris want to rehearse?" I said.
"To take things up a level," Mike said.
Chris's house was in a normal, nice, modern cul-de-sac. His children were playing outside. His wife, Paula, answered the door and told me to go to the spare bedroom. I walked up, passing the bathroom and glanced in. Staring back at me from the sink was Frank's head.
"In here, Jon," I heard Chris shout.
I opened the bedroom door. And stopped. A man was standing there, maroon shirt tucked smartly into neat black jeans. As I walked in he started playing a tight soul-funk riff with seeming nonchalance, but I understood it to be an act of aggression.
"Who ... are you?" I said.
"I'm Richard," he said. "From the Desert Wolves."
I'd like to say that during the years since Richard the bass player took an instant dislike to me – a dislike that only intensified during the months that followed before the band imploded, and climaxed in him yelling that he'd like to break my "keyboard-playing fingers" – he went on to have a disappointing life. But he didn't. He became one of the world's most successful tour managers, looking after Woody Allen and the Spice Girls. He currently manages the Pixies.
Richard was not the only proper musician Chris brought in. A skilful guitarist and a saxophone player turned up in the spare bedroom too. We began to sound like an excellent 1980s wedding band.
Chris told me to book us the biggest tour we'd ever undertaken. He choreographed it so I would begin the show. I'd walk on stage, alone, into a spotlight, and play a powerful C with my left forefinger. The synth brass tone – the most stirring of all the Casio tones.
We hired a people-carrier instead of a Transit van and set off to our first venue. The mood was pumped. The old band members had a certain avant-garde loucheness. But this new band: I felt like I was in a college sports team. We soundchecked. The place was packed. And then I walked out into the spotlight. And in the space of that first song – our classic Born in Timperley (to the tune of Springsteen's Born in the USA) – the audience veered from fevered anticipation into hoping we were playing a weird joke on them into realising with regret that we were not. The NME savaged us. By the end of the tour we were playing to almost-empty houses.
Chris returned to Manchester to a court summons. He owed £30,000 in back taxes. On the day of his court appearance the judge told him it was a very serious matter and had he considered a payment plan?
"Would a pound a week suffice, m'lud?" he asked.
"No it would not!" the judge shouted.
Chris never actually said to me: "You're fired." But I began to notice in the listings magazines that he was doing solo shows – just him and a keyboard. They were in the same venues we used to play, then in smaller venues, and then eventually there were no shows at all.
I moved back to London.
Ten years later I was in the park with my son when the phone rang.
"HELLO!" said Frank Sidebottom.
"It's been so long. How are you?" I said.
"Oh I'm very well actually, Mr Ronson," Frank said.
"Frank," I said. "Will you put Chris on?"
Chris filled me in on the past 10 years. Now divorced from Paula, he was an animator on the children's claymation series Pingu. He loved the work but missed Frank and wanted to bring him back from retirement. He was wondering if I'd write something about my time in the band to help him with the comeback. My story was published in the Guardian. My friend, the screenwriter Peter Straughan, asked me if I thought the story could be adapted into a film.
Not long after that, Frank was playing at a pub near my flat. I found Chris in a dressing room at the back, Frank's head in a bin bag at his feet.
"How did you lose so much weight?" I asked.
"I don't know," he said, looking pleased.
"Well, whatever you're doing," I said, "you look great."
We walked across Kentish Town Road so Chris could buy some cigarettes. He'd already given us his approval on the film and I told him the latest news. FilmFour wanted to fund its development. But – and Chris and I shuffled awkwardly around the question – what would the film actually be about? Specifically, Chris wondered, would Chris be in it? Chris had always said we could do what we wanted with the story. But he was worried that however the film might depict Chris, any reality would surely damage Frank.
I had similar concerns. Chris portrayed himself as untroubled. While a total dearth of anxiety was a fantastically enviable character trait in real life, how could we write a film about a man who just didn't care when everything went wrong and in fact found disaster funny? And if Chris was secretly more obsessive about Frank than he let on, how would he feel if the film reflected that? But there was a solution. What if we fictionalised the whole thing? It could be a fable instead of a biopic – a tribute to people like Frank who were just too fantastically strange to make it in the mainstream.
I set off for America to research other great musicians who'd ended up on the margins – Daniel Johnston, Captain Beefheart, the Shaggs. A week after I returned, I saw Frank Sidebottom's name trending on Twitter. I clicked on the link and it said "Frank Sidebottom dead". I wondered why Chris had decided to kill off Frank. So I clicked another link:
Stars lead tributes as Frank Sidebottom comic dies at 54
Chris Sievey, famous as his alter ego Frank Sidebottom, was found collapsed at his home in Hale early yesterday. It is understood that his girlfriend called an ambulance and he was taken to Wythenshawe Hospital, where his death was confirmed.
Manchester Evening News, 22 June 2010
When I'd told Chris at our last meeting how thin he looked – he didn't know it then, but it had been throat cancer.
Frank Sidebottom comic faces pauper's funeral
The comic genius behind Mancunian legend Frank Sidebottom is facing a pauper's funeral after dying virtually penniless. Chris Sievey had no assets and little money in the bank, his family have revealed.
Manchester Evening News, 23 June 2010
A pauper's funeral? What did that involve? A journey back in time 200 years? I sent out a tweet. Within an hour 554 people had donated £6,950.03. By the end of the day it was 1,632 donors raising a total of £21,631.55. The donations never stopped. We had to stop them.
A Timperley village councillor, Neil Taylor, started his own fund-raising campaign for a memorial statue – Frank cast in bronze. He sent me photographs of its journey from the foundry in the Czech Republic to its final resting place outside Johnson's the dry cleaners in Timperley. In the photographs, Frank looked like he'd been kidnapped but was fine with it.
And now our Frank film – directed by Lenny Abrahamson and starring Michael Fassbender, Maggie Gyllenhaal and Domhnall Gleeson, is going to be premiered at the Sundance film festival. As I prepare to go to it, I remember something Chris once said to me. It was late one night, and we were in the van, reminiscing about a show we'd played a few weeks earlier at JB's nightclub in Dudley. It was very poorly attended. There can't have been more than 15 people in the audience. One of them produced a ball, the audience split into teams and, ignoring us, played a game. In the van, Chris smiled wistfully.
"That Dudley gig," he said.
"Ah ha?" I said.
"Best show we ever played," he said.
以下节选自Frank: The True Story that Inspired the Movie该书，书的作者Jon Ronson是剧本的Co-writer，也即电影中Jon的原型。
--------
更新，大概是不会翻译了，其实单词很简单很好理解，而且和电影里的对话非常像呢，可见改编之忠实。
In 1987 I was 20 and the student union entertainments officer for the Polytechnic of Central London. One day I was sitting in the office when the telephone rang. I picked it up.
"So Frank's playing tonight and our keyboard player can't make it and so we're going to have to cancel unless you know any keyboard players," said a frantic voice.
I cleared my throat. "I play keyboards," I said.
"Well you're in!" the man shouted.
"But I don't know any of your songs," I said.
"Wait a minute," the man said.
I heard muffled voices. He came back to the phone. "Can you play C, F and G?" he said.
The man on the phone said I should meet them at the soundcheck at 5pm. He added that his name was Mike, and Frank Sidebottom's real name was Chris. Then he hung up.
When I got to the bar it was empty except for a few men fiddling with equipment.
"Hello?" I called.
The men turned. I scrutinised their faces. In the three hours since the phone call I'd learned a little about Frank Sidebottom – how he wore a big, fake head and there was much speculation about his real identity. Some thought he might be the alter ego of a celebrity, possibly Midge Ure, the lead singer of Ultravox, who was known to be a big Frank Sidebottom fan. Which of these men might be Frank? If I looked closely would there be some kind of facial clue?
Then I became aware of another figure kneeling in the shadows, his back to me. He began to turn. I let out a gasp. Two huge eyes were staring at me, painted onto a great, imposing fake head, lips slightly parted as if mildly surprised. Why was he wearing the head when there was nobody there to see it except for his own band? Did he never take it off?
"Hello, Chris," I said. "I'm Jon."
Silence.
"Hello ... Chris?"
Nothing.
"Hello ... Frank?" I tried.
"HELLO!" he yelled.
Another of the men came bounding over to me. "You're Jon," he said. "I'm Mike Doherty. Thank you for standing in at such short notice."
"So," I said. "Maybe we could run through the songs? Or ... ?"
Frank's face stared at me.
"Frank?" Mike said.
"OH YES?"
"Can you teach Jon the songs?"
At this Frank raised his hands to his head and began to prise it off, turning slightly away, like he was shyly undressing. I thought I saw a flash of something under there, some contraption attached to his face.
"Hello, Jon," said the man underneath. He had a nice, ordinary face. He gave me a sheepish smile, as if to say he was sorry that I had to endure all the weirdness of the past few minutes but it was out of his hands.
Before I knew it we were onstage. As we played I watched it all – the band assiduously emulating the tinny pre-programmed sounds of a cheap, children's keyboard, the enraptured audience, and Frank, the eerie cartoon-character frontman, his facial expression immobile, his singing voice a high-pitched nasal twang.
After that night – the greatest of my life – a year passed. Life went back to normal. Then Mike phoned and asked if I wanted to be in Frank's band full time. So I quit college and moved to Manchester.
And there I was, in the passenger seat of a Transit van flying down the M6 in the middle of the night, squeezed between the door and Frank Sidebottom. Those were my happiest times – when Chris would mysteriously decide to just carry on being Frank. Nothing makes a young man feel more alive and on an adventure than speeding down a motorway at 2am next to a man wearing a big fake head. I'd watch him furtively as the lights made his cartoon face glow yellow and then black and then yellow again.
I am writing this 26 years later. The music journalist Mick Middles recently sent me his not-yet-published biography Frank Sidebottom: Out of His Head. His book captures perfectly that "rarest of journeys" when an onlooker got to see the man born Chris Sievey turn into Frank. "The moment the head is placed the change occurs. Not merely a change in attitude or outlook but a journey from one person to the other. I completely believe that Chris was born as two people." Middles likens Chris to transgender people, trapped in the wrong body.
I never understood why Chris sometimes kept Frank's head on for hours, even when it was only us in the van. Under the head Chris would wear a swimmer's nose clip. Chris would be Frank for such long periods the clip had deformed him slightly, flattened his nose out of shape. When he'd remove the peg after a long stint I'd see him wince in pain.
Frank's character was of a child in a northern town remaining assiduously immature in the face of adulthood. He was a paean to ordinariness. But Chris wasn't ordinary. He was chaotic. Sometimes, on the way back from some gig, I'd become aware that we were taking a detour to some house somewhere with some women we somehow met along the way. There would be partying while I sat outside on the sofa.
In the van I'd listen to Chris's stories, trying to understand him. He reminded me of George Bernard Shaw's unreasonable man: "The reasonable man adapts himself to the world; the unreasonable one persists in trying to adapt the world to himself. Therefore all progress depends on the unreasonable man." Chris was the unreasonable man, except the world never did adapt to him and he never made any progress. Like when Frank was asked to support the boy band Bros at Wembley. There were 50,000 people in the crowd. This was a huge stage for Frank – his biggest ever, by about 49,500 people. It was his chance to break through to the mainstream. But instead he chose to perform a series of terrible Bros cover versions for five minutes and was bottled off. The show's promoter, Harvey Goldsmith, was glaring at him from the wings. Frank sauntered over to him and said, "I'm thinking of putting on a gig at the Timperley Labour Club. Do you have any tips?"
We crisscrossed Leeds and Bury and Sheffield and Liverpool playing the same venues over and over again. Time passed and the audiences grew to 750 and sometimes even 1,000. It was consequently baffling for me to become aware of a growing sense of discontent in the van. Chris had been asking friends to perform cameos between the songs on his records. In this spirit he had asked his brother-in-law's friend Caroline Aherne to voice the part of Frank's neighbour, Mrs Merton. Afterwards, Caroline decided to keep Mrs Merton going. She somehow got her own TV show, The Mrs Merton Show. She won a Bafta. Her followup series, The Royle Family, won about seven. The Royle Family Christmas specials attracted audiences of 12 million. And meanwhile we were crisscrossing Manchester and Bury and Leeds and Sheffield and Liverpool in our Transit van.
The band's guitarist Patrick Gallagher told Middles: "It wasn't Caroline's fault. Chris was totally out of control. Whereas, say, Caroline Aherne had a single vision and could just pursue that, Chris might have a fantastic idea, and then, just as the point where it might actually get somewhere, he would spin off onto something completely different. That's OK for a while but it tended to piss people off because they never knew where they stood."
Suddenly everyone around us was becoming famous. My next-door neighbour Mani had a band. They became The Stone Roses. Our driver, Chris Evans, left us to try and make it in radio. By 2000 he was earning £35m in a year, making him Britain's highest-paid entertainer.
There is always a moment failure begins. A single decision that starts everything lumbering down the wrong path, speeding up, careering wildly, before lurching to a terrible stop in a place where nobody is interested in hearing your songs any more.
With Frank I can pinpoint that moment exactly.
"Chris wants to have a rehearsal," Mike told me one day.
"Why would Chris want to rehearse?" I said.
"To take things up a level," Mike said.
Chris's house was in a normal, nice, modern cul-de-sac. His children were playing outside. His wife, Paula, answered the door and told me to go to the spare bedroom. I walked up, passing the bathroom and glanced in. Staring back at me from the sink was Frank's head.
"In here, Jon," I heard Chris shout.
I opened the bedroom door. And stopped. A man was standing there, maroon shirt tucked smartly into neat black jeans. As I walked in he started playing a tight soul-funk riff with seeming nonchalance, but I understood it to be an act of aggression.
"Who ... are you?" I said.
"I'm Richard," he said. "From the Desert Wolves."
I'd like to say that during the years since Richard the bass player took an instant dislike to me – a dislike that only intensified during the months that followed before the band imploded, and climaxed in him yelling that he'd like to break my "keyboard-playing fingers" – he went on to have a disappointing life. But he didn't. He became one of the world's most successful tour managers, looking after Woody Allen and the Spice Girls. He currently manages the Pixies.
Richard was not the only proper musician Chris brought in. A skilful guitarist and a saxophone player turned up in the spare bedroom too. We began to sound like an excellent 1980s wedding band.
Chris told me to book us the biggest tour we'd ever undertaken. He choreographed it so I would begin the show. I'd walk on stage, alone, into a spotlight, and play a powerful C with my left forefinger. The synth brass tone – the most stirring of all the Casio tones.
We hired a people-carrier instead of a Transit van and set off to our first venue. The mood was pumped. The old band members had a certain avant-garde loucheness. But this new band: I felt like I was in a college sports team. We soundchecked. The place was packed. And then I walked out into the spotlight. And in the space of that first song – our classic Born in Timperley (to the tune of Springsteen's Born in the USA) – the audience veered from fevered anticipation into hoping we were playing a weird joke on them into realising with regret that we were not. The NME savaged us. By the end of the tour we were playing to almost-empty houses.
Chris returned to Manchester to a court summons. He owed £30,000 in back taxes. On the day of his court appearance the judge told him it was a very serious matter and had he considered a payment plan?
"Would a pound a week suffice, m'lud?" he asked.
"No it would not!" the judge shouted.
Chris never actually said to me: "You're fired." But I began to notice in the listings magazines that he was doing solo shows – just him and a keyboard. They were in the same venues we used to play, then in smaller venues, and then eventually there were no shows at all.
I moved back to London.
Ten years later I was in the park with my son when the phone rang.
"HELLO!" said Frank Sidebottom.
"It's been so long. How are you?" I said.
"Oh I'm very well actually, Mr Ronson," Frank said.
"Frank," I said. "Will you put Chris on?"
Chris filled me in on the past 10 years. Now divorced from Paula, he was an animator on the children's claymation series Pingu. He loved the work but missed Frank and wanted to bring him back from retirement. He was wondering if I'd write something about my time in the band to help him with the comeback. My story was published in the Guardian. My friend, the screenwriter Peter Straughan, asked me if I thought the story could be adapted into a film.
Not long after that, Frank was playing at a pub near my flat. I found Chris in a dressing room at the back, Frank's head in a bin bag at his feet.
"How did you lose so much weight?" I asked.
"I don't know," he said, looking pleased.
"Well, whatever you're doing," I said, "you look great."
We walked across Kentish Town Road so Chris could buy some cigarettes. He'd already given us his approval on the film and I told him the latest news. FilmFour wanted to fund its development. But – and Chris and I shuffled awkwardly around the question – what would the film actually be about? Specifically, Chris wondered, would Chris be in it? Chris had always said we could do what we wanted with the story. But he was worried that however the film might depict Chris, any reality would surely damage Frank.
I had similar concerns. Chris portrayed himself as untroubled. While a total dearth of anxiety was a fantastically enviable character trait in real life, how could we write a film about a man who just didn't care when everything went wrong and in fact found disaster funny? And if Chris was secretly more obsessive about Frank than he let on, how would he feel if the film reflected that? But there was a solution. What if we fictionalised the whole thing? It could be a fable instead of a biopic – a tribute to people like Frank who were just too fantastically strange to make it in the mainstream.
I set off for America to research other great musicians who'd ended up on the margins – Daniel Johnston, Captain Beefheart, the Shaggs. A week after I returned, I saw Frank Sidebottom's name trending on Twitter. I clicked on the link and it said "Frank Sidebottom dead". I wondered why Chris had decided to kill off Frank. So I clicked another link:
Stars lead tributes as Frank Sidebottom comic dies at 54
Chris Sievey, famous as his alter ego Frank Sidebottom, was found collapsed at his home in Hale early yesterday. It is understood that his girlfriend called an ambulance and he was taken to Wythenshawe Hospital, where his death was confirmed.
Manchester Evening News, 22 June 2010
When I'd told Chris at our last meeting how thin he looked – he didn't know it then, but it had been throat cancer.
Frank Sidebottom comic faces pauper's funeral
The comic genius behind Mancunian legend Frank Sidebottom is facing a pauper's funeral after dying virtually penniless. Chris Sievey had no assets and little money in the bank, his family have revealed.
Manchester Evening News, 23 June 2010
A pauper's funeral? What did that involve? A journey back in time 200 years? I sent out a tweet. Within an hour 554 people had donated £6,950.03. By the end of the day it was 1,632 donors raising a total of £21,631.55. The donations never stopped. We had to stop them.
A Timperley village councillor, Neil Taylor, started his own fund-raising campaign for a memorial statue – Frank cast in bronze. He sent me photographs of its journey from the foundry in the Czech Republic to its final resting place outside Johnson's the dry cleaners in Timperley. In the photographs, Frank looked like he'd been kidnapped but was fine with it.
And now our Frank film – directed by Lenny Abrahamson and starring Michael Fassbender, Maggie Gyllenhaal and Domhnall Gleeson, is going to be premiered at the Sundance film festival. As I prepare to go to it, I remember something Chris once said to me. It was late one night, and we were in the van, reminiscing about a show we'd played a few weeks earlier at JB's nightclub in Dudley. It was very poorly attended. There can't have been more than 15 people in the audience. One of them produced a ball, the audience split into teams and, ignoring us, played a game. In the van, Chris smiled wistfully.
"That Dudley gig," he said.
"Ah ha?" I said.
"Best show we ever played," he said.
6 ) 还是因为短评字数限制原因
(好吧,如果给了五分就假定为法鲨的脑残粉,那我就是怎样?你来打我啊~~~→_→)
这是以乐队为主题的电影,
那首先音乐要过关,
结果不仅过关还大大超乎意料之外的好!
看着法鲨平时哼哼的水平没想到在frank中表现大有长进(或是平常隐藏能力?)
低沉磁性的声音+神经质的肢体语言+逗逼的头套
把带有实验性电子性迷幻性的乐队特点表露无遗
不愧自己宣传时也桥说要跟昆导拍歌舞片(这是在走伊万的路线么...)
其次电影有萌点有笑点有泪点有爆点就是没有尿点
故事轻重缓急控制还算可以
突发事件层出不穷的同时主线没掉也是关键得分
如果说音乐+2
故事+2
那最后的一分就是我自己的心情原因了
这部片子让我想起了00年之后有段独立电影大爆发的时期
圣丹斯也是在那个时候慢慢走进大家眼帘成为了每年必须关注的电影节其中之一
而就是这些独立小制作,可能也带有一些小清新小文艺色彩吧?的作品又带来了一批优秀的演员,其中不乏现在在好莱坞混迹很好的一些同学.
看完这部电影之后
我回到家,翻出了JUNO,
THUMBSUCKER,
LARS AND THE REAL GIRL,
LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE,
TRANSAMERICA等很多电影开始重温
是的,他们都是逗逼的小人物
但是他们都在做自己
btw,一美那filth里还有frank节目的镜头......
这是以乐队为主题的电影,
那首先音乐要过关,
结果不仅过关还大大超乎意料之外的好!
看着法鲨平时哼哼的水平没想到在frank中表现大有长进(或是平常隐藏能力?)
低沉磁性的声音+神经质的肢体语言+逗逼的头套
把带有实验性电子性迷幻性的乐队特点表露无遗
不愧自己宣传时也桥说要跟昆导拍歌舞片(这是在走伊万的路线么...)
其次电影有萌点有笑点有泪点有爆点就是没有尿点
故事轻重缓急控制还算可以
突发事件层出不穷的同时主线没掉也是关键得分
如果说音乐+2
故事+2
那最后的一分就是我自己的心情原因了
这部片子让我想起了00年之后有段独立电影大爆发的时期
圣丹斯也是在那个时候慢慢走进大家眼帘成为了每年必须关注的电影节其中之一
而就是这些独立小制作,可能也带有一些小清新小文艺色彩吧?的作品又带来了一批优秀的演员,其中不乏现在在好莱坞混迹很好的一些同学.
看完这部电影之后
我回到家,翻出了JUNO,
THUMBSUCKER,
LARS AND THE REAL GIRL,
LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE,
TRANSAMERICA等很多电影开始重温
是的,他们都是逗逼的小人物
但是他们都在做自己
btw,一美那filth里还有frank节目的镜头......
大体算一部脑补片吧，因为法斯宾德大多时候都戴着头套，观众要不断假想头套后面他的样子。整体是部挺好玩的片子，很多喜剧元素，基本都集中在弗兰克蠢萌的头套与他的天然呆上。还在一定程度拆解着独立音乐，混乱，特立独行，性与死亡。观感还不错。
不要毁坏我孤独的美好，让我安静地做一个怪胎。
带上面具你是特立独行散发神秘乖张气质的音乐领袖，脱下面具你只是一个自卑有交流障碍的孤独症患者.那些真正懂你的人放弃了主流人生轨迹将你包围建立起一个音乐乌托邦用心维护你偏执脆弱的奇才梦.
什么是正常？什么是古怪？什么是病态？看完这片子就是让大家扪着心口把这三个问题反复问几遍。Frank又乖又纯又真，很有才华很懂爱，他只是与主流人群不一样而已。主流总是以将异己他者化、边缘化的方式，设立所谓正常标准，可在这部片子里，处心积虑想把Frank改造正常的Jon，才是那么可笑的格格不入。
法鲨又穿著羽絨背心哭了, 还是边唱边哭！！！所有blue情绪都藏在看似逗比的头套下，越到后面越心疼frank
世界上有一些东西，存在就合理。可能到最后我们都无法认同弗兰克接近病态的自闭，但我们终究能够理解他的想法行为，直至有些心疼。但治愈和清晰的风格之后，身为一部音乐占据大量要素的电影，歌曲和唱都那么难听怎的好吗。法鲨这么小清新不太能接受，其实我们都有一个头套，只是戴在不同的地方。
许多人同情那个音乐怪胎的障碍和创伤，但他是幸运的。你迷上了一种创造，并擅长于它，这不就是美妙人生的关键吗？真正可怜是那些努力的庸人，这电影不是对无法入世的艺术家的同情，而是对追求艺术的普通人的嘲弄，它告诉你，才华的本质就是天赋，没有那1%的灵感，你99%的努力都是白瞎。
I love your wall, I love you all...
法鲨迄今为止最帅的造型
致郁系电影，看完得吃药。（别问资源了，b站生肉，是的我就是凭着爱听懂的，bite me
古怪的流行乐队同音乐背后的野心格格不入，法鲨的头套隔阂着外界的干扰，才华才得以展示，但是迎合了观众却失去了自我，这是独立音乐的悲哀困境。看不到法鲨的表情，却依然会被他磁性的声线和丰富的肢体语言惊叹，时而迸发出的英式幽默带着天然呆的笑果~
虽然一直在笑，但其实电影想反映的问题并不好笑……很多地方笑完瞬间心里挺难过的。
鳖酱在这片子里露脸不超过五分钟，于是我特别希望鳖酱靠这片子与小李同期提名奥斯卡，然后鳖酱胜出#世界的恶意#
弗兰克的创作天赋源于心理创伤，他的洞察人性已然超越音乐本身。他戳穿了流行音乐的本质就是动听和朗朗上口，并不是乔恩眼中的表面文章。乔恩野心勃勃，却丝毫没意识到野心背后的尴尬处境。他对弗兰克的个人崇拜完全被面具蒙蔽了。法鲨最后才得以露脸，英式没品幽默让全片变得轻松惬意。
法叔牛逼爆了，带上头套，演技更遮不住了。
腐国文艺青年Jon野心勃勃的想做音乐，他心目中的好音乐是indie pop，是糖水可乐，当他遇到The Soronprfbs这群走心的实验怪咖，他始终都无法融入进去，就像他一直不明白之前的键盘手为什么自杀一样。痛苦经历和心灵创伤可以激发创作灵感，做出好音乐，但这个"好"却不是谁都能懂。★★★
头套摘下来就感到鞭子要挥起来了
开始我一直不明白法鲨为什么要演个全程头套君，后来我知道了，法鲨蜀黍用行动告诉了我们有些时候，男神的演技完全不需要用脸的。影帝你好，影帝你这么萌与小清新合适吗……
圣丹斯电影的平均水平 almost famous my ass! 迷妹们的笑点有多低 任何throwaway line都能地动山摇 电影节=集体无意识
结尾Frank妈妈的话是点睛之笔：其实他一直都很有音乐天赋，精神问题不是他的灵感来源，而是他的拖累。（语文不太好么翻译出意境）。感觉Jon对Frank的误解有点像广大人民群众对梵高的误解。很多时候精神疾病和灵感并没有正面因果关系。