Margaret BauerA visit to the Euclid Records Film Festival offers little by way of either “film” or “festival” atmosphere. The screen upon which the movies-actually, DVDs-are projected hangs in the back of the store, above a rack of used rock compilations. Folding chairs are provided-but not arranged, due to some civic ordinance the clerks fail to clarify. Popcorn, of course, comes in slender paper bags.
The audience, as it were, consists of some three to four vinyl addicts in their mid-to-late 50s, most of whom sport unnecessary goatees and long hair in need of trimming. Oddest of all, the record store remains open throughout the screening. As you’re taking in, say, a nipple-heavy ’60s skin flick, some leather-clad aging hippie 20 feet back is checking out the limited edition Frank Zappa LP.
This is not to say that the Euclid Records festival isn’t, in its own way, quite cool. Strange and uncinematic though the atmosphere may be, checking out classic (often, out-of-print) rock movies for free, surrounded by racks of discs for sale, is a pop culture experience of the most unique vintage.
“Ah, Pamela WAS a groupie,” might offer one particular faded rocker to your right. Thus is the ambience of the Euclid Film Festival, where tonight “Mayor of the Sunset Strip”-George Hickenlooper’s documentary about seventies rock everyman Rodney Bingenheimer-is playing. The “Pamela” in question is in fact Pamela Des Barres, an apparently famous groupie of the era, and the knowledgeable crowd around us is quick to chuckle in agreement.
“Mayor of the Sunset Strip,” critics’ darling of the 2003 Toronto Film Festival, the particular selection of Cadenza’s night at Euclid, details Bingenheimer’s life as, essentially, the ultimate male groupie-starting, strangely, as double to Davy Jones of TV’s “The Monkees.” To call him a companion to Kate Hudson’s Penny Lane (from “Almost Famous”) wouldn’t be out of place: Rodney hobnobbed intimately with the 70s’ most revered rock stars, from Bowie to McCartney to Jimi to Dylan, and had plenty (PLENTY) of crass, crass sex in between. Bingenheimer’s fame-by-proxy led him to open an infamous L.A. club, frequented by everyone from Elvis to Elton John, and eventually landed him a plum, popular deejay spot on fledgling radio hotspot KROQ.
Rodney had “a posse of pussy,” according to one source, but the film itself is filled with oddball characters whose eccentricities almost rival that of the title character. One Texas import clings to Rodney in blind hope of becoming a “spaceman” rock star, famous for his odes to Jennifer Love Hewitt. Another titles himself the “KING of the Sunset Strip,” although the only domain over which he appears to reign involves his crotch and commands of “Down, dog!” to unwilling, homeless 15-year-old sex partners.
Despite all this debauchery, though, the film is unexpectedly poignant. Rodney now is a has-been, his radio program shunted to the wee-hours Sunday night timeslot. He lives in the home of his dead mother, drives her dilapidated Buick, and lives in his past, through pictures and tattered celebrity memorabilia. Who weeps for Rodney Bingenheimer? (Well, our own Susannah Cahalan…but that’s beside the point.)
Rodney is a product of a lost era, one where “love of the music” was enough to claim the spotlight. He rubbed elbows with-and in many cases, helped to fame-all the acts listed above, and many more. He never asked for much and certainly didn’t receive it. As the music world transformed into the music industry, people like “the mayor of the Sunset Strip” were left behind.
Of course, not all rock films are so dramatic (or, for that matter, depressing), and the festival at Euclid is featuring a wide-enough gamut that almost any music-movie craving can be satisfied before the month is out. There’s no real trek to get to the store (just a short drive down Big Bend), and-most importantly-the showings are absolutely, 100 percent free. Each screening is followed by a small-scale raffle drawing (our own, weepy Susannah won a t-shirt), and there’s always plenty of records to browse if you get bored.
Euclid Records is located at 601 E. Lockwood Ave.
Phone Number: (314)-961-8978
Directions: Take Big Bend south, through Webster Groves, to East Lockwood. Turn right and Euclid will be on the right-hand side.
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Just to get you more excited, here’s a list of Euclid’s (again, FREE) coming attractions:
Monday, November 22: “This Is Spinal Tap” and “A Mighty Wind”
Tuesday, November 23: Frank Zappa’s “200 Motels”
Wednesday, November 24: A selection of blues shorts
Friday, November 26: “Flintstones Wild Rock ‘n Roll”
Monday, November 29: Punk Rock night
Tuesday, November 30: “I Am Trying To Break Your Heart” and “Man In The Sand”