FAME: Blu-ray (Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, 1980) Warner Home Video

Most people do not desire fame. They merely thirst for the trappings of being famous; so, wealth, power, the imagined freedom to pursue a life presumably out there for the asking, but in reality, to forever remain just a little beyond the rainbow, and actually, the stuff from which only dreams are made. That is not fame, as it allays the true mettle invested in the quest to achieve it as a sort of immortality otherwise denied all mortal creatures of this earth. If all of life is a struggle – and it is – then, the famous are driven to their folly - to keep all of its proverbial balls in the air at once - by existing inside this heady domain that spins on an axis at least thrice as fast as for the rest of us. The cliches are plentiful and well-remembered. The ‘good’ life. The tightrope. What makes Sammy run? And where has he run to? Even if fame is achieved, it fades almost at the height of its big reveal. And what comes on its downswing is usually more devastating than the immensity of investment in the blood, sweat and tears it took to climb the proverbial ladder the first time. Is it any real wonder those in search of fame – even those who ostensibly attain it - turn to the excesses of pills, liquor and other as destructive habits to self-medicate between the meteoric highs and crippling lows as the pendulum swings ever more violently, the calculus of success slightly, then completely, unhinged?   

These are at least some of the principles embroidered into Alan Parker’s Fame (1980), a movie that desperately wants to go the route of the old Mickey Rooney/Judy Garland 'hey kids, let's put on a show', but instead winds up as a sort of anti-fame forbearer of the really bad news to come – that about 90% of those in actor’s equity are waiting tables, cleaning houses or otherwise toiling in menial jobs, dreaming of their ‘big break’ never to follow. It’s a sobering picture – even more so today than it likely was in 1980 – barely to have crawled from the gutter of grittier late-seventies’ cinema, yet with a crystalizing clarity affixed to the social anxieties afflicting this new breed of young hopefuls in training at New York's famed School for the Performing Arts. Coming, as it did off the 1970’s, a decade known for its realism, but with the success of MGM's frothy tributes to its own pastiche of yesteryear That's Entertainment! parts I and II still flickering like a faded mirage in the background, Christopher Gore's screenplay straddles a tightrope that, at times, awkwardly balances on these bipolar opposites – but, for the most part, marks a transition and update with only a few pedestrian moments to jerk the story back into the mire of its own antiquity, causing the action momentarily to lag behind. The picture’s salvation is its roster of talent, fronted by the irrepressible Irene Cara as Coco - a driven songstress determined to pull out all the stops in order to have the world 'remember her name'. Other standouts in the cast include Gene Anthony Ray as rough-around-the-edges hoodlum come dancer, Leroy Johnson, and, Lee Curreri as Bruno - a would-be musician/composer, if only he would realize not every tune should be created entirely on a synthesizer. Also in it, and used to good effect, Barry Miller as insecure wannabe comic, Ralph, and, Maureen Teefy as Doris - a hopeless wallflower who may not make it to the top, but undoubtedly 'finds herself' while being fed through the meat grinder of life.

Almost as compelling, and certainly, as integral to our overall appreciation, are the school's faculty. Albert Hague's stalwart music instructor, Mr. Shorovsky, Anne Meara's dominant instructor of English studies, Miss Sherwood, and, Debbie Allen's dance diva, Lydia, marking their territory with crusty, compelling and passionate distinction amidst the amassed chaos of their feisty up and comers. Fame begins with a two-pronged realization: the more cliched one about all fame is fleeting, and the other, that it requires immense sacrifice to turn a raw talent into a star. The rigors of these students’ auditions would be enough to send most of us home. But for the hallowed few, it proves a gateway to a prestigious possibility where the dreams that they dare to dream really might come true. Some of the hopefuls strike an indelible first impression. Others have their dreams instantly dashed. From these preliminary sequences one can speculate where a young, Simon Cowell might have manifested his first idea for American Idol's reject reel. These auditions are a make-or-break trial by fire. After establishing who has made the first cut the reality of an even more devastatingly comprehensive school curriculum begins to set in. Students are expected to learn a little bit of everything; ballet, tap, music appreciation, acting and singing, in addition to their regular academic studies.

From this vantage, Gore's screenplay gradually begins to explore the more privately moral and social insecurities of its various participants. We learn, for example, of fellow student, Montgomery's (Paul McCrane) crippling fear his homosexuality will ruin his chances to foster friendships. We also explore Leroy's stigma over not being able to read or write and what this will mean for his chances in life. And we come to champion Coco's gutsy ambition for performance as she finds kinship in Bruno's opinionated passion for writing 'good music'. In all, Fame is the story of uncertain youth at the cusp of their burgeoning adulthood, though perhaps yet without the full palette in social skills to make that inevitable transition a total success. The musical numbers are incidental intrusions at best - the most affecting, Coco's poignant rendition of 'Out Here On My Own'. Performing the number on a blackened stage with only Bruno as her audience, the song attains, then maintains its poignancy as an angst-riddled anthem; Cara, lending it her inimitable soulful depth: proof-positive her talents did not require the over-produced reverb that modestly handicaps the Oscar-winning title tune. ‘On My Own’ is as much a character-driven masterpiece as it is a character-building number, revealing a special glimpse into Coco’s own hard knocks, the real/reel glamor of it worn thin, or perhaps even gone. A career is just a career. And Coco wants this one badly.

Despite being billed as a 'musical', Fame very much comes to life more so during its dramatic highlights. This is to Alan Parker's credit. For it is in its drama that Fame grows into a genuinely compelling entertainment. The movie's songs, most of them badly staged and otherwise truncated with all the chop-shop editing precision of a Ginsu, even the Oscar-winning single from Cara, do little but chronically interrupt the narrative arcs of our protagonists, if only to provide the lucrative television series spawned from this movie with its TV theme. In retrospect, the TV series is far more compelling than the film, as cast - almost all of whom made the successful transition – came to explore the content of their characters from 1982-87. The wrinkles in Christopher Gore’s movie premised screenplay were thereafter ironed out with this expansion to the small screen. And the setting and characters came into focus and prominence on their own terms, with very satisfying arcs of self-discovery.   Fame – the movie – is deserving of our repeat viewing and respect, but otherwise quite undeserving of the abysmal big-budget remake it received in 2009.

Our story begins with auditions where we meet the principles, heads filled with imagination and a dream, though arguably, not much else. After some initial rude awakenings, provided by the staff (Get real. You’ll never make it. Try. Just don’t plan on it!) the kids settle into their insular worlds, strangely unpopulated by any adult influences outside of the faculty. This sounds creepy, but it’s not, chiefly because the teachers here are of the benevolent rather than Mary Kay Letourneau sect. So, onto freshman year. Doris befriends Montgomery, but falls in love with Ralph. It is unclear whose heart Coco is after. Though she values Bruno’s artistic temperament and appears to be gravitating toward him romantically as well, Coco all but turns cougar against Hilary Van Doren (Antonia Franceschi) a waspish ballerina impregnated by Leroy. There is some fascinatingly combative dialogue between English teacher, Mrs. Sherwood and the semi-literate Leroy over his refusal to do homework. There is also a great scene where dance instructor, Miss Berg (Joanna Merlin) lowers the boom on Lisa Monroe (Laura Dean) who thought she could cakewalk her way through the remaining semesters but finds herself getting expelled instead, and, a positively gut-wrenching moment when Doris, Montgomery and Ralph encounter Michael (Boyd Gaines), a graduated senior, waiting tables at the local pizzeria.  Only the year before, Michael was being courted by the William Morris Agency. Now, he is what they all fear most – just another hopeful likely never to scale the heights of success.

During sophomore year, Bruno and Mr. Shorofsky engage in a heated debate about the merits of a traditional orchestra. Bruno's proud father, Angelo (Eddie Barth) decides to prove his son’s music has merit, luring the students from their studies by blaring his latest creation from loudspeakers affixed to his cab. This creates chaos in the streets and a fist fight.  Meanwhile, Naomi (Tresa Hughes), Doris’ star-struck gargoyle of a stage mother, brutally humiliates her by forcing her to perform at a child’s birthday party. Ralph embarks on his stand-up comedy club routine where he confides his love for the late Freddie The screenplay liberally bounced from junior to senior year. Ralph submarines his chances with Doris. Montgomery becomes isolated inside his empty apartment. Doris alienates her mother by suggesting she will be changing her name to Dominique DuPont.  A pregnant Hilary arrives at a posh clinic to abort Leroy’s love child. Paralyzed with fear, Ralph bombs at his comedy club gig, but is comforted by Montgomery, whom he earlier admonished as a fag. Mrs. Sherwood and Leroy have words outside her husband's hospital room over his failing grade. And the entire company belts out ‘I Sing the Body Electric’ – a song whose meaning some 40+ years later still escapes me. And that’s pretty much, Fame. Remember the name as, even despite the picture’s many shortcomings, something about it has stuck in my membrane nearly half a century later.  

Warner Home Video's Blu-Ray is nicely turned out. The image is startling in its color fidelity and razor-sharp clarity. I had not seen Fame since 1980, but this Blu-ray gave me a very fine representation from what I had retained in my mind from many years before. Fully saturated colors and pitch-perfect contrast are wed to pluperfect grain.  Flesh tones have been superbly realized. And fine detail is nicely reproduced. We can actually see texture in fabrics, wood paneling and hair. The soundtrack has been remastered in 5.1 Dolby Digital and is adequate for this presentation, though to more keen ears it is unmistakably dated in its overall fidelity. Extras are direct imports from Warner’s old DVD and include a ‘Class Reunion’ featurette, another on the real School for Performing Arts and an audio commentary track from Alan Parker that is not as well turned out as I would have liked. Be that as it may, Fame now plays more like a time capsule than a timeless classic. For those who fondly recall that strange epoch in American cinema when low-budget, character-driven and reality-based entertainment was firmly in the driver’s seat, this one comes highly recommended for content as well as presentation!

FILM RATING (out of 5 - 5 being the best)

3.5

VIDEO/AUDIO

4.5

EXTRAS

3