Smashing Pumpkins - the movie

Geoff Carter

Wednesday, Feb. 9, 2000 | 1:12 a.m.

It's not Raymond Carver, but in the spirit of last Tuesday night's proceedings - a sold-out Huntridge Theater show by thoughtful and moody progressive rock combo the Smashing Pumpkins - the archetypical snotty reviewer humbly lays his hatchet aside to present these "Vignettes from the Smashing Pumpkins Gig."

This is quality stuff, man. Hey, if Pumpkins frontispiece Billy Corgan can manage to stretch one album's worth of material into a double disc set, work with Courtney Love without straining credibility and actually title an album (deep breath) "Machina / The Machines of God," I think I can sell this review to "Magnolia" director P.T. Anderson as a "slice of life" picture.

It's got intrigue. The financially-troubled Huntridge could use a hundred shows like Tuesday's. I havent seen so many bodies in that room since Nine Inch Nails sold the joint out two nights in a row. The Pumpkins could have easily sold out a second show and I'm sure the Huntridge team wouldn't have minded that one bit.

It's got stars. Hole bassist Melissa Auf Der Maur lit up the stage like fire and brimstone; she should be in every rockin' band from AC/DC to Aphex Twin. She's a solid bassist, doesn't showboat, and stands exactly like Sid Vicious. In the movie version, we'll move Auf Der Maur to center stage and place Corgan at stage left, where the auxiliary guitarist was hidden Tuesday night.

It's got more stars. Foo Fighters' Dave Grohl stood in the back of the theater, filming the band with a camcorder that costs more than I made in 1999.

Only a man as cool as the former Nirvana drummer would dare bring such an expensive piece of equipment into a room filled to overflow with grunge-hungry spawn. He, too, may play himself in the film.

Which brings us to Billy Corgan. Jeez, I dunno. My knee-jerk impulse is to put William H. Macy in his part, but that's only because I believe, in my heart, that Macy could play a Polynesian dwarf with only a week's prep time. I wouldn't want to give him the Corgan role because Corgan, for all his scratchy-voiced, rock-star bluster, isn't a very dynamic frontman.

Don't get me wrong: you put the guy in a studio and he'll kick your butt. "Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness" and "Adore," despite being padded by no small amount of silly prog-rock jive, are terrific records - smart, complex, catchy as hell. And his voice, like it or hate it, is one of the most distinctive in rock.

None of this saves him when he hits the stage. I could feel him sucking the charisma from the room; he looked like he'd rather be painting Julianne Moore's toenails (and who wouldn't?). He came to life a couple of times - most notably during "Tonight, Tonight," and half of that awakening was due the thunderous drumming of Jimmy Chamberlain. Aside from that, he just kinda stood there and let the show run him.

No, that won't do at all. We'll replace him with Philip Seymour Hoffman before filming. Philip won't look like he forgot something.

Of course, he won't sound like Corgan. We'll need dubbing, which will send Corgan back into the studio, where he shines. Perhaps when the vocals are looped, "Zero" won't sound like one continuous bleat, the lyrics to "Cherub Rock" will be intelligible and that inexplicable cover of David Essex's "Rock On" will be tinged with the necessary, self-deprecating irony.

The picture has a nice ending, though. The acoustic rendition of "1979" is every bit as affecting as it is on record, and the cover of The Who's "Join Together" ain't half-bad. And the waitress who served the Smashing Pumpkins earlier that day will turn to her friend, saying the line that'll get her the Supporting Actress nod.

"When I waited on these guys, they said to me, 'Don't you know who we are? We're famous rock stars.'"

"Yeah?"

"Uh-huh. And I told them, 'Every man who comes in here says that to me.'"