This movie tracks the enthralling, bizarre, in-your-face work of Gonzo journalist Hunter S. Thompson from dizzying rock-star heights to the ravages of excess, decline and self-parody; the usual unforgiving life-story arc. Think Jack Kerouac ...only with violence and politics. George Burns was known to say "Fame is a hideous bitch goddess." and both are present here. The goddess can be found in his rising star, and fame on his own terms. It becomes a hideous bitch as Thompson ages and finds no place of honor waiting for him (just as he expected).
I have no interest in drug use (the film shows much), but it's simply amazing to see someone live out the all too rare "maverick" story arc that we're supposed to have so much of in America. In reality this happens about twice a century, because nothing frightens the average American quite like individuality or freedom. Thompson follows his conscience, his own style, his talent and eccentricities, and compromising none of them, actually parlays them into fame. Mere talent doesn't lead to fame anymore, without handlers. Think about those two concepts; Hunter S. Thompson and "handlers." Ha hah... As horrible as the '70s were, anyone who only has the eighties and the nineties in their psyche, is missing the codex that explains those decades, and doesn't even know it; doesn't even know the blandness we're swimming in. In a freak of timing, a mouthy malcontent was exactly what that decade needed, and lucked into the right forum (Rolling Stone).
This is a thought-provoking movie that I'll be thinking about more this week. It also offers a glimpse of Ralph Steadman's astonishing work and working style.
I have no interest in drug use (the film shows much), but it's simply amazing to see someone live out the all too rare "maverick" story arc that we're supposed to have so much of in America. In reality this happens about twice a century, because nothing frightens the average American quite like individuality or freedom. Thompson follows his conscience, his own style, his talent and eccentricities, and compromising none of them, actually parlays them into fame. Mere talent doesn't lead to fame anymore, without handlers. Think about those two concepts; Hunter S. Thompson and "handlers." Ha hah... As horrible as the '70s were, anyone who only has the eighties and the nineties in their psyche, is missing the codex that explains those decades, and doesn't even know it; doesn't even know the blandness we're swimming in. In a freak of timing, a mouthy malcontent was exactly what that decade needed, and lucked into the right forum (Rolling Stone).
This is a thought-provoking movie that I'll be thinking about more this week. It also offers a glimpse of Ralph Steadman's astonishing work and working style.