The Plot:
Somewhere among the peaceniks and Earth Firsters of the Pacific Northwest reside Roxxy and Miles. She imagines herself a power rock riot grrrl, while he is a filmmaker on the cusp of a self-described creative zenith. Each one surrounds themselves with individuals intending to help them achieve their goals. Roxxy fronts a band of bozos called The Puerto Ricans while Miles makes the life of producer Jelly and various cinematic hangers on more miserable than memorable. As the world turns and these ennui eccentrics go about their daily business of wandering aimlessly, they come into contact with individuals both sadly odd and oddly sad. When Miles wants to use some of Roxxy's music in his film, the persnickety punkette says 'nyet'. But then it doesn't look like the movie will ever get made, and The Puerto Rican's last concert got a less than rave revue. Talk about your karmic cock-up. Maybe it's time for these pretenders to pack it in. After all, there's got to be more to young adulthood than fiddling with filmstock and banging out the boring Scumrock.

The DVD:
Scumrock is so desperate to be Slacker that you can practically feel Richard Linklater's Indie original gasping for breath behind the mundane dialogue spoken by our actor cast-offs. Not appealing enough to win us over, and filled with more moping sad sacks than an American Idol audition, writer/director John Moritsugu needs to re-learn whatever filmmaking lessons he supposedly picked up along the way to this dreary drone of a movie. Along with partner, co-conspirator Amy Davis, our Asian auteur is attempting to cast the post-millennial malaise of his entire meandering MTV2 generation into a campy, quirky comedy of manners where people speak in puzzling non-sequitors and every monotone bon mot tells a sharply realized story. In Slacker Linklater did something similar with Austin artists living via their wits (verbal and survival), and there was a real electricity in the performances. There was also an innate quality of evocative communication that moved the narrative and won us over. Here, our mannered musicians and mumbling miscreants are just excuses, not fully formed ideas, and the end result is something both stale and completely cold.

It wouldn't be so bad if Moritsugu was giving us genuine idiosyncrasy. Certainly there are individuals in this world that look literally like they fell out of the pages of one of those grown-up 'graphic novels' where superheroes are replaced by sarcastic coffee shop workers and everyone still thinks retro-kitsch is 'super cool'. But Scumrock is calculated eccentricity, populated with people who are unusual for no other reason than the director's desire to have them be different. When a roommate of Miles the moviemaker falls in love with an anime-esque gal, her proclaimed lack of intestines comes across as stupid, not satirical. A cinematographer, who pretends to be from the UK and speaks in a faux British accent, is just a loser, not a loveable weirdo. From a dullard guitarist who can't enjoy the pre-gig nachos because he's lactose intolerant to a producer who fails to understand the basic concept of pussy willows, Scumrock is populated with the wretchedly strange, not the original or the provocative.

Perhaps the biggest problem lies with our two leads. In the sonic corner is Roxxy, rock and roll wannabe so miserable and pathetic that she is to be pitied, not scorned. Her music is monotonous, her posing is barely passable and the fact that she plays dictator to dudes who could kick her ass means she's a symbol without substance, arrogance without attrition. As a result, she becomes the cinematic equivalent of a nonentity, a null set without a single saving, selling, or sympathizing grace. Maybe Moritsugu planned it that way, or perhaps Ms. Davis wanted to TRY and get her dark diva on, but Roxxy is just repellant. Thankfully, Miles is a little more likeable, if only because he looks like a Chia Pet gone proto-punk. His wild mane of hair and oversized glasses make him more cartoonish than charming, but there is a nice non-emotive level to his lunkheaded line readings that attempts to win us over. But then actor Kyp Malone pushes the prickliness, whining like a grade schooler out of lunch money and doing his best to irritate everyone within earshot. It's not as if Miles is well sketched out even - he is a typical filmmaking aspirant, someone with more ideas than initiative, more ego than resume reels.

This may indeed by Moritsugu's design. He seems to be riffing directly on the people who populate his film, finding fault in their self-deluded desperation while mocking their love of his own befuddling brand of ballyhoo (the director cameos as an infamous infant terrible filmmaker - how appropriate). He also has issues with all local music scenes, or at least the tunes made therein, as he populates his soundtrack with the kind of ersatz-experimental droning that comes from too many late nights drinking hard lemonade and musically masturbating onto a tape machine. As a matter of fact, for a film based in music and the movies, we get very little that's good of either here. Some of the sonic sludge is Casio into a cassette deck dreck, while other tunes are guitar torture of the distorted kind. There is an art to noise, a way to make the homemade cheesy and convincing. But all we get with Scumrock is retardation as rip-snorting riot act. Between the characters, the acting and the setting in which they all sit and fester, there is very little to entertain or enlighten.

Granted, Moritsugu appears talented. There are about three scenes out of the 100 or so used to make up this movie that have any real resonance, and even then, the jokes that warrant attention are more weird than witty. For some, this film may be filled with quotable dialogue, but for others, the conversations are as forgettable as the lyrics that Roxxy wails as part of her pissed-off bitch persona. Perhaps with a better cast, a clearer aesthetic eye, or a cleaner overall concept of what cinema is supposed to be, Scumrock would work. After all, Slacker is nothing more than 100 minutes of people pontificating, and yet it comes together as a cohesive whole so miraculously that you keep revisiting the film to see how Linklater does it. Moritsugu doesn't have such a skill. His divergent stories never add up, only linking by the most indirect, uninteresting ways possible. Maybe it's generational, but the losers in Scumrock aren't half as winning as deadbeats from decades before. Back then, there was philosophy behind the inertia. Now there's nothing but self-imposed sloth.

The Video:
Scumrock looks AWFUL, horribly vexed by numerous video issues. Some Internet research seems to indicate that this was a purposeful choice on Moritsugu's part. He wanted his put-on to purposefully mimic and mock the usually awful homemade movie elements that come with the vast majority of outsider cinema. But this experience in visual vileness is inexcusable. Sometimes, the 1.33:1 full screen image looks great - bright and colorful, loaded with detail, and nary a defect to be seen. Other times, focus is pulled, timing is tricked and other pathetic post-production permutations are thrust on the transfer, making the movie look cheap and amateurish. If you want to see the difference, check out the original elements in the outtakes. There you will see the film/video in all its unprocessed - and near crystal clear - glory. Why this filmmaker would purposefully want to foul his vision - especially for a questionable quip - is anyone's guess.

The Audio:
Surprisingly, the sonic side of this DVD is pretty good. As stated before, the soundtrack is absolutely overflowing with keyboard canoodling and garage band banter that takes some substantial getting used to. But the Dolby Digital Stereo never overwhelms us, and when dialogue turns up, it is usually clear and decipherable. There are a couple of scenes where conversations disappear among the background noise and back microphone maneuvering, but overall, this is a pretty good sounding digital package.

The Extras:
There are three main added features here, and each one is only mildly interesting. The 18 minutes of outtakes are nothing more than mistakes, extended scenes, and fragments of sequences that did not make the final cut. There is nothing really revelatory within. The auditions section has approximately 10 minutes of various actors giving line readings. Whoopie. Finally, Moritsugu and Davis spend a minute or so fiddling with the lens, film exposure and applying different colored gels over the aperture. This is called a camera test. How novel. Too bad we don't get a commentary of a collection of onset interviews. Scumrock is the kind of movie that deserves some manner of filmmaker confessional, if only to explain the intention behind all the cinematic impotence.

Final Thoughts:
Though much of this movie is harder to sit through than an actual performance by a local punk act, Scumrock deserves at least a Rent It, since there will probably be many in the independent movie masses who really cotton to this kind of off the wall malarkey. It is obvious that Mr. Moritsugu is making films for the love of logistics, not artistic license, and there are moments inside this otherwise stifling work where you can see the barest potential for entertainment eeking out. In truth, a film that highlights the farcical facets of idealists who have no right to dream would be just remarkable - especially when made by someone on the inside. It would take the entire irony-laden social structure down a good few steps and place it back into some sort of purposeful perspective. There are generations of cultural climbers who don't have the baggage, or the brains, to make it beyond the preening pretender stage. Scumrock wants to take a nice fat swing at these geeked out guys and gals and knock them on their collective asses once and for all. Sadly, all it does is strike out.

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