Neil Young's "Greendale" is 
    not an easy film to watch. Directed and largely filmed by the vaunted 
    58-year-old godfather of grunge on grainy 35mm stock with a constantly 
    bobbing camera -- rarely has a pseudonym been as apt as in the credits for 
    this movie, where Young lists himself as his longtime alter ego, Bernard 
    Shakey -- "Greendale" could be the bane of many an optometrist.
    The movie was not shot in 3-D but there are times when you might think it 
    was, and if glasses aren't necessary during the viewing, they might be by 
    the time you leave. 
    Then there's the problem of Young's storytelling. There is no dialogue, 
    and what slim and rather inscrutable tale exists is carried forward only by 
    the lyrics from the songs of Young's brilliant but sprawling album of the 
    same name with Crazy Horse. 
    Never a particularly linear songwriter, the plot for this "Our Town"-like 
    tale of a mythical rural American burg and a "typical" family called the 
    Greens pretty much falls apart during the first 20 minutes.
    
    
    
      
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        GREENDALE / ***1/2 
        (Not rated) 
         Sun Green: Sarah White 
        Jed Green/Devil: Eric Johnson 
        Grandpa Green: Ben Keith 
        Earth Brown: Erik Markegard 
        Grandma Green: Elizabeth Keith 
        Earl Green: James Mazzeo 
        Edith Green: Pegi Young 
  
        Shakey Pictures presents a Neil Young film directed by Bernard Shakey. 
        Written by Young. Music by Young, performed by Young and Crazy Horse. No 
        MPAA rating. Running time: 83 minutes.
        
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    Typical is in quotes above because, outside of Young's twisted universe, 
    it's probably not correct to use that adjective for any family that includes 
    a beautiful young woman (Sarah White as Sun Green) who becomes an 
    ecoterrorist, a father (James Mazzeo as Earl Green) who sells his soul to 
    the devil to become a successful impressionist painter, and a brother (Eric 
    Johnson as Jed Green) who shoots a cop and doubles in the film as the 
    aforementioned nattily dressed, soft-shoe-steppin' Satan. 
    Let's not even get into grumpy old Grandpa Green (Young's buddy and 
    sometimes co-producer Ben Keith), who is given to cursing the mass media 
    while spouting poetic/philosophical nuggets such as, "A little love and 
    affection/In everything you do/Will make the world a better place/With or 
    without you." 
    But these criticisms are minor when you take stock of what Young has 
    accomplished here: "Greendale" is one of the most potent mergers of music 
    and film that rock has ever produced, easily outshining not only Young's 
    earlier directorial/mixed-media efforts (1972's "Journey Through the Past" 
    and 1982's "Human Highway," both notorious dogs), but other epic musical 
    concept films such as Ken Russell's version of "Tommy" by the Who and Alan 
    Parker's vision of "The Wall" by Pink Floyd. 
    Given Young's famous artistic perversity and dedicated contrarian nature, 
    the more difficult aspects of "Greendale" may well be intentional roadblocks 
    meant to ward off the sort of people he wouldn't want in his audience anyway 
    -- sort of like when he turned to synth-rock circa "Trans," or when he 
    toured with Sonic Youth as an opener. 
    In the end, what the movie recalls more than anything else is a lost era 
    of rock moviemaking: the time of the vaunted "pot film," which may have 
    lacked narrative structure but rewarded the adventurous viewer and listener 
    (regardless of whether he or she was aided by illicit substances) by 
    creating a world that was distinctly its own. 
    In other words, it's a helluva groovy trip, man. 
    Anyone who is willing to submit themselves to Young's vision will begin 
    to see the beauty in his intentionally homely shots of the simple life in 
    northern California, which are perfectly matched to the music's expansive 
    and hallucinatory grooves -- songs such as "Falling from Above," "Devil's 
    Sidewalk," "Bandit" and "Be the Rain," which stand as the finest Young and 
    the best band of his career have produced since 1990's "Ragged Glory." 
    After seeing the film, the album (not to mention Young's lovably 
    low-budget touring presentation of "Greendale") takes on profound new 
    dimensions. In fact, it becomes impossible to imagine them existing without 
    each other, making the movie a more successful and complete artistic vision 
    than 99 percent of even the most ambitious videos aired on MTV or VH1, where 
    the music is all too often a secondary consideration to attractive eye 
    candy. 
    Bravo, Neil, for surprising us once again as a musician and as an auteur.
    
    Long may you run in any media that you choose to tackle.
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