The object of any great concert film is to convince you, at least for the span of the movie, that the subject is The Greatest Rock Band in the World. If The Kids Are Alright doesn't succeed in that goal as completely as Jonathan Demme's sensational Stop Making Sense, that's hardly the fault of The Who-- few performers have labored harder in the name of fan service.
Though engaging and highly watchable, The Kids Are Alright stays a minor affair, documentary-wise. Here and there it flirts with insight. We catch a bit of Keith Moon palling around with fellow alcoholic Ringo Starr ("We're just taking our medicine, children!") in a bit that foreshadows tragedy without actually catching the weight of it. We get a laugh from Pete Townshend's startled "Eh?" at being confronted with his own lyrics ("...hope I die before I get old..."). But the between-music bits of the film offer little substance; they're just filler.
But there's an early clip of the band performing in a club, in which we cut to Moon, drumming his heart out, already in hyperdrive-- and then, impossibly, he starts going faster. His face is upturned in spiritual abandon, his hands simply disappear. And, in a phenomenal rendering of Baba O'Reilly, you see Townshend dancing in genuine and infectious ecstasy over John Entwhistle's thunderous bass line. And in an epic performance of Won't Get Fooled Again, we finally understand the sheer force of The Who-- the lights go out around six minutes in for the synth solo. Then the drums kick in, gathering our heartbeats with it. The lights come on: Roger Daltrey is screaming, and Townshend is in midair, and we are with him, transported, levitating.
These were men who enjoyed their work. And for these five-to-ten minute stretches, we are watching The Greatest Rock Band in the World. Worth the price of admission.
Though engaging and highly watchable, The Kids Are Alright stays a minor affair, documentary-wise. Here and there it flirts with insight. We catch a bit of Keith Moon palling around with fellow alcoholic Ringo Starr ("We're just taking our medicine, children!") in a bit that foreshadows tragedy without actually catching the weight of it. We get a laugh from Pete Townshend's startled "Eh?" at being confronted with his own lyrics ("...hope I die before I get old..."). But the between-music bits of the film offer little substance; they're just filler.
But there's an early clip of the band performing in a club, in which we cut to Moon, drumming his heart out, already in hyperdrive-- and then, impossibly, he starts going faster. His face is upturned in spiritual abandon, his hands simply disappear. And, in a phenomenal rendering of Baba O'Reilly, you see Townshend dancing in genuine and infectious ecstasy over John Entwhistle's thunderous bass line. And in an epic performance of Won't Get Fooled Again, we finally understand the sheer force of The Who-- the lights go out around six minutes in for the synth solo. Then the drums kick in, gathering our heartbeats with it. The lights come on: Roger Daltrey is screaming, and Townshend is in midair, and we are with him, transported, levitating.
These were men who enjoyed their work. And for these five-to-ten minute stretches, we are watching The Greatest Rock Band in the World. Worth the price of admission.