'The Runaways' could use a little less style, more substance

The Runaways

R (strong language, drug use and sexual content, all involving teens); 105 min.

For every Velvet Goldmine, there's a Rock Star waiting in the wings. Writer-director Floria Sigismondi's The Runaways falls squarely in the missed-opportunity pile.

Sigismondi's grungy, stylish biopic charts the swift rise and even more rapid decline of teen rock sensations the Runaways, a ragtag band of no-nonsense girls that hung together for four years and, in the original lineup, released just two albums. Like so many influential acts from the '70s, the Runaways' length of existence does not reconcile with their level of influence. Their proto-pop/metal sound can still be heard in modern bands.

Assembled by bipolar Svengali Kim Fowley (Michael Shannon, easily the film's most vibrant asset), the Runaways -- rugged Joan Jett (Kristen Stewart), rebellious guitarist Lita Ford (Scout Taylor-Compton), laid-back drummer Sandy West (Stella Maeve) and lead singer Cherie Currie (Dakota Fanning) -- wrestle with coming of age amid the hedonistic excess of L.A.'s rock scene.

Although Sigismondi does a fine job capturing the debauched skuzziness of the Runaways' brief existence, too much of the film feels like an uber-expensive music video. Toss in a soupcon of sexual experimentation, along with an opportunity to watch Fanning snort cocaine in an airplane lavatory, and it's hard not to sprint for the shower as the credits roll.

The band's few hits, like Cherry Bomb and Queens of Noise, are all over the soundtrack, but the music, much like the people who made it, feels like a total afterthought.

-- Preston Jones